by Duffy Brown
“I’m doing fair, thank you kindly for asking, that’s mighty neighborly of you.”
KiKi smiled but it wasn’t the natural kind that comes with being happy and wanting to spend time with a friend. It was more of a sneer-smile. Auntie KiKi was never good at sucking it up; she was an ace at subtle warfare Southern style.
“Why, honey,” she cooed. “With that vicious old rumor making the rounds about how you did in Simon at your very own wedding, Reagan and I thought you might be a bit upset this evening and we were deeply concerned for your welfare.”
Waynetta blinked a few times, not quite believing what she’d just heard. Heck, I blinked a few times myself not quite believing it. Waynetta dropped the basket of spoons, white plastic littering the ground. “Wherever did you hear such an outrageous lie?” she whispered in a tight panicked voice, cutting her eyes side to side to see if anyone overheard. “Mercy me, how do these things get started?”
“So it’s not true?” KiKi asked, brows arched innocently in surprise. “Not that I ever considered it was, of course. Why, sugar, you’re looking a little under the weather. How can I be of assistance?” Without waiting for a reply, KiKi kicked the dirty spoons under the table and handed off the basket to an unsuspecting Mayor Gillespie as he walked by. Being this was an election year the mayor took on the job all smiles and KiKi led Waynetta to one of the tables out of the flow of traffic.
“Here,” I said, handing Waynetta a bottle of water I bought from a vender. We all sat down, BW on the alert for a dropped cone and me on the alert in case the cone was chocolate. “This will make you feel better.”
“Why would someone think I killed Simon of all things?” Waynetta gasped between gulps from the bottle.
I patted her hand. “I’m sure some folks figure that Simon doing the afternoon delight with your bridesmaid must have given you cause for concern and made you act in haste. If you gave Simon what he so richly deserved, everyone would understand completely.” They might put you in jail for the rest of your natural life, but they would understand.
Waynetta stared wide-eyed. “That is truly what everyone thinks?”
KiKi and I gave a solemn and sincere nod and hoped to not get struck dead by a righteous lightning bolt out of the blue.
“Oh, dear.” Waynetta guzzled more water. “Daddy tried and tried to warn me about Simon, but I wouldn’t listen. When I heard that no-good varmint grunting and groaning in that closet I decided to cancel the wedding on the spot. I went back to my room and was in the process of taking off my dress to end it all when one of the staff came to fetch me saying I needed to come right quick to the dining room, that something fearful had happened to Simon. I was terrible afraid Daddy had enough of Simon’s shenanigans and went and put a bullet between his beady little ratty eyes. My only regret was that I didn’t do in Simon myself, though it would have taken some doing to snatch that peach dress, get out of my wedding dress, meet up with Simon, then get back to my room and redress and all the while not be seen. Being that I was a simply stunning bride, surely someone would notice me out and about like that.”
The stunning part was up for grabs but getting noticed was dead-on. “Of course,” I said in agreement to keep Waynetta talking. The one thing for sure about Waynetta was if you kept the topic centered on her, she’d keep on chatting away. “Did your daddy know what was going on with Simon and his escapades in the closet?”
“I suspect he knew Simon was fooling around all along and deep down I knew it, too. I just didn’t want to admit it, and daddy didn’t want to tell me and get me all upset. I’d planned the wedding of my dreams after all. Least I was smart in one way and got that dirtbag to sign a prenuptial agreement. If we’d married and it didn’t work out, he wouldn’t walk off with all my money, just a hundred thousand or so.”
Just and hundred thousand didn’t fit in the same sentence as far as I was concerned. “Your daddy was involved in building a new golf course?”
Waynetta gave a little pout. “Don’t know why it couldn’t be a shopping mall. I despise those little carts people ride around in. They’re not even air-conditioned, for Pete’s sake. Simon and Daddy knew all about the new golf course. Fact is, they had words and Daddy told Simon to keep his mouth shut if he knew what was good for him. I do believe the whole affair is rather hush-hush.”
Waynetta took another gulp of water. “I need to get back and hand out more spoons. The Daughters are going to be upset with me if I shirk my responsibilities and right now a little volunteer work is all Daddy’s allowing me do. He said I needed to be respectful of Simon’s memory if I’m ever to marry into a nice Savannah family.”
“Did you ever think about not marrying?” I blurted, thinking maybe Waynetta would get the hint that she had really bad husband karma.
Waynetta threw back her head and laughed. “You say the funniest things, Reagan Summerside. Whatever would I do without a fine man on my arm? What would any girl do?” She gave me a Waynetta the superior look. “You know right well how it feels to be all alone. It’s just plain terrible, don’t you agree? ’Course some things can’t be helped now can they? I’ll have Daddy make a donation to the children’s hospital in my name with some kind of ribbon-cutting ceremony involved. Everyone will forget Simon even existed and simply focus on that till this here ugly gossip goes away.”
Waynetta wandered back to her station at the ice cream table and reclaimed her basket from the mayor. Only someone running for office can make handing out a spoon look like an accomplishment. KiKi rested her chin in her palm. “Money may not buy happiness, but for Waynetta it sure covers up a lot of messes.”
“Well, she was right about one thing, she couldn’t have knocked off Simon. Getting in and out of the dresses was impossible considering the time line and for sure she would have been noticed. But did you catch the part about dear old daddy wanting to put a bullet between Simon’s eyes?”
“Add to that, Reese found out the golf course was a hustle and Simon was taking him for a bundle, he had to be fed up with his future son-in-law.” KiKi sat back in her chair. “But this is all guesswork on our part. We need proof, something in writing. A check from Reese to Simon for the golf course would be nice.”
“What we need is Simon’s notebook. I bet the information in there might be enough for Detective Ross to at least consider that someone else, like Reese Waverly, had a motive to kill Simon. My guess is Suellen took it from me to carry on with Simon’s sharking business or to hide the fact that she and Simon were partners in something totally illegal, or Sugar-Ray took it because it implicates Reese.”
“Why didn’t Simon just put the thing in a safety-deposit box to begin with?”
“Too much trouble to record information if he did that. I’m sure he had the information on a computer somewhere but that’s probably in the nearest landfill by now. Since Suellen’s place is unoccupied we can start looking there for the notebook. The waitress at the Pirate House said Suellen had one of the new town houses on East Taylor.”
“That’s two short little old blocks from here.” KiKi wiggled her foot. “I can make it that far but how will we know which house is Suellen’s and how are we going to get inside the place?”
There was no we to this little dilemma. When it came to verbally duking it out with the local snobs, no one put them in their place faster and with more finesse than Auntie KiKi, but this was different. This was breaking the law and Mamma asked me to keep KiKi out of trouble. That she’d already fallen off a fire escape and gotten caught pilfering a flash drive meant mission not accomplished. Maybe I’d luck out this time, though truth be told, keeping Auntie KiKi out of trouble was like herding cats.
“You know,” I said, studying KiKi’s ankle. “It seems a little swollen. You need to rest tonight; we can hit Suellen’s place some another time.”
I got the beady-eyed glare as an answer; so much for lucking out.
“You’re not fooling me,” KiKi huffed. “You don’t want me around in case somet
hing goes wrong, and my guess is your mamma put you up to this, telling you to watch out for me or some such nonsense. I’m no coward. I watch Law and Order. I can take the heat.”
“Of course you’re not a coward. You escaped from a closet and crawled though bat poop. That’s brave in anyone’s book.”
“And I can get along on this here ankle just fine, thank you very much. But . . .”
Oh, thank the Lord in heaven, there’s a but!
“Putter’s due home this evening and I want to be there. After the phone-call situation I need to show him I care. Besides, I missed the dear man something fierce.”
It took as long to walk back to East Gwinnett as it did to polish off double scoops of Old Black Magic. I promised KiKi we’d visit Suellen’s house tomorrow but she and I both knew that was a lie. It was night, we needed answers, and Suellen’s place was empty. Easy-peasy.
As if reading my mind, KiKi took both my hands in hers. “Maybe you should get Walker Boone to go with you.”
“Maybe I should get a root canal.”
“You have that new phone. If there’s a problem, I’ll be there right quick with one of Putter’s golf clubs.” She grinned. “And a .38 or two for backup.”
Chapter Nineteen
BW and I agreed on a lot of things, like that hot dogs rocked, mean people should rot in hell, and the best thing about the heat of summer was that it made you really, really appreciate the cool of autumn. Together we swam our way though the humidity to East Taylor, my capris and tank top stuck to me like a second skin by the time we drew up in front of the town houses. For the most part all the houses looked alike, distinguished by an occasional wreath on the door, doormat in front, and assortment of flowerpots overflowing with multihued impatiens.
I assumed Suellen’s house was third from the end, with drooping flowers from lack of watering, letters and the like sticking out from the stuffed wrought-iron mailbox, magazine on top. I had to be certain this was Suellen’s address and not someone too lazy to pick up their mail. Breaking into an occupied house meant another visit from Detective Ross and winding up as Chantilly’s roomie in jail. Casually, BW and I wandered down the sidewalk, girl walking her dog, all’s well with the world. I sat on Suellen’s steps and pretended to mess with BW’s collar slowly inching my way toward the mailbox.
Bingo! Glamour magazine addressed to Suellen. I hid a spare key outside, KiKi hid a key, and so did Suellen under the second pink-and-white flowered pot. I read somewhere occurrences of breaking and entering in Savannah were way down. Heck, there was no need to break in anywhere with keys hidden in every nook and cranny.
With my recent bad luck of unlocked doors, the good news was that Suellen’s door was indeed locked. BW and I went inside; light slipped though the trees, casting the living room in weird dark shadows. BW stayed close as I hunted for my flashlight, twisted it on, and realized the place was trashed. Drawers dumped, books scattered, and papers littered on the floor.
“And you thought I was a bad housekeeper,” I said to BW to lighten the creepy mood of a ransacked room and dead occupant. “My guess is Reese beat us here, or more to the point his gofer Sugar-Ray did. Either way I bet the notebook’s long gone and it must have some juicy information to warrant all this.”
BW yawned and sniffed out a cushion flung behind the couch. He circled it in true doggie fashion then curled up for a nap in the AC not caring diddly that a killer might be lurking about. Doggie bliss.
I picked my way over upturned chairs and a broken lamp and made my to a small painted-white desk. The notebook might be gone but maybe I’d find out something that would lead me to Reese. Right now I’d settle for a golf tee. I found nothing but a few stamps honoring Elvis, a reminder postcard that Suellen’s Civic was overdue for maintenance, and a Snickers that needed eating.
The kitchen was a wreck, boxes of cereal, pancake mix, protein bars, and such strewn across the counter, Pirate House glasses on the floor beside a pencil with a cupcake eraser and two cork coasters from Pinkie Master’s. Suellen had sticky fingers syndrome. If she liked it, touched it, it was hers! I checked the freezer. Rocky Road ice cream, the universal hiding place? I tore it open to . . . ice cream? The girl had no imagination.
The bedroom reflected the rest of the house. Costume jewelry spewed across the dresser, clothes on the floor, tumbled bed. I felt under the dresser and nightstand. Sometimes important stuff was taped there; I saw it in a movie once. The town house was standard décor, nothing unusual except for the front door opening.
“Sweet mother, now what?” I flipped off the flashlight, then picked my way around stuff and crouched low in the doorway, peering into the living room. The outside light silhouetted a guy, a big guy. Why did people always have to show up when I was around? Why couldn’t they just wait their turn? Big Guy took a few steps and BW wandered over, licked his hand, and flopped on his back for a tummy rub.
“Blondie.”
“Boone?” I flipped on my flashlight and picked out his face in the darkness, Boone putting up his hand up to block the glare.
“Do you mind?”
“Why are you here?”
“Why are you here?”
“Looking for evidence to put Reese Waverly in jail and get Chantilly out. Your turn.”
Boone made his way to me, took the flashlight, and doused it. “The thing’s like a beacon from outside. Look,” Boone said, sounding exasperated. “Reese had nothing to do with Simon’s murder, or Suellen’s. Simon dead isn’t exactly a hardship to Reese but he isn’t responsible, and why would he kill off Suellen? He didn’t even know her. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“More like the wrong branch. I get that Reese wouldn’t pull the trigger or in this case wield the cake knife and the trophy, but Sugar-Ray would for enough money. He’s a man with expensive taste. He wears Versace, for Pete’s sake, and his office belongs in some artsy-fartsy magazine. Sugar-Ray has to support his addiction and it’s not by his faltering marriage counseling practice, we both know that.”
“What’s Reese’s motive in all this?”
“Get rid of bad rubbish. If Simon married Waynetta, he got a hundred thou just for putting a ring on her finger, and then there’s the golf course scam. Who knows how much Simon swindled out of Reese on that little deal.”
Boone sat on the end of the couch and exhaled a long deep breath meaning he was going to tell me something he didn’t want to tell me. Sweet! Finally Boone was going to cough up some information.
“Reese Waverly wouldn’t kill over a hundred thousand dollars. It’s not exactly pocket change but not a reason to risk going to jail.”
“What about the golf course? That’s a big motive and probably big money. Reese went ballistic when he thought KiKi took a flash drive with the information.”
“She did take the flash drive.”
“That’s not the point. Simon persuaded Reese to invest in the golf course because it was the hottest thing since Vegas and Reese took the bait hook, line, and sinker.”
“No bait, no sinker, the golf course is for real. Reese is getting influential backers to support it. If word gets out, property prices in that area will skyrocket and tank the whole project before it gets off the ground. The golf course will bring in jobs, conventions, and tournaments.”
“Make Reese a lot of money.”
“For sure, and somehow Simon found out about it and wanted in on the action, not the other way around.”
I took a few beats for this to settle in. “If that’s true, then Reese had Simon knocked off to keep him quiet.”
“Pillsbury and his crew are silent partners in the deal. Simon knew better than to cross them. No one has any idea how Simon found out about all this in the first place.”
Beware the girl who wears the tiara. If Waynetta heard her daddy talking about the golf course, it’s not much of a stretch to think she’d mention it to Simon. That’s how he found out about it . . . maybe. “I think you’re lying. I think you’re making thi
s up to keep me from suspecting Reese. SA was written on the flash drive, that’s Simon Ambrose, and how does Sugar-Ray fit into a golf course? And he sure does somehow.”
“SA is Savannah Arbors, the name of the course and Sugar-Ray has a special friend in Atlanta who runs a five-star restaurant there. Sugar-Ray convinced him that Savannah is a great place to live and work. Reese brought Sugar-Ray on to show his appreciation for getting the chef here. It’ll establish Sugar-Ray as a designer. You should see what he did with Reese’s office. I’m going to get him to do my house.”
“Ditch the leather couch.”
“I love that couch.”
“Blast it, Boone! Would it have killed you to tell me about the golf course from the get-go?”
“Yeah, right, you and Auntie Twitter.” A slow grin spread across Boone’s face, his body relaxing. The Sphinx goes happy.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” I punched his arm. “This leaves me with no good suspects for who killed Simon and Suellen and I’ve been running around in circles over the blasted golf course and all for nothing.”
“Kept you out of trouble for a little while.” He put up his hands to block another punch. “Can you sit on this golf course information for another week? We should have this sewn up by then.”
“We?”
Boone shrugged. “I did some of the legal work.”
“Invested some money?”
“Way out of my league. Pillsbury would take it as a personal favor if you kept this to yourself.”
“What about you?” I had no idea why I threw in that last part. Fatigue no doubt or just something to say in the dark of night. Something flickered way back in Boone’s eyes. Slowly he took my hand and pulled me a step closer.
“For some reason everything between us is personal, Blondie.” Then his eyes suddenly focused, the smile gone. “Cop cars.”
