Lethal in Old Lace

by Duffy Brown

  I felt Boone’s breath on my neck. “Forget them. I’d like to be up to something.”

  “What do you know about this Dexter guy?”

  Boone exhaled a resigned sigh of not getting any now. “He likes good cigars, Maker’s Mark on the rocks, and nice-looking women. I’ve seen him at Abe’s on Lincoln a few times with some hot babe.”

  That left Arnett out. “Eugenia?”

  “Older, late thirties, looked like money. I didn’t recognize her.”

  Hollis and Dex moseyed on around the corner toward the front of the Pines, and Boone and I stood. I dusted pink azalea petals from my backside and Boone added, “You know, if Dexter is here with Hollis and they’re scoping out the Pines, my guess is that real estate’s involved.”

  “Of course!” I grabbed Boone by the front of his shirt and kissed him hard. “That’s why Hollis was after Mr. Jim to sell the place—he’s got a buyer lined up. Dexter! He probably met Dexter when he came to visit his uncle Foley. Two dirtbags found each other. Mr. Jim doesn’t want to sell, but with all this bad publicity, he might start losing customers and be forced to. Maybe Hollis even caused the bad publicity.”

  “Hollis is a lot of things, most of them not good, but a murderer?”

  “Maybe not on his own, but I ran into his fiancée and she said Hollis was looking for a big deal. Maybe this is it? Maybe she pushed him into it—she’s a pushy kind of person, and thoughts of murder do cross your mind when you’re around her. I’m sure Hollis wants to marry her and get into her daddy’s real estate company, and this would be a big score, showing he’s worthy. Hollis visits his uncle at the Pines, so he knows the layout and the people there. And this Dexter guy wants the Pines bad enough that he’s juggling three women at once, two probably for the money. I don’t have a clue as to why he’s dating Eugenia.”

  “Three at once, huh? I can’t keep up with one.”

  “We need to find out more about Dexter. Maybe he’s a total badass and talked Hollis into knocking off Willie and Bonnie Sue to get the negative publicity going and buy the Pines? Dex and Hollis are here, so Dex isn’t at his office at the Slumber. What say we wander on over to the Slumber and talk to the help and figure out what he’s up to?”

  “I have a meeting at four. Wait an hour and I’ll go with.”

  “Dex could be back by then. I’ll go on my own and … and you got a funny look. What’s this meeting you’re going to all about? Is everything okay?”

  Boone gave me one of his sexy grins, but this time it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “There’s this lawyer–client confidentiality thing and there’s nothing you need to worry about—and don’t go changing the subject. Without me around, you’re not going to be content with asking some questions; more like breaking and entering.”

  “Let’s go with snooping and sneaking.”

  Boone tweaked my nose. “One of these days, sweet stuff, you’re going to get caught with your hand in the cookie jar, so I got you something you might find useful.” He reached into his pocket.

  “You got me a flip phone!” I pried it open.

  “You are now officially on the grid. It cost a buck; I swear that’s what they’re going for these days. I knew you’d have a fit if I bought you an expensive iPhone, but a dollar keeps that independent steak of yours intact, and now we can stay in touch in case that cookie jar thing happens. I even put in some phone numbers like KiKi’s, your mom, Elsie and Annie Fritz, and Big Joey if you get into a real bind and I’m not around. But I’m number one.”

  I gave Boone a kiss and slid the phone into my back pocket. “Now I got junk in my trunk like all the cool kids.” I wiggled my behind. “But to put your mind at ease, number one, there won’t be any problems today. Mercedes is probably at the Slumber, it’s broad daylight, the cat’s away and the mouse will be careful and very quick, Scout’s honor.” I crossed my heart and held up a two-finger salute.

  Boone took off for the house, sunlight glinting in his dark, recently cut hair, no doubt styled but refusing to stay in place. A strand always fell across his forehead, another curling at his left ear. He walked a bit stiffer today, not carefree, not Boone-like at all. Something had him on edge, and it took a lot to get Walker Boone there. My guess it had something to do with this meeting at four.

  Concerned, I headed for my scooter, wondering what to do. I didn’t want to nag, but I didn’t want Boone to think I didn’t have his back. I’d always have his back.

  I scootered off for the Slumber, passing Green Square, named after Revolutionary War hero Nathanael Green. I dodged a group of tourists following a leader wielding a pepto-pink umbrella to keep everyone together, turned left onto Broad, then followed two cars into the Slumber’s parking lot. I had lucked out. There was an early evening wake and I could blend right in with the crowd.

  I parked behind a clump of oleander bushes in case I needed to make a fast, inconspicuous getaway and fluffed my hair from helmet head to trendy—or at least that was the look I hoped for. I tucked in my blouse, tucked Old Yeller under my arm, and joined two funeral-goers trooping in the front door.

  I pretended to sign the “Yep, I’m sorry he’s gone too” book, but instead of seeking out Dennis “Bingo” Mulvane in the Heavenly Pastures slumber room or hitting up the tea table for windmill spice cookies, I hung a left down a hallway marked “Business Offices.”

  “You’re here!” Mercedes gushed, giving me a quick hug. “I was trying to find you and have been calling all over the place. You need a phone, girl.”

  “And I now have a phone.” I held up my flip.

  “Who made it, Fisher Price?” Mercedes grabbed Old Yeller’s strap and yanked me into a room that—thank you, Jesus—was body-free, containing only stainless steel shelves of stuff and a long, empty table. She had on her white do-up-the-dead smock and her forehead was dotted with sweat.

  “Girl, our luck is running out on Willie. I was in Mr. Dexter’s office getting the 411 on my next client due in when Bonaventure Cemetery called. They started to leave a message ’cause he’s out and the secretary and director are busy with the funeral going on out front. When I heard Willie’s name mentioned, I freaked and picked up the phone. Bonaventure wants to know where he is!”

  “I think heaven would be a stretch.”

  “I faked being the secretary this time around, but if they call back we’re doomed and I can kiss my job here good-bye. I told Bonaventure that the family was waiting on a long-lost cousin to come in and pay their respects, but the cousin can only be lost for so long. We got to find who whacked old Willie and get that boy in the ground pronto. How close are you to finding the killer?”

  “How well do you know your boss?”

  “Mr. Pretty-Boy is a suspect?” Mercedes’s eyes shot wide open. “Well, I’ll be; I never saw that one coming. He’s all smiles and slick-dressed, but he has cut me back to using the cheap makeup that turns orange on the dearly departed. And he said to only style the front of their hair these days to cut back on my hours, but I just bet Mr. Dexter’s charging for the premier treatment. And another thing—my last paycheck bounced like a big rubber ball.”

  “Boone and I saw Dexter keeping company with Hollis over at Sleepy Pines, and they were checking out the place. Dexter plus Hollis adds up to a real estate deal with Dexter wanting to buy the Pines and Hollis doing the big-commission happy dance. If Dexter’s having money problems, knocking off two residents would do a lot to drive down the price, and he could get the Pines for a song.”

  “A cane-to-casket operation?”

  “Never thought of it that way, but it fits. Right now all we have on Dexter is guesswork. With him out and about and the secretary and director busy, we can have a look-see on what’s really going on. Where’s his office?”

  “You know, just one time I’d like to meet up with you and we go shoe shopping or do some normal girly thing.” Mercedes stuck her head out the door, then hooked her arm at me in a “Come on!” gesture. We slunk down the hall, past an open
room with a garden mural, fake trees, flowers, and real caskets on display. Some were wood, some gray metal, others copper, all with tops open to blue or white satin lining.

  “Pillows in coffins? They take this eternal rest thing seriously.”

  “Props the head up and holds it in place so it doesn’t go flopping around like a dead fish.”

  “I am so sorry I asked.” I followed Mercedes inside the last door, marked “Private,” late afternoon sun spilling in through a bay window and a door leading to the back parking lot. A blue-and-mauve rug covered polished hardwood floors; a cherry desk sat to one side facing overstuffed club chairs. It was a typical business office except for two caskets against the back wall, top halves open wide exposing white silk and ruffled lace.

  “Okay, Columbo,” Mercedes said to me. “What are we looking for?”

  “Anything that tells us how bad your boss wants the Pines, just how broke he is, or some connection to Willie and Bonnie Sue, and why in all that’s holy does Dex have coffins in his office? You’d think one room of the things was enough.”

  “It’s all about the Benjamins.” Mercedes tapped the dark ebony casket. “This little beauty here is the JFK Original, the other is the Elizabeth Taylor, and both are exact replicas. At these prices, they are not coffins or caskets but eternal rest dwellings. Mr. Dexter makes a bundle off them, and when a customer sees JFK and Lizzy sitting all special here in his office, the other cheapo dwellings in the other room look pretty second-rate. No one wants to bury mamma or dear old granny in second-rate digs.”

  “Celebrity coffins?”

  “This is nothing; you should see the Fairway. It has a green Astroturf interior, golf clubs inlaid on the top, and golf balls on the sides. With this being spring and golfers out in force, there’s not a Fairway to be had in all of Georgia.”

  “You know a lot about this stuff.”

  “Too much.”

  I gave Mercedes a hug. “You’re right, next time it’s shoe shopping and martinis.”

  Mercedes hunkered down and yanked open the bottom desk drawer; I settled into the maroon leather desk chair and flipped up the laptop. I heard papers shuffling and Mercedes said, “Well, we got a thank-you note from Howie Baker saying how nice his wife’s funeral was and how he just got a dog and named him Dexter. Here’s an overdue dentist bill. Sweet heaven, root canals cost the earth; I’m buying myself a new toothbrush today. I got ten copies of that Savannah Sun article featuring Mr. Up-and-Comer—somebody sure does love themselves mightily—a financial report from Elder Planning Industries LLC, and a box of new Slumber brochures. Looks like Dexter’s raising his prices … again.” Mercedes held up the Elder Planning report. “What do you think this is all about?”

  “Eugenia said Dex wanted to grow his company, Southern Way. Maybe this is a model? Dead and getting there is big money these days, and adding the Pines to the Slumber makes sense. You’re having better luck finding stuff than I am. Everything on this laptop is password protected, the sign of a guy with a lot to hide. The only thing I have up here is a blinking light on the desk phone saying there’s a message waiting. You don’t think it’s Bonaventure calling back, do you?”

  “Reagan, honey,” Mercedes said as I handed her back the report. “We got ourselves a body sitting in a Beemer and some kid blackmailing KiKi over a Snickers bar. I’d say anything’s possible at this stage of the game.”

  I picked up the phone and hit speaker, then messages. “Dexter!” the phone barked, making me drop it on the floor. Mercedes and I stared at it as if it were a giant roach. “This is your father. For God’s sake, grow up and be more like your brother. No way am I going to cosign a loan for another one of your harebrained ideas.”

  Mercedes plucked up the phone with two fingers and handed it to me. “Dang. I guess old Dex isn’t everyone’s idea of an up-and-comer, and if the Pines is on Dex’s radar, he’s going to have to do it himself.” She waved a paper from her perch on the floor. “I got a letter here from Savannah Savings and Loan about the Southern Way Company LLC not having sufficient collateral for a loan at this time. I’d say my boss, your suspect, is in a serious financial situation.”

  “And that is exactly why he’s dating Arnett Fishbine.”

  “Woof. Have you seen her latest facelift? I didn’t know she had money. Word is she maxed out her credit cards for her new face and boobs.”

  “Arnett’s financial situation has most dramatically improved recently, and I doubt if Dex gives a flying fig what she looks like. My guess is he’s more interested in the bundle she inherited from her skinflint dad and how to get his hands on some of it.”

  I sat back in the leather chair. “Okay, so we have Dexter in a financial bind and wanting to buy the Pines to grow his business. That gives him motive to knock off Willie and Bonnie Sue to give the Pines a bad name, drive down the price, and persuade Mr. Jim to sell. And just for the record, he’s not only playing Arnett; he’s putting the moves on some hot out-of-town babe and no doubt hitting her up for money too.”

  “Two women at once? That’s risky business.” Mercedes closed the bottom drawer, pried herself off the floor, and sat in the club chair.

  “Try three women; he’s got Eugenia on the string too. I get Dex making up to the rich gals to further his agenda and feather his nest, but then there’s Eugenia, and why her? No money, no connections to speak of. Family name goes back generations but Dex is from Atlanta. Why would he care about an old Savannah family? Dex is all about following the money.”

  “If Dexter is after the Pines, then maybe he’s using Eugenia to persuade Mr. Jim to sell? Like you said, the Pines has been in his family for generations and he’s not likely to part with it easily, that’s for sure. But Eugenia is his only daughter and pretty much gets what she wants.”

  “That’s got to be it! You’re brilliant.”

  Mercedes batted her eyes. “And I’m a fine-looking woman to boot, but the only thing is, Mr. Dexter might have bitten off more than he can chew with Eugenia. I heard she chased her ex down Bull Street with daddy’s Buick when she caught him cheating. Good thing Dex owns this mortuary, ’cause if Eugenia finds out he’s doing the deed with those other gals, he could wind up being his own best customer.”

  A ringtone of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” filled the air and Mercedes slid her phone from her smock pocket. “Duty calls; I’m being summoned to the delivery door. My customer has arrived. COD probably isn’t a reindeer—more like fried chicken, gravy, and butter biscuits—but I couldn’t find a ringtone for that. I’ll keep my ear to the ground for news on my boss, and you need to get out of here too. Mr. Dexter’s Mercedes isn’t in the lot now, but if he finds you snooping, he’ll bury the evidence so deep you’ll never find out what’s happening and he might see fit to bury you right along with it. If he’s knocked off two to get what he wants, what’s one more to add to the list?”

  Mercedes left, the door closing with a soft click, leaving the room eerily quiet, dust motes floating in the afternoon sunlight, JFK and Elizabeth lurking right behind me. The place was beyond creepy. With all the dead bodies invading my life lately, I should be getting used to this funeral stuff, right?

  Wrong! But it wasn’t the dying part that got to me so much as the murder part. People were winding up here at the Slumber before their time. They should be out getting a double-dip spicy mocha cone at Leopold’s or having a strawberry shortcake martini over at Jen’s and Friends instead of lying in lookalike coffins that cost a bundle.

  Giving my snooping abilities one last shot, I typed in “corpse” for the computer password. Then I tried “tombstone” and “six feet under” and had started with “casket” when voices sounded out in the hallway. They got louder. Someone was coming! See, this was my problem, or at least one of them—I never knew when to fold my tent and walk away, or in this case, keep an eye on the parking lot for Dex’s car, which I now saw was there. I always had to press my luck, and my luck had just run out.

  I clo
sed the laptop and darted for the door to the outside. Locked! Dead-bolted and no key? Are you kidding me? Dexter was afraid someone would walk off with Lizzie and Jack? The desk had an open bottom, so there was no hiding there, leaving me with one—make that two—less-than-great … no, make that totally horrible, possibilities.

  The doorknob turned and my mouth went dry. I stood on the leather chair, hitched my leg over the ebony side, hugged Old Yeller to my chest, grabbed a handful of white lace to balance, then slid into the soft white silk. Taking a deep breath, I pulled down the casket lid.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I will not freak out! I will not freak out! I chanted with both eyes closed tight. I finally got the guts to pry one eye open, hoping that the JFK box had a light inside like a car. You know how you close the car door and the light stays on for a bit till you get things going, and since this was a superduper model coffin, why not? But there was no light, not even a glimmer. Black and nothing but black.

  I could hear movement and muted voices. Someone was out there, so I wasn’t alone, I reassured myself. Hey, I wasn’t under dirt, no tombstone on top; I was in an office. Breathe, just breathe! Try diversion. Think of how nice and comfy the silk is, how the pillow holds my head so it doesn’t flop around like a dead fish. And something was ringing? My ears? Oh, right, my phone! And it was loud! I wiggled my hand into my purse and maneuvered the flip to my ear, “Hello,” I whispered.

  “Reagan,” came Boone’s voice. “Why are you whispering? Where are you?”

  See, this is one of the reasons I’d never wanted a phone: anyone could get me anytime. “I’m in a coffin. How’s your day going?”

  The lid flew up, Dexter and Mrs. Jones-Brown staring down at me. Holy mother of pearl, I had a corpse-eye view of what it was like to be dead and at your own wake. “I’ll call you back,” I said to Boone. “I have company.”

  Mrs. Jones-Brown screamed, Dexter screamed, and I joined in because it seemed like the thing to do at the moment. Mrs. Jones-Brown faded backward and I heard a thunk onto the floor. I bolted upright, the casket teetering then tipping over with a loud crash, rolling me out onto the carpet. I snagged Old Yeller and stumbled to my feet.