Killer in Crinolines

by Duffy Brown

  “But there was a Snickers wrapper on the floor at Simon’s place when I came to find you. I thought it was the one I gave you and you’d dropped it. It’s one of the reasons I knew you were at Simon’s and kept looking around.”

  KiKi stopped the next bite halfway to her mouth. She held up the chunk of cookie, both of us studying it like an insect stuck on the end of a pin. “I saw that wrapper at Simon’s place, too. I didn’t think anything of it till now. I mean everyone likes candy bars including a certain someone who’s been eating them for a solid week.”

  “There was a Snickers on Suellen’s desk at her town house and I found one of GracieAnn’s cupcake pencils on the floor. I thought Suellen stole the pencil because she liked it and because she had other pilfered items lying around, but what if she didn’t steal the pencil? What if GracieAnn left behind the candy while she looked for the notebook and accidentally dropped the pencil? She’d be in a hurry and nervous in case someone saw her go inside and called the cops.”

  “You think GracieAnn would bring along her own candy? And how would she get in the town house in the first place?”

  “I’d say GracieAnn’s a stress eater. She said she’d been eating nonstop. And there’s a key under the flowerpot. That’s how I got in.”

  KiKi gave me a big, toothy grin. “Well, there you go, we’re right back to GracieAnn. Suellen took the notebook from you at Simon’s. GracieAnn wanted it. When GracieAnn couldn’t find the notebook at Simon’s she figured Suellen had it. Suellen wasn’t in the mood to share and GracieAnn whacked Suellen over the head with the award trophy. GracieAnn then went to Suellen’s to find the notebook. It all adds up nice and neat.”

  KiKi popped the rest of the cookie in her mouth and said around a mouthful of crumbs, “We did it. We have motive and opportunity and a candy bar and cupcake pencil as evidence.”

  “Pitifully weak circumstantial evidence. Ross would laugh what’s left of her behind right off if that’s what I brought to prove Chantilly innocent. Chantilly’s still the front-runner with her fingerprints on the murder weapon. It’s going to take something sincere and monumental to trump that. Something big.”

  “The truck, that’s big. What if GracieAnn’s the one who knocked you and Big Brown into alligator alley? That could link her to the murder.”

  “Or it could have been Reese or Icy warning me to quit poking around in their lives.”

  “The killer had the most motive for trying to scare you off and we know Reese and Icy are innocent. If the Cakery Bakery truck has brown paint on it, that’s another nail in GracieAnn’s coffin, right?” KiKi scooped the plain, untouched doughnuts into the bag. “We’re here now. I say we go around back and take a look-see at that the bakery truck. I just bet it has that UPS brown paint scraped all over the front bumper.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “THE truck’s not here,” KiKi said to BW and me, the three of us standing in the empty gravel alley behind the bakery. “Do you think someone’s out making a delivery? Maybe we can wait a few minutes till the truck comes back.”

  “Percy said Delta and GracieAnn are the only ones who drive the truck and they’re both inside. Maybe the truck’s having repairs done, like for a dent in the front.” I called myself every name for stupid. “I should have checked this out sooner. If GracieAnn did run me off the road in the bakery truck, all the evidence will be gone under a new coat of paint. See, I get distracted and don’t follow through and this is what happens.”

  “Because we had other suspects who looked guiltier. But this isn’t all bad, honey. In fact it’s good news. If the truck is getting fixed that means there’s a reason. Something happened. Maybe we could make a few calls to body shops, see if the Cakery Bakery truck is there and what the problem happens to be.”

  “Why would the body shop tell us anything?”

  “Because Ace Auto Insurance Company needs to know about the truck for the claim adjustment.”

  “Who in the world is Ace Auto Insurance Company?”

  KiKi raised her hand, a devilish glint in her eyes. “You’re looking at her sweet little old self right here.”

  • • •

  By noon I’d opened up three new consignment accounts at the Fox and accepted a date with Doc Hunky when he stopped by to bring me yellow roses. If he ever got on that bachelor show, the women would be lined up across America to marry the guy. Business was brisk, my social life out of the toilet for the moment, BW dug a new hole in KiKi’s flower garden that I was sure to catch heck for, and I hadn’t heard anything from dear auntie on Ace Auto Insurance.

  I found a nice navy skirt and peach sweater to add to the display in the bay window that needed sprucing when pssst sounded from the hallway leading to the kitchen. I looked over to see Percy hiding around the corner hooking his finger at me in come-here fashion.

  “What’s going on?” I asked when I met up with him in the hallway.

  “GracieAnn,” Percy whispered, little beads of sweat across is brow. “She thinks I’m cheating on her and she’s baking toolbox cookies. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not so good and sort of hanging low till I figure it out.”

  I took Percy’s hand. “Honey, when Simon bit the big one GracieAnn baked dead-man cookies.”

  Percy faded to paste white. “You think she killed Simon?”

  “It’s a possibility. Did you ever hear Delta say anything to GracieAnn about putting a dent in the delivery truck?”

  “Not while I was around, but they work together a lot when I’m not there.”

  “I feel terrible that I put you in this predicament. Maybe you should go on vacation. Get out of town for a while till I can find out what’s going on with GracieAnn. I’ll keep in touch. I have a phone now.”

  “I can help Uncle Chicken. He’s swamped with AC repair jobs.” Percy gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, then looked around at the shop. “You better be careful yourself. If GracieAnn can bake toolbox cookies, she can bake dress, skirt, and shoe cookies. She’s a little left of center if you get my drift.”

  After Percy hustled out the back door I considered his warning. A little left of center? Make that out in left field. GracieAnn had stabbed and knocked two people to death; murder by clothes hanger wasn’t that far of a stretch. I wrote up two more sales and stuffed the money in the Godiva candy box. I started in on another display in the dining room when KiKi rumba’d her way through the front door, waving a piece of paper in the air and swishing her skirt side to side. “Am I a genius or what?”

  “You found the truck?”

  Before she could fill in the details, two more customers wandered in. I welcomed them to the Prissy Fox, explained about the store, trying not to rush, but I really wanted to hear KiKi’s news.

  “I located our pigeon,” KiKi gushed, the customers heading off to shop. “Roy’s Body Shop over on Montgomery.”

  “The front bumper has brown paint and there’s a dent in the hood?”

  “Well, sort of. There was brown paint and the dent. The bumper was sold off for scrap this morning and the brown paint is under a fresh coat of white paint. Delta needed the truck for a delivery so they worked on it all day yesterday. But it was all there like we suspected. It’s just not something we can show to Detective Ross.” KiKi put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry about that, honey.”

  “So we can’t use the truck as concrete evidence,” I said, trying to figure out a way to turn this information into something significant. “The guys at the body shop could say there was indeed brown paint on the bumper and truck but there’s no way of knowing it was from the UPS truck or not. The thing is, we know and that’s what counts.”

  “That’s what I think, too,” KiKi said, all smiles. “And we also have the cupcake pencil and Snickers wrappers plus motive and opportunity.” KiKi glanced at the two customers shopping. She came a little closer and dropped her voice. “GracieAnn was at the wedding and knew how to get into Simon’s place. They were in business together and now we
have the truck. I think with all the information we have, our favorite detective would listen to what we have to say. At least she’d talk to GracieAnn, don’t you think? Ross is one scary gal. If she gets GracieAnn alone in one of those interrogation rooms like you see on TV, the girl will crack like a rotten pecan.”

  KiKi gave me a sassy wink. “Roses? Tell me you’re not just using the guy for the free food.”

  “He’s interesting and a fine doctor,” I said, giving myself a Doc Hunky pep talk. “He saves people and is a true humanitarian.”

  “That’s what I want to hear. Putter and I are going out for dinner. I’ve got our vacation to that Pebble Beach golf course place all set up. He’s been working so hard. You have fun tonight and tomorrow we’ll go together and pay Ross a visit. She has to see that all this GracieAnn stuff is more than coincidence. We’ll bring her carrot sticks.”

  When the last two customers left I closed up shop, put away clothes, tidied up, and tried to convince myself to feel good about the evidence against GracieAnn. It didn’t work. Maybe because I’d been wrong on every single suspect so far it was hard to believe I was right this time.

  A tapping on the front window drew my attention to Tipper Longford standing on the porch. “I need to chat with you for a minute,” he said, his muffled voice drifting in. “It’ll just be a minute.”

  I couldn’t think of a single thing I had in the Fox that would appeal to Tipper, not one Confederate soldier jacket or saber in the whole place.

  “I know you’re closed and I actually waited till you were,” Tipper said when I let him inside. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “This is sort of awkward for me. I’m not the kind of person who goes around accusing people of things unless I’m sure.” He took a deep breath. “Everyone knows you’re a friend of Chantilly’s and trying to prove her innocent of killing Simon and my Suellen, and I would have bet my last dollar Chantilly was guilty as all get out but now . . . Well, maybe not.”

  A forlorn expression pinched Tipper’s face. “I miss my Suellen something terrible. The funeral’s tomorrow. I still can’t believe she’s gone, and who could have done such a terrible thing to my sweet, sweet girl? She was the light of my life, the song of my soul, the reason I got up in the morning, and—”

  “Mr. Longford?” I interrupted, suspecting if I didn’t there’d be a half-hour eulogy for Suellen right here in the Prissy Fox.

  “The reason I came here is that GracieAnn Harlow, the young girl who works for Delta over at the bakery, had on Suellen’s pearl bracelet the other day. I stopped in at Pinkie Master’s for a beer with some of the other soldiers and GracieAnn was there with one of the part-time help at the bakery and I noticed the bracelet. I nearly spilled my drink all over myself.”

  I patted Tipper’s shoulder. “You’re grieving. For a while everything is going to remind you of Suellen. When Granddaddy Summerside passed away, every time I ate mashed potatoes I thought of him. The man loved his potatoes.” With lots of butter and gravy and half the reason he was at the big mashed potato gathering in the sky.

  “That’s right sweet of you but I know it was Suellen’s bracelet because I gave it to her, you see. GracieAnn saw me looking at the bracelet and took it right off and dropped it in that big purse she hauls around with her. I know it was Suellen’s bracelet because I had a special charm put on for her, a magnolia blossom. She was right partial to magnolias, springtime being her favorite time of year and all.”

  Tipper sniffed and blinked back tears. “Suellen told me that Simon treated GracieAnn bad. Suellen said he even tried to come on to her a few times. I’m thinking GracieAnn got jealous and killed Simon, then Suellen, too. How else would she get Suellen’s bracelet?”

  “Why don’t you take this to the police?”

  Tipper shrugged. “One little piece of jewelry is hardly enough evidence for the police to act on but people say you’ve been nosying around. If I think GracieAnn had a hand in these murders, maybe you do too, is all I’m saying. You’ve been nice to me and if I can help you get your friend out of jail, I’d be pleased as punch. Do you have anything that points the finger at GracieAnn?”

  “I was going to talk to the police tomorrow. I can tell them about the bracelet.”

  “Maybe they can get one of those search warrants? Nothing will bring back my Suellen, but knowing her killer is going to pay is some consolation. If the police need to talk to me, they can after the funeral of course.” He took my hand. “I knew I could count on you to do the right thing.”

  Tipper let himself out and BW came around the counter for a post-nap stretch and scratch behind the ears. “What do think?” I asked BW. I swore he said, You better get yourself gussied up so you don’t look like something the cat dragged off the river. BW had quite a way with words.

  • • •

  “Not exactly the pink house,” I said to Doc Hunky over a din of voices as we polished off a pizza at Vinnie Van Go-Go’s, the zip line carrying orders to the kitchen whirling over our heads.

  “Salami, spinach, artichoke, and sun-dried tomato are my favorite toppings. And the atmosphere is great. But that might have something to do with the company.” Hunky clinked his beer to mine.

  KiKi’s crack about dating for free food wore heavy on my Catholic education conscience, and whereas pizza and beer were not exactly quid-pro-quo for pan-seared scallops and French wine, City Market was fun, with vendors, people mingling, and all the outdoor eateries. Plus I could afford to pick up the tab.

  “Well now, what’s this,” Hollis-the-horrible said, swaggering up to our table as if he owned the place. He glanced from me to Doc Hunky. “Trying to sell Cherry House to the first person who comes along?”

  “And you are?” Hunky leaned back in his chair giving Hollis a cold she’s mine stare. Not that I was all that sure since no one had ever stared on my behalf before.

  “I’m her ex. Bet she’s told you all about me.”

  “Didn’t have to. I know you’re a jackass since you let her get away.” Hunky tossed double what our dinner cost on the table and held out his hand to me. “I think we’re done here, Reagan.”

  I took Hunky’s hand, him leading the way, me in a fog. “You okay?” he asked when we got outside.

  “My plan was to pay your way tonight and you go all Prince Charming on me, and I think I’m babbling.”

  Hunky laughed and actually blushed. Couldn’t remember the last time I saw a guy do that. “Don’t know about the prince part,” he said. “But the expression on that jerk’s face was payment plenty.”

  He put his arm around me as we made our way toward the jazz group setting up. We paused under the trees, dim light slipping though the branches swaying gently in the breeze. He looked into my eyes and I looked into his and waited for my heart to skip a beat.

  And it actually did because someone over at City Market yelled, “Help! We’re in need of a doctor over here! Hurry.”

  “Do you think your ex put them up to this?” Hunky smiled nonchalantly as if someone had called for a taxi. He took my hand and we ran back toward the square. A woman had collapsed and instantly Doc Hunky morphed into Doc Superman; actually he did that when he squashed Hollis. Fifteen minutes later Hunky accompanied the paramedics to the hospital amid a round of applause from the crowd of onlookers and my assurance that I could indeed get home safe and sound.

  “You have yourself a fine man there, honey,” a woman said as the ambulance drove off.

  “You need to hang on to that one,” offered another. And they were right as rain of course. The Doc Hunky/Superman types didn’t come along every day of the week and it wasn’t just because he lived in Charleston and only got to Savannah once in a while. The man was truly fine. Any woman would be lucky to have him in her life. Right?

  I headed for home, passing a Gloria Summerside poster adorned with a handlebar mustache and devil horns. Guillotine Gloria was not loved by one and all. Storefronts sat lonely and dark, businesses closed fo
r the night. One pink neon cupcake sign lit the front part of Cakery Bakery, but around back the kitchen blazed bright and lively, the heavenly aroma of Snickers cookies drifting out to the sidewalk. Delta and GracieAnn were hard at work for their catering gig the next morning.

  I wandered down the alley and there parked in the gravel, pretty as you please, was the white Cakery Bakery delivery truck with cakes and pies and cookies painted on the sides. It had a spanking-new bumper in front and no dents anywhere to implicate wrongdoing.

  Could I really convince Ross that GracieAnn was the killer and Chantilly innocent if all I had was a bunch of theories and hearsay? Tipper was distraught, the bracelet sighting not something Ross would put much stock in. Heck, I didn’t put much stock in it. Maybe the bakery truck didn’t knock me into the swamp after all. The truck could have crunched into anything brown and I was so busy trying to stay on the road I didn’t pay attention and seeing directly behind was nearly impossible anyway. Truth be told, I couldn’t swear beyond all doubt that this bakery truck was the one that hit me. Little twinges of doubt skirted across my shoulders. I needed something concrete to take to Ross. I needed something of GracieAnn’s that said guilty!

  The back door to the bakery stood wide open, only the screen door in place, letting the oven heat escape into the night air. If Tipper did see GracieAnn drop the bracelet in her purse, there was a chance it was still there. I looked at Old Yeller hanging off my shoulder. Big purses were like that, a bottomless pit of catchall for weeks at a time and longer. It was worth a shot. I crept up the wooden steps and peered into a storage room piled with boxes, sacks, drums, extra chairs, and tables. Delta and GracieAnn’s voices drifted out from the kitchen area but most words were lost in the racket of baking and exhaust fans.

  The corner of GracieAnn’s purse protruded from under her blue sweater hanging on one of the pegs by the hall. All I needed was a little peek inside to confirm what Tipper had said. Then I’d know I was on the right track and feel more confident when I met up with Ross tomorrow. Maybe I really could persuade her to get a search warrant. Ross may not take to heart my evidence of candy wrappers and the like but she couldn’t discount evidence from Tipper and me.