Too Easy (A Flap Tucker Mystery Book 2)

by Phillip DePoy

  She went to hang it up on her bathroom door, yakking at me over her shoulder. “I’ve got news; plus, I want to hear what’s up.”

  I retired to the sitting room that divided our two bedrooms. The view of the beach was very absorbing. I couldn’t take my eyes off it, even when Dally came in and sat beside me.

  She stared too. “Great room, huh?”

  “Nice window.”

  I took the next twenty minutes filling her in: meeting the folks in Tifton, Mr. Turner, the Peakers, the cop.

  As it turned out, she’d been working too. “Called the Tifton Home Loan. They have, in fact, got a parent bank in Savannah: Southeastern Federal. What’s the connection?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Why’d you want to know?”

  “I’m telling you, I’ve got a hunch.”

  She wasn’t impressed. “Uh-huh.”

  “Sling me that phone book beside you. Let’s try a little something. You’ll see. This hunch thing, it’s a system with me. You absolutely have to follow your instincts. They tell you so much more than your noodle.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Anybody ever accuse you of bein’ too much in touch with your feminine side?”

  I squinted. “Nobody alive.”

  She grinned, reached over to the table by her elbow, and tossed me the Savannah Bell. I flipped to the S’s and dialed the front desk.

  “Hello, Mr. Tucker.”

  “Hey. Could I get an outside line again, please?”

  “Right away.”

  Dial tone. I popped in the number.

  A woman answered. “Southeastern Federal.”

  “Hey, I got a Ms. Lydia Habersham here wants to cash a check for a hundred dollars. Just making sure it’s covered.”

  Pause.

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Tony over at the marina.”

  “Ms. Habersham has loans with us. We don’t handle any checking. May I speak with her, please?”

  “Uh ... sure. Hang on.”

  I covered the phone tight with my hand and whispered to Dally, “She wants to talk to Lydia. You’ve got loans, but they don’t do checking. Keep it terse, they might know her voice.”

  Dally gave me the eye, but she took the phone. I moved in close to listen. She spoke. “Hi.”

  “Ms. Habersham?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You know you don’t have checking with Southeastern Federal, darlin’.”

  “Oh. Is this Southeastern Federal? Shoot. I must have given him the wrong number.”

  Pause. “The wrong number?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Who is this?”

  I punched the button and the phone disconnected. Dally handed me back the receiver and I put the phone on the table.

  I shook my head. “So she’s got an account there.”

  She grinned. “That’s part of my news.”

  “What?”

  She was very pleased with herself. “I’ve got an account there too. Care to go check on it?”

  “You put money into Southeastern Federal?”

  She stood. “Had to. I wanted all my phone calls to carry weight. Money talks. Anyway, pays to spread it around. I diversify as much as you reminisce. Let’s go into town. Maybe we can find out more.”

  Something was up with her. She was never this interested in the work she got me. Plus, what was she doing slinging her money around the state like that? I tried to hedge. “I was going to take a nap.”

  “Jeez, Flap. Show a little gumption. Savannah’s only twenty minutes away the way I drive. We can make it right now if we hurry. Come on.”

  Five minutes later we were barreling down the road nearly a hundred miles an hour in Ms. Oglethorpe’s red convertible rental job, headed for downtown Savannah. I tried to holler at her with the wind whipping around us.

  “Things seem to be moving a little fast, doncha think?”

  But she couldn’t hear me. Probably wouldn’t have agreed anyway.

  15 - Money and Marigolds

  In Savannah the humidity was exactly 100 percent. You could literally swim through the air. The Southeastern Federal building was imposing, sunny, landscaped within an inch of its life — but it was mostly marigolds, a pedestrian annual that I personally wouldn’t give you the time of day for. I was happy to get out of the heat. Dally was happy to be in on the work. She didn’t ordinarily tag along with me, but I had the sense she was especially interested in this one — plus, she was having fun. It was like a beach vacation for her, too, I guess — and who was I to spoil her vacation?

  I nodded toward a loan officer in the row of desks to our left. “Get the younger guy there.”

  “What for?”

  “Because we know for sure that he’s not the person we talked to on the phone a minute ago. That was, if you’ll recall, a woman. And because he’ll find you enchanting. All the young guys do.”

  She accepted it, and we ambled toward him in a friendly enough fashion. He saw us coming and set down the papers he was reading.

  “How are you?”

  Dally smiled. I’ve already mentioned what kind of an effect that can have. “Fine and dandy. Just want to check on my account.”

  “Have a seat.” He was very happy to help us.

  We sat. She did the talking. “Dalliance Oglethorpe. Just transferred some funds here from Atlanta. Lookin’ to add another nightclub to my chain.”

  He was very friendly. “Chain-chain-chain. Just like the song.”

  She nodded. “Exactly. I got a place in Atlanta called Easy, this’ll be Easy Two.”

  “Easy To. Let’s just have a look.” He leaned forward and attacked his computer keyboard. Something impressive came up. His face was very clear on that.

  Dally was cool. “So I want to buy up a place used to be called the Night Flight Cafe.” She tossed me a look. God bless her.

  The bank guy shook his head. He’d never heard of it.

  “River Street.”

  He looked at his screen again. “You got enough here to buy and build anywhere you want to.” He looked up. “How can I help?”

  “Got some construction people over in Tifton, believe it or not, that are gonna give me a deal too good to pass up. You’re associated with Tifton Home Loan. I want to put some of the money there.”

  “Yes, ma’am. We’re a parent company now, but I’ll bet we could find some boys here in town that could give you just as good a deal.”

  “Free lumber, minimum-wage labor, no outside contractors. Also” — she dropped her voice, very conspiratorially — “all licenses for the work, including plumbing and electrical, are free.”

  He sat back, lowered his voice too. “Okay, you’re right. We can’t beat that.” He was less enthusiastic than he had been a minute earlier. He was thinking: How does somebody get a deal like that? He was thinking: organized crime. It might as well have been written on his face. I tried to look tough, to support the illusion.

  Dally forged on. “You don’t know a guy there in Tifton by the name of Lowe Acree, do you?”

  “Sure.” But he was tight-lipped. Apparently knowing that this had something to do with Lowe Acree only confirmed his suspicions, because he had quit looking at his computer or making eye contact with either one of us. “Uh, Ms. Felton would probably be the one to help you with all this. She’s our real estate expert and she’s the one that works most closely with Mr. Acree.”

  After a second Dally had to ask. “Could you point her out?”

  He tipped his head to the left and we saw Ms. Felton at her desk. I stood as much like a gangster as I could manage, hands folded in front of me. It was kind of fun, playing the hood. Dally smiled. We moved on.

  As we were walking over, I whispered in Dally’s ear, “Ten to one you’ve just had a recent phone conversation with this Ms. Felton.”

  She kept her eyes ahead, nodded. “No bet.”

  When we appr
oached her, Ms. Felton smiled. I smiled back. It was like she’d been expecting us to come on over. Dally sat without being invited.

  “How may I help you all?”

  Dally spoke in a voice lower and slower than her normal musical tones. “Your cohort over there just told us you were the one to see about some real estate and some connecting funds in Tifton with a Lowe Acree.”

  “Oh.” Ms. Felton was very small all of a sudden.

  “Something wrong?”

  She hesitated. “I don’t know that I’m the one to tell you all this. Did you know Mr. Acree well?”

  “Just on the phone.”

  “Well.” She was a little relieved. “He’s ... passed on.”

  Dally was sympathetic. “Really. I’m sorry. Is Lydia all right?”

  She brightened again. “Oh, you know Lydia?”

  “Better than Lowe. I’m an Oglethorpe.”

  This seemed to make Ms. Felton very much more comfortable. “Oh. An Oglethorpe. I thought your voice sounded familiar. Are you close to the family here in Savannah?”

  “Naw. I’m in Atlanta. Still, it’s a shock: Lowe.”

  She agreed. “It’s a shock.” Ms. Felton lowered her voice. “They say somebody killed him.”

  Dally went into mother mode. “Oh, Lydia must be beside herself. Is she out there at the house, do you know?”

  Ms. Felton nodded, but she didn’t make eye contact. “I believe she’d probably be at home, but I don’t really know.”

  Dally looked out the window. “How do I get there from here, I’m all turned around. It’s, what — north on ...”

  Ms. Felton nodded again. “... Main till you get to Peoples, then, you know, right on Habersham.”

  “That’s right. Well.” She stood. “I’m Dalliance, and this is my associate, Mr. Tucker. He may be following up for me on the real estate and money details, but I think I need to see if Lydia’s all right before I can concentrate on anything else. You understand.”

  She understood. “You go right ahead. I’ll ... check with Jimmy.” And she gave the guy we’d just spoken to a little look. What she’d check I had no idea.

  We waved good-bye and were out the door so quick that the heat of the day took my breath away. “Well, that was weird. And, if I may say so, that’s some pretty good bluffing for an amateur.”

  She patted my arm. “Not really a bluff. For one thing, the rich always live north.”

  “Still — must have been a pretty impressive amount in the account to make young Jimmy that nervous. I think he felt you were connected.”

  She shrugged. “Money talks.”

  “No it doesn’t. It just bullies people around.”

  She wasn’t buying. “Whatever. It gets the job done.”

  “But it’s rude.”

  “What do you care?”

  I opened her car door for her. “I’m polite. I don’t like to see any sort of rude behavior. It worries me.”

  16 - Impatiens

  We headed in a northerly direction. I didn’t remotely expect to find Lydia at home in her palatial estate, but Dally loves to look over the playpens of the idle rich. Habersham Drive was no trouble to find; Number One Habersham was even easier: had a big sign in Deco lettering over the gate.

  We turned in; up the long, tree-lined drive. A guy in very nice casual dress, with a drink in his hand, met us outside the front door. Before the motor was off, he was sticking his other hand in to shake with Dally.

  “You must be Dalliance Oglethorpe.”

  Dally was cordial enough. “I must be. This is my associate, Flap Tucker.”

  The casual guy was very glad to meet me too. “Ms. Felton phoned to say you were on your way. We’ve been worried sick about Lydia.”

  I got out of the passenger side without any help from the casual guy, but Dally wasn’t so lucky. He was all over her: opening her door, squiring her elbow, all manner of very Southern Gentlemanly Behavior. It was okay by me, but she felt a little hemmed in by it, I could tell.

  I spoke up. “Ms. Felton just called you?”

  He waved his drink a little carelessly. “To let us know you were on the way.”

  Dally took a polite step away from him. “So is she in? Lydia?”

  The casual guy seemed confused. “In? What do you mean ... here?” He blinked like he was trying to understand another language. “No.” He took a quick glance to the house. “We thought you knew where she was. Aren’t you the detectives from Atlanta?”

  So much for any further bluffing. I piped up again. “I’m a licensed private investigator. Ms. Oglethorpe is a businessperson. She’s a proprietress.”

  He was still confused. “You mean that rigamarol about a new nightclub on River Street — that’s true?”

  She nodded. “You bet.”

  “And you don’t know where Lydia is?”

  “Nope.”

  He was getting funnier. “And you actually thought she was here?”

  I had to chime in. “Could we take all this from the top? We didn’t think she was here, but we’ve got to check everything. Plus, we could use a little information from the parents.”

  It took him a second, but he relaxed. “Of course. Would you come in?”

  The house was big and white and old, with a staircase in the entrance room big enough for Rhett to ride a brace of Tennessee Walkers up and down all day long. Everything looked like it was meant as a set piece, not a real thing. That’s the way a lot of rich people like it: like nobody really lived there.

  The place was also lousy with portraiture, mostly relatives, by the titles, but without a trace of family resemblance to one another. I took a shine to one just above the staircase underpass. It was of a young, blond, winsome woman, once again vaguely familiar; as far as I could tell something roughly like the face I’d seen in the newspaper photo at June’s bar.

  I took a shot. “That’s Lydia?”

  The casual guy had to look to make sure. “No. It’s an antique, but it does look like her, doesn’t it? Quite the belle. I think it was painted by Winslow Homer.”

  I wasn’t impressed. “Homer didn’t do portraits.”

  He misunderstood. “I’m not that fond of it either.”

  We followed him into the kitchen. There was a woman around his age sitting at the breakfast table. She was in a crisp striped shirt and white, white slacks. The room looked out some pretty impressive French doors that opened onto a patio, and the outside was wild with impatiens. Now there’s a flower: grows in the shade; blooms like crazy; reseeds itself if you let it, and the winter’s not too rough.

  I couldn’t resist. “Nice spread of impatiens.”

  She didn’t even look. “All volunteers. We think they were planted at the turn of the century originally.” They were huge, mostly purple.

  The casual guy was a little less than patient himself. “This is my wife, Eugenia.”

  I nodded. “Flap Tucker.”

  She nodded right back. “Where’s Lydia?”

  I liked that: right to the point. “Do you think she might be on Tybee?”

  They didn’t agree, I could tell. Eugenia was very clear. “She wouldn’t go back there.”

  Her husband was still interested, at least. “What makes you think that she’s there?”

  I shrugged. “A hunch.”

  He looked at his wife. “But they also thought she might be here.”

  The wife got a laugh out of that. “So you don’t really know anything?”

  I looked at the tabletop. “May I sit?”

  She tossed her right hand; I took it as assent, and grabbed a chair. “Ms. Habersham, I’ve been doing this kind of work for a great many years now. I don’t feel a need to tell you my life story, but I know what I’m doing. Whenever I look for something, I find it. It’s just that simple. Right now I’m only looking for your daughter in order to find some other people. When, and I say when I find her, she may want to get lost again. Happens that way sometimes. If she killed her husband, that’s nei
ther here nor there to me. All I’m asked to do is find two boys from Beautiful. They’re here in Savannah, or out on Tybee, because of your daughter. They want to help her. Once I find the boys, I tell their daddy where they are. Then I’m done. So I’m only looking for Lydia because she’s hooked up with the Turner twins. Okay?”

  That was end of my speech. It seemed to make Mrs. Habersham feel better, somehow. But the Mister was a little different. He wanted more.

  “If you find Lydia, you’ll bring her to us.”

  I looked out at the impatiens. “Not if she doesn’t care to come.”

  He set his drink down on the table a little louder than he needed to. “I’m not suggesting that she’d have an option.”

  Dally stepped in. “We thought we were bein’ pretty cool with everybody. How’d you know we were ‘the detectives from Atlanta’?”

  Mr. Habersham didn’t look at Dally, but he finally answered her. “Ms. Felton and ...”

  Mrs. Habersham filled in. “... Jimmy ...”

  He went on. “... from the bank ... they’re not as stupid as you might think. And they have Caller ID. They knew the supposed call from Lydia and somebody at the marina had actually come from the DeSoto. They just called back and checked your room and found out your names. They were also a little suspicious about Ms. Oglethorpe’s ... business plan.” He finally looked at her. “You’re not really going to build a new nightclub on River Street.”

  Dally just smiled. “It’ll be done by Christmas ... St. Patrick’s Day at the latest.” She can be as tough as she wants to be.

  He turned back to me. “Then there was the earlier call from June over at the DeSoto Lounge. She’s a great friend of Lydia’s. She wanted to let us know that Mr. Tucker was on the job. She doesn’t care for us much. She wanted us to know she knew more about our daughter than we did. She thinks you’ll find her — I don’t know why.” He gathered his thoughts. I was pretty sure he’d been drinking all day. “I think that brings us up to date, more or less. Now, shall we discuss the terms of your employment?”

  I adjusted my chair. “I already have a client. Not to mention that the police in Tifton feel I’m already getting in their way. I can’t do what ten people tell me to do.”