Setup in Savannah: A Made in Savannah Cozy Mystery (Made in Savannah Cozy Mysteries Series Book 7)

by Hope Callaghan

  “Cash?”

  “Yeah. They only take cash,” Mercedes said. “It’s kinda weird. You gotta have connections for a tour invitation and then the confirmation comes from someone with the email username looming darkness.”

  “What is the owner’s name?” Carlita was beginning to dread this tour more by the minute.

  “Don’t freak out, but his name is TG Flinch.”

  “An owner with the name TG Flinch and an email with the username looming darkness. Now why on earth would that make me nervous?” Carlita asked sarcastically. “We’ll be lucky if we make it out of this tour alive. If they ask us to leave our cell phones and belongings at the door, I’m gonna turn around and walk right back out.”

  “You worry too much.” Mercedes slowed. “We’re here.”

  Carlita squinted her eyes and peered over the top of the spiked metal fence posts. She lifted her gaze and stared at the steep steps and the blood red columns guarding the front door. Two lampposts stood sentinel near the base of the steps and yellow flames licked at the sides of the glass globes.

  “Let’s go, before you change your mind.” Mercedes grabbed her mother’s arm and dragged her through the gate and up the steps. She rapped on the metal door knocker and a shadow passed by the etched glass window pane before the door opened.

  “Yes?”

  “I-uh, am Mercedes Garlucci. My ma and I are here for the 1976 Tour.”

  The door opened wide and the women stepped into the dark hallway. Flickering gas lanterns lined both sides of the walls, illuminating the red velvet wallpaper, which happened to be the same shade as the exterior columns.

  Carlita turned to the person who had greeted them. It was a woman, and she was dressed in red from head to toe. “I see a theme here with the color red.”

  Mercedes pinched the back of her mother’s arm.

  “Ouch.”

  “Are you TG?”

  “I am,” the woman whispered. “You’ll have to leave your belongings in the box.” She drifted to an antique steamer chest and lifted the lid. “In here.”

  Carlita spun on her heel, preparing to bolt when Mercedes reached out and grabbed her mother’s arm. “We can’t leave now,” she hissed under her breath.

  “I’ll wait for you out front,” Carlita whispered in a loud voice. “If you don’t come out in forty-five minutes, I’m callin’ the cops.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  Carlita could’ve sworn TG “floated” across the room and she was now certain the woman was an apparition.

  “My ma doesn’t want to leave her belongings behind.” Mercedes forced a laugh. “Trust no one. It’s one of the downfalls of livin’ most of your life in New York City.”

  The woman slowly turned and faced Carlita. “You own the old Smythe place on Mulberry Street?”

  “Yes, my husband, Vinnie, owned it. We moved down here after he passed away.” Carlita grabbed the doorknob. “I’ll be outside.”

  “You can keep your belongings with you,” TG whispered.

  “Great.” Mercedes said. “Let’s go.”

  Carlita stubbornly refused to budge.

  “Ma. She said you could keep your purse. Let’s start the tour,” Mercedes urged.

  Carlita reluctantly trailed behind her daughter and TG as they moved from the hallway to the parlor, through the dining room and then into the dated kitchen while TG shared with them a brief history of the home.

  “I’m sure you’re here to see the infamous dumbwaiter. It’s over here.” TG floated to the other side of the kitchen, lifted a skeletal arm and pointed a long red fingernail at a scuffed wooden cabinet door.

  Carlita tiptoed over to the cabinet. “May I?”

  “Yes.” TG nodded. “Mr. Honeycutt is long gone.”

  “And only his spirit remains,” Mercedes joked.

  Carlita cautiously opened the cabinet door and Mercedes peered over her mother’s shoulder at the interior of the tall, rectangular box.

  “Mr. Honeycutt wasn’t a tall man if he fit in here.” Carlita leaned forward, stuck her head inside the dumbwaiter and gazed up. She glanced behind her at their tour guide. “I swear we got a few ghosts over at our place. You ever see ghosts here?”

  “Yes. All the time.” TG didn’t elaborate. “Would you like to see the restaurant dining room and kitchen? They’re both closed now.”

  “Sure.” Mercedes peeked inside the dumbwaiter and then hurried to catch up with her mother and TG, who were already walking down a narrow hall to the back of the property.

  TG pushed a swinging door open and they stepped into a light, bright, state-of-the-art, gleaming commercial kitchen.

  Carlita blinked rapidly. “Wow. I never saw this one comin’.”

  Mercedes jostled in next to her mother. “Holy smokes.”

  “Do you mind if I take a picture of your kitchen? I’m gonna be openin’ an Italian restaurant soon and I need some ideas.”

  “You’re Italian?” TG asked and then chuckled at her own joke. “I’m kidding. Your accent is a dead giveaway, not to mention the Garlucci name.”

  Carlita snapped several pictures of the kitchen with her cell phone and then they followed TG into the restaurant’s main dining room. It was an eclectic mix of nautical, nostalgia and musical. “What’s the name of your restaurant?”

  “The Ghost Roast. We serve mostly burgers, sandwiches and wings. Pub type food,” TG said. “The name works nicely with my initials…TG, the ghost.”

  Now that they were in the bright light, TG didn’t look nearly as “apparition-y.” She appeared to be young, closer to Mercedes’ age if Carlita had to guess.

  “My real name is Tierney Grant, not as spooky and mysterious as TG Flinch.”

  “True,” Mercedes agreed.

  The trio chatted about the restaurant business and Tierney gave Carlita and Mercedes some tips, telling them if they needed any advice, she would be happy to help them.

  Mercedes waved her hand around the room. “How did you happen to get into the restaurant and ghost tour business?”

  Tierney smiled. “The same way you did. I inherited it.”

  “Before I forget.” Mercedes reached into her pocket, pulled out two crisp twenty-dollar bills plus a ten and handed them to Tierney. “Thanks for the tour. I am a little disappointed we weren’t able to learn more about the Madison Square murder and Mr. Honeycutt’s death.”

  “I’ve tried to do a little digging around myself,” Tierney said. “No one in Savannah wants to talk about it. It’s a big mystery.”

  “And cover-up,” Mercedes nodded. “I found out about Jon Luis from my author group. The man was working on a book about the Madison Square murder. We planned to meet but he died before I had the chance to talk to him.”

  Tierney’s eyes widened. “I planned to meet with Mr. Luis, too. He disappeared off the face of the earth a few years back and then I started hearing rumors he was back in Savannah. Out of the blue, he called me and we began emailing back and forth.”

  Mercedes’ heart skipped a beat. “You did? Did he say anything about the Madison Square murder?”

  Tierney shook her head. “He said he would only discuss it in person and I think the reason he agreed to meet me was because he wanted to search this place. He claimed he was close to solving Mr. Honeycutt’s murder, but needed to double check something.”

  “What a strange coincidence,” Carlita murmured.

  “I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” Tierney said. “Your home, the Smythe place, was also the old George Delmario place. Jon Luis told me he was working on three unsolved murder cases in Savannah.”

  “His book was about Herbert Honeycutt, who was murdered here and George Delmario, who was murdered at our place? I wonder who else he was investigating,” Mercedes mused.

  “I wish I knew,” Tierney said as she accompanied them to the front door. “I guess we’ll never know if Jon Luis figured out who killed Honeycutt.”

  Carlita thanked Tierney for the informatio
n and they wandered out onto the sidewalk.

  Mercedes waited until they were a safe distance from the house before speaking. “Do you think Tierney was lying and she met with Jon Luis?”

  “I dunno, Mercedes. What we do know is your author group knew when and where you were meetin’ Jon Luis. If Tierney is right, and Jon Luis was working on the unsolved cases, it would make sense he would agree to meet you. He was probably gonna cut a deal where he shared info on the case in exchange for access to our property.”

  Mercedes snapped her fingers. “It makes perfect sense and ties in with what Detective Wilson said, how Jon Luis had written my name and address on a piece of paper. He was already doin’ research on George Delmario’s death.”

  “Well, he wouldn’t have gotten far, snooping around in Delmario’s murder, before someone from the family up north got wind of it and came down here to tie up another loose end,” Carlita said. “I have a hunch someone in your author group is either Jon Luis’ killer or knows something about it.”

  “I’m getting the same feeling and I asked Autumn to attend the author group. I hope I didn’t set her up to face a killer.”

  Chapter 12

  Autumn tucked her cell phone under her chin as she spoke. “Don’t worry. This’ll be a piece of cake. My story is almost airtight. Even if the others become suspicious, they can check me out. I work at the newspaper and I’m working on my first novel.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Mercedes said uneasily. “I got a bad feelin’ about all of this. The more I think about it, the more I’m certain someone in my group is linked to Jon Luis’ death.”

  “Or this Tierney chick you met. She sounds suspicious to me. Didn’t you say she inherited the Honeycutt property, but didn’t elaborate?” Autumn pointed out. “I talked to one of my inside guys at the police department and he gave me some new info on Jon Luis’ case.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Listen, I gotta run or I’ll be late for the meeting,” Autumn said. “I’ll stop by after it’s over.”

  “Okay, be careful,” Mercedes said.

  “Will do.” Autumn disconnected the line and shoved the phone in her back pocket. She stepped inside The Book Nook and made her way to the counter in the back. A plump woman standing behind the counter looked up, peering at her over the rim of her glasses. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes. I’m Autumn Winter. I’m here to meet with Cricket Tidwell and some other authors.”

  “Welcome Autumn.” The woman smiled widely. “The rest of the group is already here. They’re in the conference room right over there.” She pointed to an open door.

  “Thank you.” Autumn stepped across the hall and stuck her head inside the room.

  An older woman sprang from her chair. “Autumn?”

  “Yes,” Autumn nodded. “I’m Autumn Winter.”

  “Welcome.” The woman waved her into the room. “We’re glad you’re here.”

  “Thank you for allowing me to join your group, at least for tonight.”

  “We hope you find our group’s input useful and decide to join us on a permanent basis. I’m Cricket Tidwell, owner of The Book Nook.” The woman pointed to an empty chair. “If you’d like to have a seat, we’ll go around the table, introduce ourselves and share a little about our writing.”

  Autumn eased into the empty seat and her heart sank when she noticed the others in the room each had a manila folder and yellow notepad in front of them. “Oh no. I just left work. I forgot my manuscript. I was in a hurry and didn’t want to be late.”

  “It’s okay, dear.” Cricket patted her hand. “You can bring it next time, if there is a next time.” She changed the subject. “I’ll start with me. I’ve been writing under my pen name, Cricket Tidwell, for over twenty years. I write non-fiction, mostly cook books, crocheting books and cat care. The three C’s.”

  The woman at the other end of the table spoke. “I’m Stephanie Rumsfield. I’m the newbie of the group, if you don’t count Mercedes, who isn’t here tonight. I write romance books…think Harlequin and I’ve been writing since the early 90s. My boyfriend and I moved here from Montana earlier this year.”

  The man seated next to Stephanie cleared his throat. “Welcome Autumn. I’m Tom Muldoon. I’ve been writing thriller/suspense novels for years, although I don’t write as often anymore. It’s more of a hobby for me.”

  The young man next to Tom spoke. “Hi Autumn. I’m Austin Crawford and I write historical mysteries and recently started releasing books in a new Civil War era series.”

  “And Austin recently made it to the Publisher’s Weekly bestseller list,” Cricket said.

  “Ah, so we have someone famous in our midst,” Autumn joked.

  “Why don’t you tell us about yourself, what book you’re working on and why you decided to become a writer,” Cricket said.

  Autumn’s eyes widened. “I…uh. I work as a copy editor at the Savannah Evening News and, to be honest, my goal is to become a news anchor. I started dabbling in writing. It seemed like a natural fit...” Her voice trailed off.

  Stephanie leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “What genre are you writing in?”

  Autumn said the first thing that popped into her head. “Outer space fantasy. Romance.”

  “You mean like space opera romance?” Tom asked. “That’s an interesting genre.”

  “It could also be considered sci-fi romance,” Stephanie said. “It is interesting. What’s the premise of your story? I’m intrigued.”

  “Two warring families escape an exploding planet earth and join forces on Zebulon to save their species from extinction,” Autumn said. “I don’t have my notes and I’m a little nervous. I can’t remember the details.”

  “What’s the name of the book?” Austin asked.

  Autumn’s mind raced as she tried to think of a name. “Zebulon Galaxy: The Final Frontier.”

  “Sounds like an old Star Trek movie,” Tom said.

  Autumn laughed nervously. “And I thought I made it up.” Her armpits grew damp and she shifted in her chair.

  “We’re making Autumn nervous,” Cricket said. “Sorry dear. We’re excited to have you here since we’re down one with Mercedes gone.”

  “Who is Mercedes?” Autumn asked.

  “Mercedes Garlucci,” Austin said. “She lives nearby and writes mafia mystery and suspense. You would like her. She’s about your age and has some great ideas.”

  “I’m sure I would,” Autumn said. “Writing mob books would be interesting.”

  “We’re not sure if she’s coming back,” Stephanie said. “She’s being investigated.”

  “Stephanie,” Austin said.

  “What? It’s not like it’s a secret. If Autumn works at the newspaper, I’m sure she’s heard all about it.”

  “Being investigated?” Autumn squeaked.

  “She’s under investigation after she found a man’s body down by the river,” Tom said. “It’s not fair to talk about Mercedes when she’s not here to defend herself.”

  “I agree,” Austin said. “Let’s discuss our work in progress.”

  Autumn attempted to appear interested in the other authors’ books, but she was bored to tears and caught herself dozing off twice.

  The second time it happened, Cricket called her out. “You seem very tired, Autumn. Are you feeling all right?”

  “I took an allergy pill on my way here and they always make me sleepy,” she yawned.

  “It’s getting late. I think that about wraps up our meeting for tonight.” Cricket stood, a sign the meeting was over. “Do you think you’ll join us again next week Autumn?”

  “I’ll try. I do appreciate the invitation. It’s a little intimidating to see how far all of you are in your writing careers while I’m still working on the draft for my first book.”

  “We all had to start somewhere,” Stephanie said. “You mentioned you were a copy editor at the Savannah Evening News. Are you ever in the market for part-time work? I
could use a good copy editor.”

  “Me too,” Austin said.

  “Between work and trying to write, I don’t have a lot of free time, but I can ask around to see if anyone who works in my department is interested in making a little extra money.”

  “That would be great,” Stephanie said.

  Autumn promised to put the word out and then hurried out of the bookstore. She strolled to the end of the block before turning left and making her way to Shades of Ink, her brother’s tattoo parlor, where she’d parked her Segway. She popped in to tell him she was stopping by Mercedes’ place before continuing toward the apartment.

  After waiting for a horse and buggy tour to pass by, Autumn crossed the street and stepped into the alley behind the Garlucci’s property.

  Autumn caught a glimpse of a woman sitting on Mercedes’ balcony and a whiff of cigarette smoke drifted down. She didn’t recognize the woman and figured it must be Paulie’s wife, Gina.

  She gave the woman a small wave and jabbed her finger on the buzzer connected to Mercedes’ unit when the door opened and Elvira Cobb emerged.

  Autumn jumped out of the woman’s way as Elvira eased a large box through the open doorway and stepped onto the stoop. “Do you need help?”

  Elvira peered around the side of the box. “Nah. I’m just going across the alley.”

  Autumn watched as Elvira disappeared inside the building on the other side of the alley, stepped inside and then closed the door behind her.

  Mercedes met her at the bottom of the stairs.

  “What’s up with Elvira?” Autumn asked. “She carried a box into the building across the alley.”

  “Ma kicked her out.”

  “For real?” Autumn blinked rapidly. “She must’ve done something over the top this time for Mrs. G to kick her out.”

  “She almost burned our building to the ground. We thought we were gonna get rid of her for good. Instead, Elvira rented the main floor of the building behind us.”

  “She’s like a bad rash,” Autumn laughed. “Are you gonna start looking for another tenant?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure. Ma is so fed up right now; she might let the apartment sit empty. C’mon in.” Mercedes waved her friend up the stairs and inside the apartment.