Lethal in Old Lace

by Duffy Brown

  “If either of them has an ounce of Southern pride, they’re spitting mad.” Auntie KiKi added, “And if I know Eugenia, she’s getting out her daddy’s shotgun right this minute, polishing it up, and aiming for Dexter Thomas. I bet that’s one man who won’t dare show his face around here for a while.”

  The four of us signed the big blue guest book and headed for the Greener Pastures room. Emmitt and Foley stood on one side of the casket with a potted fern between them, and Mr. Jim greeted mourners on the other side. Not that there were many doing the meet-and-greet thing; most seemed interested in the latest talk about the great pizza smackdown, the sisters in jail, and Dexter Thomas playing Eugenia and Arnett and nearly getting away with it.

  “You know Mr. Jim better than me, so I’ll hold down the tea table and catch the talk there.” Boone nodded in that direction. “Let me know what you find out on your end.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Auntie KiKi said to Boone. She patted her big black funeral purse. “Getting through these things requires notable fortification, and I mean more than hymns and a few candles. I brought along some much-needed liquid refreshment. Tallyho.”

  “I think she’s already refreshed,” Boone whispered to me, then followed KiKi.

  Mamma and I headed for Mr. Jim. “It’s nice of you to do this,” I said to him as Mamma took a small detour to chat with Mrs. Jones-Brown beside the casket. No doubt she was checking out more details for the philandering Mr. Jones-Brown. “Was the fern your idea?” I nodded to Emmitt and Foley.

  “I’m thinking a brick wall to separate them would be better. Bonnie Sue didn’t have family and the last place she lived was the Pines, so it’s kind of my duty to see her off. Maybe there will be some peace and quiet at the Pines now.”

  “Now that she and Willie aren’t peddling Spring Chicken vitamins and scamming everyone … like you maybe?”

  “Me?” Mr. Jim’s face reddened, his hands clenching. “The scam gave the Pines a really bad name, pretty much ruined my credit. The place is full of residents now, but what about later on? Who wants to stay where they’re scamming old people?” He leaned close. “I’m mighty glad Bonnie Sue and Willie aren’t around any longer, I can tell you that. They got what they had coming.”

  “What about Elsie and Annie Fritz? Easy patsies?”

  Mr. Jim’s face reddened. “Why are you asking all these questions? I have other people to talk to.” Mr. Jim hurried away and I joined Mamma at the casket. Mrs. Jones-Brown was now checking out floral arrangements.

  “What did Mr. Jim have to say? He looked pretty intense about something.” Mamma asked.

  “He has no love lost for Willie or Bonnie Sue. He thinks they ruined his business, and he might be right.” I nodded at Bonnie Sue. “She sure looks peaceful enough for all the trouble she’s caused.”

  “She looks plumb worn out, if you ask me.”

  Two more mourners walked toward the casket to pay their respects. Mamma started to leave, but I held her in place and whispered, “There’s something next to Bonnie Sue.”

  “It’s probably a man, honey; they just can’t leave the woman alone.”

  Acting as if I were itching my nose, I pointed to the white satin pillow and the corner of a gold paper sticking out. “Right there. I need a distraction so I can get it. Maybe the killer left it?”

  “Maybe it’s a check for those services rendered we talked about before. And,” Mamma added, “you can’t go rooting around a dead person.”

  “Tell your sister that, but right now can you ask Foley when he’s going to give his ‘Ode to a Southern Wench’ and tell him that you can’t wait to hear it because you know it’s going to be great.”

  “Emmitt’s doing the ode.”

  “Exactly.”

  Muttering about me soon being Walker’s problem and not hers and alleluia for that, Mamma walked over to Foley. She took Foley’s hand and asked about the ode. Foley’s eyes squinted, his face red. He stepped around the fern, yelling at Emmitt and waving his cane.

  “You put her up to this, didn’t you? You think my harmonica tribute to Bonnie Sue’s not as good as your stupid ode. Well, let me tell you, if a harmonica’s good enough for Springsteen, it’s good enough for me and better than some stupid poem.” Foley pulled a harmonica out of his suit pocket and started on “The River.”

  “Put that away, you old fool; you’re ridiculous,” Emmitt bellowed. “I’m going to deliver my ode now before you embarrass the love of my life even more than you already have, if that’s possible.”

  Foley shoved Emmitt. He fell back, knocking over the fern, losing his balance, and Foley used his cane to snag the walker, keeping Emmitt upright. “You’re ruining the entire wake. You’re an embarrassment.”

  “You’re the embarrassment.”

  Emmitt waved his walker over his head; Foley shook his cane. Everyone was staring at Emmitt and Foley and I snagged the paper from under the pillow. The funeral director grabbed Emmitt’s walker and Mr. Jim grabbed Foley, saying, “You’re both going to sit down and have some tea and behave. You’re worse than two-year-olds.”

  “He’s the two-year-old,” Emmitt pointed at Foley.

  “You are,” Foley added.

  I sallied up beside Mamma and said, “Got it.” We inched our way to the side of the room and away from the mass confusion. I unfolded the paper.

  “It’s a chicken with a big black X through it?”

  “It’s a Spring Chicken stock certificate and someone’s pissed.” I got closer to Mamma and kept my voice low. “Mr. Jim was standing by the casket all evening. He could have easily slipped it in. I think leaving this certificate was telling Bonnie Sue just how he felt. Elsie’s fingerprints were on the inhaler that killed Willie, and it was found in Bonnie Sue’s purse. It would be so easy for Mr. Jim to do that and frame the sisters. Willie and Bonnie Sue ruined everything he’s worked hard for; he’s losing his family home and he can’t pay for his daughter’s wedding. He’s had enough and knocked off Willie and Bonnie Sue, but we need more than speculation. Mr. Jim is here now and I’m going back to the Pines to look around and see if I can find anything that ties him to the murders, like stock certificates that made him lose even more money.”

  Boone joined the huddle, looking at the paper. “Chickens?”

  “Spring Chicken stock certificate. It was in the casket. I think the killer was sending Bonnie Sue a message and Mr. Jim was right next to the casket all night. Willie and Bonnie Sue not only scammed Mr. Jim’s customers, but he could have gotten scammed too. That’s double motive. Even Aldeen would have to see that and how easy it would be for him to mess with the inhalers and frame the sisters. This is our one shot to look around the Pines with everyone from the Pines here for the wake.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Boone said.

  Mamma shook her head. “We can’t all leave; it’ll be too obvious, especially with Reagan asking Mr. Jim some pointed questions. He’ll know something’s up.” Mamma turned to Boone. “You watch things on this end. If Mr. Jim leaves or anything else we need to know about comes up, call and we can get out of the Pines.”

  “And leave KiKi out of it because … because she’s too banged up already,” I said to Boone and exchanged glances with Mamma.

  Boone heaved a sigh. “I don’t like you two going off on your own like this. If you get caught,” he said to Mamma, “it could ruin your career.”

  “And if you get caught it’ll ruin your career,” Mamma shot back.

  I kissed Boone. “You are now officially one of the Summerside girls plus dog. And just so you know, love and a lot of worry come with the territory.”

  Boone headed for the tea table and KiKi to tell her she’d been left behind. That was bound to go over really big, but the thing was I needed to do this more often. I still had no idea what was going on with Uncle Putter, but it definitely involved KiKi, and keeping her on the straight and narrow wouldn’t hurt.

  Mamma and I faded out the side door and aimed for
the car. She took driver side, I slid into the passenger side, then we headed down Broad. “Park on the street next to the big fir tree,” I said to Mamma when she got to Tattnall. “That way we just look like another car, we’re kind of hidden, and if Mr. Jim does show up we can make a fast getaway.”

  Mamma pulled to the curb and killed the engine. We took the deserted sidewalk, then faded into shadows and cut through the back parking lot, avoiding the more direct route of the squeaky wrought iron gate. Using Mamma’s iPhone flashlight, we made our way around bushes and flower gardens to Auntie KiKi’s room and the French doors leading out onto her little patio. Since we didn’t have KiKi’s door key, I held the flashlight and Mamma wedged her American Express card between the doors where no American Express card had a right to be. “I thought I’d be better at this.” Mamma finagled the card back and forth.

  “You’re a judge, not a thief; there’s a learning curve.”

  The doors gave way and Mamma grinned and pushed one open. We crept through KiKi’s room and opened the door to the hall, the small lamp in the living room casting the only light our way.

  “You know what the Spring Chicken stock certificates look like,” I said to Mamma. “Look for that and anything else suspicious in Mr. Jim’s office and living quarters that ties him to Willie or Bonnie Sue. I’m going to look around for those dueling pistols that have gone missing.”

  “Don’t you think Emmitt and Foley are just kidding about this dueling thing? It’s more like two old men sounding off to feel young again and defend their lady? They may be enemies and do a lot of blustering and name calling, but a duel?”

  “Tonight they got into a shoving match, nearly knocking each other over. Who knows how far they’ll go, and the guns are missing. Love does crazy things to people—like make them buy a big fluffy dress and give it a name. I think Emmitt and Foley are still obsessed with Bonnie Sue. She must have been one heck of a lady.”

  “I don’t think lady’s the right word, honey.”

  I pulled Old Yeller onto my shoulder. “Call me if you need something.”

  Mamma shined her flashlight down the hall toward Mr. Jim’s office. I pulled out my old-fashioned flashlight and took the back hall to Emmitt’s room at the end. Since American Express and I were not acquainted, I used my library card to jimmy the lock. Mamma did it better. The room was larger than Auntie KiKi’s but with the usual bedroom furnishings.

  I opened the top drawer on the desk, the next drawer, then the bottom one and pulled out a stack of Spring Chicken stock certificates. Obviously the love of his life, Bonnie Sue, meant way more to Emmitt than the scam, since he was still going on and on about her. A picture of two little girls, probably grandkids, sat on top of the desk next to an assortment of Revolutionary War books. There was a picture of men in Revolutionary War garb on the wall and another of Emmitt by himself looking proud and distinguished in his blue uniform. He even had a mustache and sideburns. A silver cup with a blue ribbon sat on the nightstand, inscribed “Emmitt Gilroy, Siege of Savannah, Revolutionary War enactment.” Four others read “Performing Excellence, Emmitt Gilroy.”

  I didn’t find the pistols under the bed or in the nightstand or under his pillow. I opened the closet to find pants, shirts, new gym shoes, a blue wool colonial uniform, and boots on the floor. A sword lay propped against the back wall, a musket beside it. I pushed the clothes to the side, the musket sliding to the floor. I picked it up, the gun smelling of oil and gunpowder, then put it back.

  Enactment was a big part of Emmitt’s life and, from the looks of things, he was good at it. He was a good … actor. Really good. Too good? And he and Foley were in the reenactments together.

  “Reagan,” Mamma huffed, running into the room and over to the closet, a flashlight in her hand. “My phone died. That flashlight app thing just eats the battery, so I got this light out of Mr. Jim’s desk and I wanted to make sure your phone was working in case—”

  “What are you doing in here?” came Emmitt’s voice from behind us. Mamma and I turned around to see Emmitt, but instead of holding a walker, he reached into his dresser drawer and pulled out a dueling pistol and aimed it right at Mamma.

  I stepped in front of Mamma.

  “Reagan! For God’s sake, don’t move!” Mamma screeched. “He has a gun. Old guns can still kill people and I don’t want it to be you.”

  “Except … except guns have to be loaded first,” I said to Mamma standing behind me and Emmitt in the doorway. “And my guess is the one Mr. Emmitt is holding isn’t loaded at all.”

  “You guess!” Mamma shrieked. “Guess!”

  “Powder maybe, no ammunition. Emmitt and Foley are not enemies; they’re friends. The best of friends.”

  “Honey, Reagan, did you dip into your auntie’s fortification? All those two do is argue. Just do what the man says.”

  “They’re pretending to be enemies,” I said, trying to put the pieces together. “So no one would suspect they were in cahoots to knock off Willie and Bonnie Sue. Those two swindled Emmitt and Foley with the vitamin scam. One of them left the Spring Chicken certificate in Bonnie Sue’s casket; they were there the whole night too. And Emmitt and Foley know about guns, old ones from doing the reenactments, and they would never point loaded guns at each other and they’d never let a friend fall over if he tripped, like at the wake tonight.”

  “I was afraid you’d catch that,” Emmitt said in a shaky voice. “You catch a lot of things; you kind of got a reputation. With KiKi asking so many questions when she got here, we knew you’d figure out what we were up to sooner or later, and when she ordered that snazzy iPhone case that matched the luggage we saw, we were afraid she knew what we did, or at least what we planned to do. We’re leaving tonight; it’s a good time with everyone at the wake. Load our stuff into this old car we got and—”

  “Emmitt,” Foley called down the hall. “Hurry it up, will you? We have to…” Foley came up behind Emmitt and looked from Mamma to me. “Sweet mother, why did you have to be here? Look, just let us go, okay? What’s the harm? We’ve lost all our money and we can’t afford to stay here anyway.”

  “The harm!” I stammered. “You killed two people! You framed Elsie and Annie Fritz.”

  Foley stood beside Emmitt. “That’s just it; we didn’t kill anyone. We wanted to, even had a plan—not near as good as the one that worked, I can tell you that. Somebody beat us to knocking those two off, somebody really smart.”

  “If you’re so innocent, why are you running away?” I asked.

  “Because everything looks like we’re not innocent because we’re supposed to be not innocent. Does that make any sense? We even toasted ourselves with Mr. Jim’s best bourbon when Willie and Bonnie Sue got killed because we did everything but pull the trigger, so to speak.”

  “This is the police!” Aldeen’s voice boomed down the hall. “Put your hands above your heads so I can see them and turn around slow.”

  “We didn’t do it, I swear,” Foley said to me very matter-of-factly. “We really didn’t, I swear.” He dropped the pistol and he and Foley faced the police.

  “Reagan!” Boone bellowed, pushing past the cops. “I called you and called you when Foley and Emmitt left the wake and then I called your mother, then the police. With Emmitt and Foley both gone, I got a bad feeling.” Boone snagged Old Yeller off my arm, pulled out the flip, and pried it open. He closed his eyes, leaned against the wall, and draped his arm around me. “Sweet thing, the phone only works if you keep it charged.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Just look at this,” Arnett wailed, slapping a letter down on the counter as soon as I opened the door to the Fox the next morning. “This just came in the mail. Some old farts, Clive and Crenshaw something-or-other, are threatening me with a class action suit over that Spring Chicken vitamin thing. They’re representing the investors, and since I inherited Willie’s estate, they want my money.”

  I picked up the paper. “I thought the vitamin thing wasn’t against t
he law.”

  “It wasn’t, but there are some gray areas. If I fight it, the bloodsucking lawyers will get everything and it will be tied up in court forever.”

  “So you’re here to get a job?”

  “I’m here to see if any of my clothes sold so I can get some cash and buy a cup of coffee. My accounts are frozen, my credit cards don’t work, I have no money even for Starbucks.”

  Boone came down the steps behind me smelling like musky lime and all things wonderfully male. He picked up the paper, gave it a quick read, then handed it back to Arnett. “Settle.”

  “Excuse me,” Arnett gasped. “Mind your own business, you have no idea what this is all about.”

  Boone look pained. “Oh, trust me, I know more about Spring Chicken than I ever wanted to. Settle out of court. The money’s not really yours, but if you get a good negotiator you’ll probably get to keep some of it; the investors don’t want their money tied up in court forever either. They’re old; time is of the essence. They’ll agree to so much on the dollar and you can all get back to your lives.”

  Arnett glared at Boone. “Who are you?”

  “An innocent bystander.” Boone kissed me on the cheek. “I’ve got a meeting with Mr. Jim. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “I charged my phone last night,” I yelled after Boone as he headed out the door.

  “Thank you, kindly,” he yelled back.

  “Wow, now that’s a guy.” Arnett parked her hand on her hip and salivated.

  “And how are you getting along without … are you doing okay?”

  “Dexter was a flash in the pan. I knew what I was getting into. This isn’t my first stroll around the block, honey. I had a good time, he had an agenda; I won, he lost. I feel sorry for that Eugenia girl. She wanted to marry the jerk, poor little thing. Besides, last night I was at the Olde Pink House and got a bit tipsy, didn’t want to drive home, and called Boomers.”

  “Let me guess, Anthony?”

  “He sang Rigoletto all the way home. I think I’m in love.”