Love and Murder in Savannah

by Harper Lin

  “Obviously until almost sunrise,” Becky replied.

  “Do you know how awkward that was? Cousin Mavis has those warts. And Ginny Lynn has that eye that goes off on its own. It was horrible. Mother kept giving me dirty looks just for telling the truth.” Martha sighed. “I’m exhausted.”

  “Do they have any idea who might have done it?” Becky leaned forward.

  “If they do, they didn’t say anything to us. They crossed half of us off their list because we were occupied while it was committed. But that still leaves about a dozen blokes. I sure hope they corner whoever it was quickly.” Martha looked down and pointed. “What happened to your stockings? You get jumped on the way here?”

  “I wish. No. So I’m guessing you aren’t interested in coming with me into town?” Becky hoped her friend had a little left in the tank.

  “Normally I’d love a chance to get away, but I’m too tired. Plus, one thing I know about the people in this Southern paradise is that they love some good gossip. I’m used to being the one spreading it, Becky, not the topic of it.” She frowned, her eyes filling with tears.

  “It’ll be fine, Martha. You know in a week or two someone will do something much more scandalous than this, and you’ll be all but forgotten,” she said soothingly. “Why, I can just hear it now. That Martha Boudreaux thought she had it bad with a man being murdered at her twenty-first birthday party. Not compared to so-and-so who is going to have so-and-so’s baby out of wedlock while so-and-so’s mother is in the nut house and their father is in the nearest gutter.”

  “You sure do know how to make a girl feel good.” Martha wrinkled her nose. “Besides, I promised Mother I’d help her clean up. Thankfully the police didn’t notice the gin in the bathtub.”

  “Don’t kid yourself. They did. And if I know your father, he offered them a snort or two that they gladly accepted.” Becky sniffed and straightened her back. “You don’t think those coppers have red noses because of the cold temperatures.”

  “You are probably right.”

  “I know I am.” Becky smiled as she stood up and extended her hands to help Martha out of the swing. “And I’m in no hurry, so I’ll help you clean up.”

  “Oh, I was hoping you’d say that. I’m just dreading going into the house and into the hallway by the study where the body was.” Martha clicked her tongue. “I only invited Lawrence because he was Pete’s friend. I didn’t know him all that well, but he seemed nice enough. A little grabby at times, but I’ve been guilty of that too.”

  In a short time, Becky swept what seemed like fifty pounds of streamers, confetti, bits of broken glass, and cigarette ashes into a pile just outside the back door.

  “You are a good friend, Becky!” Leona Boudreaux, Martha’s mother, exclaimed. “This whole incident has got me so worried about my baby girl.” She stroked Martha’s hair, making Martha roll her eyes.

  “Mother, you do carry on.”

  “Just you wait until you have children of your own. Then you’ll understand the continuous apprehension I’ve felt since the day I brought you home from the hospital. My beautiful baby girl.”

  Leona was a thin woman who often acted the damsel in distress around her children. However, Becky had witnessed on one occasion when Leona had lost her temper with a foul-mouthed rummy down on Baker Street.

  Leona had taken the girls out for ice cream on a hot summer day when they were just at that awkward stage of leaving childhood and becoming young ladies. Ice cream was still good, but walking with Mother holding their hands was not.

  So, Leona walked a few paces in front of the girls, far enough to let the feeling of independence wash over them but close enough to hear them talking, when a man stumbled out from an alley and made the kind of remark only a drunk would dare say to a lady. And Leona Boudreaux was a lady. Her brown hair was swept neatly from her face. Her dress was stylish and impeccably pressed, and the seams in her stockings were as straight as arrows.

  What that man said, Becky didn’t know. But it made Leona gasp, stare in disbelief, then haul off and slap sobriety right into the fellow. He staggered back, lost his footing, and landed solidly on his rump.

  “You’ll get worse than that if you ever speak like that to me again!” she shouted as she adjusted her skirt, then she patted her hair in place, took the girls by the hands, and stomped off, muttering the whole way about the sad state of chivalry.

  When it came to Martha, she doted on her. But Martha knew better than to ever intentionally upset her. Like Becky, Martha didn’t just love her mother but respected her as the woman of the house. Of course, she still rolled her eyes at the woman when she got all wishy-washy.

  As Martha and her mother stacked the dozens of empty glasses on silver trays and handed them to Penelope in the kitchen, Becky strolled slowly and carefully down the hallway where the body was found.

  There was still a trace of blood on the floor where Lawrence Hoolihan had fallen. Becky crouched down and studied the stain. Just then, a chill raced down her spine, and she heard a voice.

  “I didn’t know.”

  Becky immediately stood up and looked around. She was the only one in this part of the house. Mr. Boudreaux was outside still. No other men were in the vicinity, but she was sure the voice was male. Swallowing what felt like dust in her mouth, Becky stepped over the threshold between the hallway and the vestibule that led to the parlor.

  Just a few hours ago, there had been a folding table right there and a couple of gents playing poker. People had danced all around them. How could someone have killed a man without being noticed? As Becky walked around, she spotted something on the floor between one of Leona’s lovely display cabinets and a bookshelf. It was one of the playing cards with the devilish face on it.

  “How did this get here?” Becky asked. Were the card to fall from someone’s pocket or from their hand, they would have had to hide between these two pieces of furniture. The culprit would have been standing there waiting to ambush poor Lawrence.

  Before anyone noticed her, she tucked the card into her brassiere. For a second, it felt like it would freeze her skin. But as quickly as it chilled her, the cold receded, and she went about finishing her sweeping, keeping her thoughts to herself.

  “Well, Becky, I’m sure your mama needs you at home to entertain Fanny,” Leona said, making Martha chuckle as she stood behind and to the left of her mother. “You two gals don’t be strangers. Martha is in need of a nap, but she’ll be as right as rain come evening time. You come back, and I’ll have some sweet tea or lemonade for you both.”

  “That sounds real nice, Miss Leona. I can’t promise, but we will do our best to stop back.” Becky ground her teeth as she watched Martha giggling.

  Leona nodded and left the room to check on Penelope and the other servants as they were polishing the silver, washing and drying the dishes, and preparing lunch.

  “You be sure to bring Fanny back now,” Martha tittered as she slipped her arm through Becky’s, linking them at the elbow.

  “You don’t ever want me to come back, do you?” Becky shook her head.

  “Of course I do.” Martha squeezed her arm. “How are things with Fanny so far? Are they what you expected?”

  “Worse. And she’s taken a shine to Teddy.”

  “She has?” Suddenly Martha had something else to worry about. “Is Teddy interested?”

  Becky could hear the nervousness in Martha’s voice. Fanny had all the right parts in all the right places. Worse, she knew it too. Rare or blind was the man who didn’t pay any attention to her when she walked into a room.

  “You know Teddy. He flirts with anything in a skirt.” Becky tried to squash Martha’s worries. “Besides, she isn’t staying here. She’s just here for a couple of months. Less if I have any say in it.”

  Martha took a deep breath and looked out the front door.

  “Don’t worry,” Becky insisted. “You are every bit as pretty as Fanny and better than that, you’ve got a sense of humor. I w
ouldn’t worry about Teddy if I were you.”

  “Well, why would I? It isn’t like he has made any commitment to me officially.” She rolled her eyes. “Besides, I’m the talk of the town. People are just dying to come to my parties.”

  “Truer words were never spoken.” Becky kissed Martha on the cheek and promised to try to come back for a visit with Teddy—without Fanny. But if Kitty had any say in it, Becky and Fanny would be joined at the hip from now on, especially since Becky had snuck out of her home this morning.

  Once she was back in Teddy’s car, Becky didn’t feel like going home. The last thing she wanted to hear was a lecture on how bad her manners were. So, seeing that it was only a little before eleven, she decided to head off for downtown Savannah.

  Part of her was ready to do a little shopping. But another part of her, the part that was really making the decision, wanted to see the apothecary Madame Cecelia had recommended. Perhaps there would be time to see Madame Cecelia too.

  Chapter Eleven

  Savannah was bustling. Becky always felt a thrill of excitement when she made it into town. Ladies hurried along, carrying their parcels. Handsome gents tipped their hats to her as she drove by in Teddy’s car.

  The address of the apothecary Madame Cecelia had given was on the fringe of the bustling downtown area. It wasn’t what most people considered a good neighborhood, but Becky had been to worse just to go dancing and have a drink. She pulled the car up in front of the display window and squinted to see inside. An awful glare on the window prevented her from seeing anything. After a yank of the parking brake, she shut off the car, climbed out, and approached the front door. It looked as if no one had entered through the front door in years. But the window advertised a cheery Open sign.

  Before swallowing hard, Becky looked around. No one was paying any attention to her. And much to her surprise, no one was talking about Martha’s birthday party. A shiver ran up her spine as she took hold of the handle, pulled the lever down with her thumb, and gave the door a push.

  An angelic tinkling of bells sounded her arrival as she stepped into the store. It was dimly lit and smelled strongly of candles and incense that reminded Becky of church. As she walked down the main aisle, on each side of her stood a glass display case that stretched throughout the length of the store. Inside the display cases were exotic boxes of candy, scarves in bright colors, and tiny dishes with bizarre designs painted on them. There were beautiful pieces of jewelry like what Madame Cecelia had been wearing and delicate lace gloves, fans, and kerchiefs. But then Becky’s eye was caught by a series of small pocket-sized books with titles like Communications with the Dead and The Tarot.

  “Can I help you?”

  The scratchy voice made Becky jump. She snapped her head in the direction the voice came from. Sitting there behind the counter was an old woman wearing a black dress with a black shawl and a black mantilla draped over her head. One of her eyes was white with cataracts.

  “Oh, uh, I’m just looking. Thank you,” Becky said politely. She felt herself staring at the blind eye and quickly looked down, pretending to study the sharp, daggerlike envelope openers in the case. One had a lovely silver handle in the shape of a peacock.

  Feeling the old woman’s one good eye on her, Becky proceeded to quickly admire the remaining things in the display case, working her way back toward the door. But before she could reach the door, the woman spoke again.

  “You have to come back.”

  “What?” Becky snapped, feeling nervous.

  “You have to come back.” The old woman practically floated in Becky’s direction. She didn’t hear her footsteps or see the folds of her black dress move with her strides. “The spirits like you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Becky tried to smile. That white eye bored into her.

  “Of course you do… Rebecca.”

  “How do you know my name?” Just as Becky was about to dash out of the store, the little bells tinkled again. She whirled her head around, prepared to see a monster, a demon, a specter, but let out a loud gasp when she recognized Madame Cecelia.

  “Mother, are you scaring the poor girl?”

  Becky turned to see the old woman’s face change from a threatening witch with ill intentions to a mischievous grandma type.

  “What’s going on?” Becky huffed. “I don’t like people playing tricks on me.”

  “Believe me, Becky, had I known my mother was going to act this way, I would have met you down here myself. Mother, you owe Miss Becky an apology.”

  The old woman cackled with glee, waved her hand at Becky as if she couldn’t be bothered, and went back to her perch where she’d been sitting when Becky first arrived.

  “Don’t mind her.” Madame Cecelia shook her head. “My only worry about my mother is that when she dies, she’s going to come back as a poltergeist and torment me even more than she does now.”

  “What’s a poltergeist?” Becky asked.

  “We’ll have plenty of time to discuss that. Would you like some coffee?” Becky remembered the deep, rich smell of Lucretia’s coffee, and it dawned on her she hadn’t had a drop.

  “I would. Thank you,” Becky said while squinting at Madame Cecelia, then she looked over her shoulder to her mother. “Is she coming?”

  “You’re very funny, Rebecca Madeline Mackenzie. Follow me.” Madame Cecelia pulled the door to the drug store open and stepped outside. Becky followed her just a couple of steps to a heavy door with the numbers 784 ½ above it. There was something about addresses that included ½ that Becky always found intriguing. It was like they were mysteriously slipped in somehow.

  “How do you know my whole name? Did Martha tell you?” Becky was still skeptical.

  “No. Mr. Wilcox did,” Madame Cecelia replied as she opened the other door and stepped inside, pointing Becky to a flight of stairs. “It’s the first door on the left. Go on in.”

  Carefully and with her hand firmly on the banister, Becky went up the stairs. This place also smelled of incense and candles. When she reached the door, she took hold of the doorknob, and a shiver ran over her body from head to toe. Suddenly she felt light-headed and was afraid she was going to faint and fall backward down the stairs.

  “Becky? Are you all right?” She heard Madame Cecelia’s voice, but it was muffled, like Becky had cotton stuffed in her ears. When Becky turned, the entire hallway tilted, and she held onto the doorknob as if she might be tipped over if she didn’t.

  “My goodness. This is not what I expected at all. Mother!” Madame Cecelia shouted before rushing up to Becky and slipping her arm around her waist. Within seconds Becky saw the black form of Madame Cecelia’s mother at the bottom of the stairs. As quick as a whip, she was at her side, her face contorted with worry, her blind eye softer than it had been. And it was the last thing she saw before everything went black.

  When her eyes popped open, the first thing Becky saw was a rainbow of light from the most elegant Tiffany lamp she’d ever seen.

  “She’s got a severe case of the heebie-jeebies,” she heard Madame Cecelia say. “I don’t know if it was a good idea having her come here. Maybe I should have gone to her house.”

  “Too late now,” the old woman muttered.

  “What happened?” Becky sat up quickly, almost making her head swim again.

  “Just relax,” Madame Cecelia’s mother said as she shuffled over to Becky’s side. “We have a large family. We didn’t expect them to rush you like they did.”

  “I feel like I’m burning with the blue flame, but I haven’t had a nip since yesterday at Martha’s party.” She looked around the room and only saw Madame Cecelia, who was sitting at a small card table by the window shuffling a deck of cards, and her mother, who was offering Becky a cup of strong black coffee. “Anything in this I should know about?”

  “No,” the old woman replied.

  “Yeah, well, you just said you had a large family crammed in here. I don’t know what kind of racket y
ou two are running, but I’m thinking that maybe the guys in the white coats ought to visit the both of you.” Becky swung her feet off the long sofa she was stretched out on and sat up straight, shaking the dizziness from her head.

  “That’s who greeted you at the door,” Madame Cecelia said as she looked down at her cards. “They can be rather pushy when strangers come by, especially the ones who have been dead for a short amount of time. They have the most to say for some reason.”

  Becky took a sip of the hot coffee and peeked over the lip of the cup, watching Madame Cecelia and her mother’s moves. The hot, bitter liquid was delicious and distracted her from what Madame Cecelia had just said. As soon as the words sank in, the coffee went down the wrong pipe, and she coughed.

  “What?” Becky set the cup down on the end table and cleared her throat.

  “Don’t act surprised,” the old woman scoffed. “My daughter says you can see them. She and I both can. It’s a curse!”

  “It’s not a curse, Mother.” Madame Cecelia rolled her eyes.

  “It is a curse!” The old woman had been sitting in a straight-backed chair next to the couch but pushed herself up and walked over to her daughter. “I didn’t like talking to your Cousin Mimi when she was alive. Now, she plagues me like a swarm of locusts from the grave.”

  “My mother has a flair for the dramatic,” Madame Cecelia said, making her mother harrumph and leave the room, muttering to herself.

  “Look, I appreciate the coffee,” Becky said. “But I really don’t know what you are talking about, and I think Martha has probably embellished any rumors or stories about me that she might have heard. She also has a flair for the dramatic.”

  “Martha never said anything to me. I can see it on you. It’s like a pattern or maybe more like a birthmark.” Madame Cecelia smiled. She was beautiful in the same way Becky’s bedroom wallpaper was beautiful. She was different, unusual, and maybe just the right amount of tacky. But when Becky looked into Madame Cecelia’s clear green eyes, she felt the woman could see more than Becky wanted her to.