Lethal in Old Lace
Page 3
“It’s not my fault,” I said as Mamma blinked her eyes open. “I’ve thought about this body thing too, and the way I see it, it’s all Hollis’s fault. When he divorced me, that took one lifeless piece of crud out of my life, and now the fates feel they have to fill the void by sending in a bunch more. You’ve got to admit I only find the bodies of nasty people who’ve got it coming. These dead guys are taking Hollis’s place, and you know as well as I do this body situation started with Hollis and Cupcake and my favorite pink chiffon dress that she got her mitts on.”
“Not the best excuse I’ve ever heard, but it’ll have to do for now till we figure out something else to tell people.” Mamma tramped to the back door, snagged her really nice pocketbook off the counter, and fluffed her hair in the little mirror with a gilt edge. “We got work to do and it can’t wait.”
“Window shopping for wedding dresses?”
“I finally get you on the verge of being married off to a fine man while you’re still of breeding age and I’m aiming to protect my grandbabies like any decent grandmother would. That means we’re finding the body that has you in a tizzy, putting an end to this particular event right quick, and concentrating on the important things of life.”
“Breeding?”
“And your time’s fading fast in that department, so don’t just stand there.” Mamma gave me the “I have spoken” look that no lawyer or daughter would dare argue with. She shouldered her purse and opened the door. “Forward march!”
And I did. Not that I thought the b word was a bad idea; I just hadn’t thought about it, period, having been engaged only a few hours. Obviously Mamma had thought about the b word a lot and nothing was getting in the way.
A woman on a mission, Mamma followed me across the moonlit path lined with big white gardenias, jasmine, pink lilacs, and roses. A budding magnolia flanked the white clapboard garage to one side, a huge crimson crepe myrtle on the other. Next month they would be ablaze with flowers, the whole garden like something out of a Van Gogh painting except for the right side of the yard where Mamma had run off the drive and into the grass a few times. And then there was the daffodil bed she’d taken out last fall along with the birdbath. The rock wall was streaked with various colors from various cars, the whole thing listing precariously to the right.
Mamma was a great judge of everything but distance. The bad news was that her insurance was through the roof and people dove for cover when they spotted her coming. The good news was that she always had a new car to sport around, even if it did have a few dings here and there.
“So where are we headed to locate this dead person?” Mamma asked as she propelled her black Buick (which looked a little too much like a hearse to suit my taste) down Whittaker.
Getting Mamma involved in a body hunt was just like getting Boone involved. They were officers of the court, upholders of the law. They’d taken oaths and given their word to do the right thing, and if something was wrong, they pretty much had to call the cops. I, on the other hand, could snoop around, and it didn’t matter as long as I didn’t get caught. What I needed now was to keep Mamma uninvolved. I had to come up with a dead-body story quick to explain away my twitchy eye and hair flipping to Mamma; then I could go hunt for the Caddy on my own.
“Actually,” I said as we tooled along. “I was at Willie Fishbine’s wake, and I wanted to visit the Abbott sisters this evening to tell them what a great job they did with his big farewell sendoff. They were fretting because Willie’s turnout was so light.”
Mamma scrunched her forehead. “This dead body you’re fretting over is Willie Fishbine? The same Willie Fishbine who chased you out of his yard with a shotgun when you cut across his grass? And you were dropping in on the Abbott sisters at this hour to tell them what a great job they did in sending him off to that great NRA meeting in the sky? Why in the world did you even go to his wake in the first place?”
“The sisters were feeling insecure about their low attendance.” Counting on the Summerside addiction for all things sweet and delicious, I added, “And Annie Fritz baked a cake, red velvet with chocolate icing, and it probably has a big red cherry right there in the middle. I thought I could stop in for a slice, and now you can come with me. Great idea, huh?”
“Cake?”
“With cream cheese icing.”
Mamma gripped the steering wheel, a glint in her eyes. She took a hard right onto Gwinnett, squealed into the sisters’ drive, and was out of the car and ringing the bell before I even unbuckled my seat belt. Never underestimate the power of a Conquistador sandwich or the Summerside sweet tooth.
“Well, now, this is sure an unexpected … uh … pleasure,” Annie Fritz stammered to Mamma while I climbed the wooden steps.
“Sister,” Annie Fritz yelled over her shoulder. “Judge Summerside and Reagan are right here on our porch, of all places. What do you think of that? Best get yourself presentable, if you know what I mean.”
“I do apologize for calling at this ungodly hour,” Mamma gushed to Annie Fritz, who was ready for bed in her blue terry cloth robe and bunny slippers with little pink eyes. “But everyone’s talking about what a lovely performance you and Elsie gave at Willie Fishbine’s wake, and Reagan and I thought you should know just how much it’s appreciated.”
“It’s after nine.”
“These things are important to the community. Give us all a sense of peace and security that we’ll be sent off to meet our maker with dignity and respect.” Mamma reached in her purse and plucked out a half-full container of orange Tic Tacs. She handed them over to Annie Fritz. No Southern lady worth her pearls would ever come a-calling without a hostess gift, and some were clearly better than others.
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy these, and, my goodness, is that cake I smell?” Mamma jutted her head into the doorway. “I sure could do with a nice slice of cake.”
Just as no Southern lady would ever come calling empty-handed, neither would she turn away a visitor at the door, no matter what the hour. That might suggest her house wasn’t completely up to snuff twenty-four/seven, and God forbid a Southern gal would have that hanging over her head. Annie Fritz forced a grin. “Cake?”
“And everyone knows yours is so special; best in Savannah.” Was that a drop of drool in the corner of Mamma’s mouth?
Annie Fritz shifted her weight from one foot to the other then stood aside, letting us into the hallway with daisy-flowered wallpaper and a brass umbrella stand in the corner. She shuffled across the original pine floor and into the parlor awash in blues, reds, and pinks from the glass lamp in the front window that was lit every night like clockwork.
Mamma followed and I trailed behind, then veered off toward the kitchen. I was sure Mamma would never miss me with red velvet on the brain, and if Elsie found me lurking about, I’d say I was going for a glass of water. This was all part of my great two-for-one plan to satisfy Mamma and see if, since the Caddy was not in the alley, it just might be in the sisters’ driveway.
I knew Annie and Elsie Fritz’s kitchen as well as my own, and theirs was a whole lot better. They had food. I made my way past the white vintage fridge with the coils on top humming away and rounded the oak table sporting a vase of daffodils sitting on a white crochet doily. A collection of wooden spoons, rolling pins, and bowls sat on a shelf over the white enamel stove with six gas burners, two warmers, and huge ovens. Oatmeal raisin cookies cooled on a wire rack. Oatmeal raisin were not as good as the cake sitting on the counter but a darn good second choice, and swiping cookies was a heck of a lot easier to get away with. I snagged two and rearranged the pile so there wasn’t a gaping telltale hole, took a bite, and spotted a stack of bills on the end of the counter with “OVERDUE” stamped in big red letters.
It wasn’t like the sisters to have overdue bills. They were responsible and thrifty and probably had an okay pension from teaching besides the Woeful Weeping business. Then again, Annie Fritz had worn party shoes to Willie’s funeral and had mentioned bourbon balls, l
imoncello, and getting swindled. Swindled out of how much?
I held the screen door so it wouldn’t slam, clamped the second cookie between my teeth, then rooted my flashlight from Old Yeller. Flipping it on, I slunk across the yard, leaving a trail of crumbs in my wake. A stone bench sat under a flowering purple lilac that smelled like heaven on earth, and the tips of newly planted veggies already peeked through the soil. A hose, shovel, and overturned wheelbarrow sat off to the side. A wire fence surrounded the whole patch to keep out rabbits, opossums, and—
“Reagan,” came that all-too-familiar voice. “What in blazes are you doing out here this time of night?”
Chapter Three
“Me? What are you doing here?” I stage-whispered to Auntie KiKi, who was dolled up in a pink robe with matching rollers and face cream. She looked like a strawberry smoothie with eyes. “This is the second time tonight you’ve snuck up on me.”
“I’m not sneaking; you’re just not paying attention, and I saw Gloria’s hearse parked in front,” KiKi whispered back. “Then a flashlight started darting around down here, and I figured it had to be you. What are you up to now? You should be in your house cuddled up all romantic-like with your honey.”
I jabbed my finger at the white Caddy sitting in the drive. “I thought you said it was in the repair shop. When I went to see Boone, I found it parked in an alley, and I saw a body in the back. I didn’t get a good look because a rat and a roach ganged up on me. When I went back to the alley with Boone, the Caddy was gone. Go take a look inside.”
“For?”
“The body!”
“Me?”
“Think of it as my engagement present.”
“How about I give you a deviled egg plate instead?”
I handed off the flashlight and KiKi bunched up her robe, muttering something about family being a total pain in the backside. She pranced across the damp grass, the triangle of light showing the way. I held my breath as she cupped her hand to the window. “Nothing in here except a box of tissues, a pink pillow with tassels so Elsie can see over the steering wheel, and the plastic Jesus on the dash. Well, my goodness, will you look at that, he glows in the dark. Do you think that means something?”
I joined KiKi by the car. “Maybe they stashed the body out here somewhere.”
I picked up a stick and started pushing back the greenery surrounding the house. KiKi commandeered my stick and tossed it into my yard. “There’s no one out here except us, and we should take it as a sign that this is none of our business and forget about this whole thing.”
I parked my hands on my hips. “You don’t believe I saw a body?”
“Oh, honey, that’s the problem, I do believe it with my whole heart, but it’s gone now, and I say for once we go with ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ If there’s no body, we don’t have to think about who and why and how and get into trouble. We can concentrate on your wedding and be normal. Remember what normal feels like?” She pointed a stiff finger toward my house. “You need sleep, and I need to be getting home before your Uncle Putter finishes up that DVD he’s been watching on 18 Ways to Throw Your Golf Club and starts wondering where I am. I tell you, men and golf are like a religion around here. Just put golf in the title and they believe. See, that’s what I mean by normal—least in Savannah it is. Let’s give it a try.”
“You want to take up golf?”
“I want to take up anything that doesn’t reference the word croaked.” KiKi headed off into the night, cutting through my backyard and then on to hers so as not to be seen out front in her robe and face cream. For the moment, I had no comeback for the “out of sight, out of mind” philosophy, so I headed for Mamma’s car to leave a note saying I was tucked safely in bed and I’d see her tomorrow. A text message would have been easier except for the little fact that my present state of financial distress didn’t allow for such things as a cell phone.
I headed up my sidewalk past the adorable white Prissy Fox sign surrounded by daffodils I’d planted the previous fall. Mamma had had the sign made when I opened the Fox, and I thought of her every time I walked past it. Frogs sang their spring song of “come and get it, big boy,” crickets chirped, and an owl hooted in the distance. It would have been a perfect night if there hadn’t been a dead body out there somewhere. Deep in my bones, I just knew it was waiting to scare the crap out of me again.
The light was on in the bay window I used for displays. I really needed to get rid of that denim skirt on Gwendolyn, my beloved mannequin, and get her spiffed up in a floral garden party dress. I could add the straw purse and pink floral scarf that had just come in, and—who the heck was that sitting next to Gwendolyn? Another mannequin? But there was only one that I’d fished out of the trash over on Broughton. This other mannequin was a lady in a blue cotton dress with a matching hat perched on a tangle of gray curls. She was propped against the wall with a red purse in her lap. I unlocked the door, the scent of cinnamon and maybe cloves hitting me as I crept inside the house, the place quiet as a tomb. Did I have to think the word tomb, and why did it smell like baking in here? “Hello?” I called from behind the two figures, hoping one would answer.
Normally I had BW with me to make things like this less scary. Not that he was much of a watchdog; BW was more of a comfort dog. He was someone I got into trouble with and things didn’t seem so bad because there were two of us freaking out. I nudged the sitting mannequin with the tip of my shoe and she slumped forward, hat toppling off, landing on her bony knees. I smacked my hand over my mouth to squelch a scream, because no matter what the occasion—even dead people in the front window—Summersides did not scream. A ladylike Southern belle gasp might escape now and then if the Atlanta Falcons were winning, but that was it.
Taking two steps back, I flattened myself against the windowpane like a squashed spider. Why would the sisters put a dead person in my window—and it had to have been them because the place smelled like fresh-baked cookies and the little old lady had been in their car. I mean, how many dead little old ladies were on the loose in Savannah tonight? With my luck, it was probably best not to think too hard on that particular question.
I couldn’t knock on the sisters’ door to find out what was going on, not with Mamma inside visiting. It was that upholder-of-the-law thing again, and questions like “Hey, why was there a corpse in your car?” and “How’d it get in my display window?” and “Thanks for the spices because decaying bodies really stink” would get Mamma involved and she’d have to call the cops. I didn’t want the sisters to get mixed up with the cops until I got this straightened out. They weren’t killers, but the law enforcement officers might not be in a mood to take my word for it.
In a time of crisis and need for moral support, there was only one person to call. Batman was my first choice, but the second choice lived closer and did a mean cha-cha. I closed the door behind me and sprinted across my yard to Auntie KiKi’s. I let myself through the wrought iron gate with a rose woven into the pattern, the one that gave the house the name Rose Gate. I got the key from under the mat. With Mamma having been a single parent since I was two thanks to Daddy boar hunting with friends and a bottle of Johnny Walker Red, I’d spent as much time with KiKi and Uncle Putter as I had at my own house.
Not needing a light, I meandered through the kitchen till I spotted two green eyes peering at me from the kitchen table. Either the bananas had taken on a life of their own or Princess the cat—who morphed into Princess the Hellion when I was around—had me in her sights. I was bigger, had opposable thumbs, and should be in charge. On the other hand, Hellion possessed claws and the attitude of Darth Vader.
“Eat dirt and die, you mean ornery hairball,” I soothed as I inched my way to the fridge. I pulled it open, found leftover fried chicken, and snapped up a drumstick. I took a bite because no one did chicken better than Auntie KiKi, and I hoped Hellion felt the same way. I tossed the leg onto the table, Hellion dove for it, and I scampered off to the living room and headed for the ste
ps. I stopped on the fourth one as it creaked under my foot. There was no need to go any farther because in about three seconds … two … one …
“Who’s down there?” KiKi called from the landing, Uncle Putter’s golf club clutched firmly in her left hand. It looked like the four iron.
“It’s the boogeyman,” I stage-whispered. “The dead body’s back. What should we do now?”
“We?”
I grabbed KiKi’s hand and hustled her down the steps and out the front door. “It’s a woman and she’s old.”
“Something you’re not going to be if you keep dragging me around like this.”
“And she has a blue dress and her hat fell off, but what was she doing in the sisters’ Caddy and now in my house?” I babbled as we crossed our front yards, me not caring who saw KiKi in her pink robe. I stopped on my sidewalk and jabbed my finger at the window. “See?”
“See what?”
“On the floor next to…” I blinked, then blinked two more times. “She was there. I swear it.”
“Yeah, but she’s not there now, so the ‘out of mind’ theory is still in effect, and about that sleep I mentioned before—for crying in a bucket, Reagan, do us all a great big favor and get some!”
St. John’s Church chimed out eight AM as I pounded on the back door of the sisters’ house. In spite of Auntie KiKi’s “out of sight and mind” philosophy, I had to get some info on the resident dead-lady situation. For sure she’d reappear, the police would get involved, and with a little bad luck the Abbott sisters could be decked out in jailhouse orange before the Fourth of July.