by Duffy Brown
“That if food causes nightmares, you’re doomed,” I whispered then added in a normal voice, “Did you order one for me?”
“You criticized my parking. I should let you starve.”
“Do you know who the gal is beside Franklin? I don’t think she cared much for Cupcake.”
“That there is Sissy Collins,” the vendor volunteered as he added a squirt of mustard to KiKi’s hot dog creation, then mine, and sprinkled on onions. Street meat, come to mamma! “She’s the church deacon, and I thought she had a real liking for cupcakes, especially chocolate ones. She ate two at our last covered dish. My wife and I go to the reverend’s church, you see.” The vendor gave me a look that suggested if I kept holy the Sabbath I’d know about these things.
Auntie KiKi and I took our dogs and found an empty bench by the monument to Nathanael Greene. That Mr. Greene had his very own square over on Houston but his monument here in Johnson Square was just one of the little mysteries of life in Savannah. We watched families make their way to the stage while we scarfed hot dogs and licked bits of relish from our fingers. “You’re awfully quiet,” I said to KiKi, who was never quiet.
“Just look up on that stage and tell me what you see.”
“My ten bucks gone forever, and I want it back.”
“It’s just like Cher says, ‘Women are the real architects of our society.’ We have the cute little deacon, the handsome minister, and mamma bear and her cubs gone home. It’s the minister and the deacon who don’t like Cupcake, not the minister and the wife, or the minister and the organ player, or the Sunday school teacher or the church usher.”
I had a bad feeling where this was going and made the sign of the cross so God wouldn’t strike us dead for thinking bad things about a minister. Women of the South died peacefully in their sleep in their best jammies, not in a park chowing down on a hot dog and pointing accusatory fingers at men of the cloth.
“Franklin’s a man, and I’ve been watching couples dance around my parlor for thirty-five years now. Some want to look good at the country-club dance and that’s it; others go home and do the rumba, if you get my drift. Those two up there on that stage are all about the rumba.”
I watched the body language as we polished off our dogs. Those two were too close, too touchy, too many glances. “Do you think anyone else suspects?”
“No one else is looking.”
“We need to go home.” I pulled KiKi to her feet. “We’re both going to fall asleep on this bench and get arrested for vagrancy.” We started for the car. “Tomorrow will be better. Lordy, it’s got to be better.”
“For me, maybe it will be,” KiKi said with a devilish glint in her eyes. “I’m not the one dancing with Bernard Thayer at nine o’clock in the morning.”
AT EIGHT O’CLOCK I DRAGGED MYSELF OUT OF BED, and it wasn’t because my alarm went off but because there was pounding on my front door. This was how yesterday started off. I felt like Bill Murray in that movie Groundhog Day, where he kept living the same day over and over. I couldn’t do yesterday over and over; I didn’t have the intestinal fortitude for more yesterdays. But when I opened the door, it wasn’t Bill Murray or Raylene on the other side but, “Mamma?”
“Mercy, Reagan, honey, what is going on with you? It’s all over town.” Mamma stepped inside and closed the door. How could anyone look so together at eight in the morning? She had on her best black suit, and her short bob had every salt and pepper hair in place. Of course, Judge Gloria Summerside would have it no other way.
“I had calls every fifteen minutes yesterday,” she went on. “Everyone wanted to tell me about you finding Janelle dead in Hollis’s car and Hollis being arrested and you taken in for questioning. I was in court and couldn’t get here, and last night when I came over you were gone, and your cell phone’s been disconnected, and I think something’s living under your front porch.”
She took a quick look around at the dining-room table piled with clothes and the other, empty rooms. She brushed a strand of hair from my forehead and kissed the vacated spot. “Are you all right?”
That was a loaded question if I’d ever heard one. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being the daughter of a lawyer who excelled her way up to judge, it’s that the best defense is to answer a question with a question. “Do you think Reverend Franklin is having an affair with his deacon?”
Mamma gave me the Nice try look that mothers and judges do so well. “I have no idea about the reverend, but I do know it doesn’t look good for Hollis.”
“He’s got Walker Boone as his attorney, and Hollis is selling Cherry House to pay him.”
“Boone? Again? Those two are a worrisome duo, especially when it comes to you. I’m sorry, Reagan, I truly am.” Mamma studied me for a minute, like she had the time I used her credit card to buy tickets to Prince. I was going to pay her back with my babysitting money, I swear. “Why did you want to know about Reverend Franklin?”
“Idle curiosity.”
Mamma checked her watch. “I have to be in court.” She took both of my hands in hers and looked me dead in the eyes. She hadn’t done that since she made me promise not to vote for Kerry back in ’04. “I know you love this house, but swear to me you won’t get involved trying to find out who killed Janelle.”
“Now what would ever make you think I’d do a thing like that?” I did my best to sound thoroughly aghast, hoping to sound convincing.
Mamma held a little tighter. “Because that’s what I would do.” Before I could respond, Mamma was out the door and driving away in her black Caddy. I watched the car fade down Gaston, then turn onto Drayton. Who would have thought that the most conservative judge in Savannah would even consider going after a murderer? Even though I did vote for Kerry, Mamma and I weren’t really all that different…sometimes.
“Unless you intend to give Bernard his dance lesson in hot-pink pj’s, you better change,” Auntie KiKi said as she trudged up onto the porch. She leaned heavily against my front door. “If I was any more worn out, I’d be lying in a coffin out there in Bonaventure Cemetery. Was that Gloria’s car I saw parked out front?”
“Mamma can be pretty cool.”
KiKi gave me a little wink. “She has her moments, but the woman can’t dance for diddly. Now get a move on.”
I was tired, too, and the thought of driving Bernard around the dance floor made my toes curl—for good reason. “I might have customers,” I offered as a last-ditch excuse not to take on Bernard. “I need to make money. I need to open my store.”
“Honey, there was a body right outside your house yesterday. I don’t think anyone will be showing up at a murder scene to buy clothes. Your store doesn’t even have a name. What kind of store doesn’t have a name? And you promised about Bernard, and I’m holding you to it.”
“Hi there,” a woman called from the open window of her car as she slowed to the curb in front of the house. “Is this here that prissy consignment shop I heard about on the news?” She pointed down at the street. “Was the car with that body in it right there? Lordy, that must have been something, finding a body in a trunk like that. I like your pj’s. Do you have any more in that store of yours?” The woman parked her Prius and killed the engine. She made her way up the path and gave me the once-over. “Well now, you looked kind of foxy on the TV yesterday. What happened?” She pushed past me and went inside, searching through the clothes on the table and a few I had hanging from the antique brass chandelier in the middle of the room.
KiKi shrugged. “You could do with a little concealer, and you need to be getting more clothes in here to sell; we’re almost out. I brought my Nordstrom’s catalog over so you can get familiar with what’s new and what’s expensive and what prices to put on things.” She sat on the steps and flipped the magazine pages. “I’ll mind the store, and you get yourself dressed. Remember to be nice to Bernard. He pays double.”
An hour later, I hobbled back to my house and plopped down on the steps beside the bill pile and KiKi
. “Look at this,” KiKi said, waving her hand over the shoppers in the dining room. “Murder truly is good for business. I never knew people could be so ghoulish. Everyone wants to know every gory little detail about Cupcake and the body. I suppose it’s like Cher said: ‘There is no such thing as bad publicity.’ ”
“Cher said that?”
“She would have if she’d thought of it first. We’ve been busy as ants at a picnic. I’m thinking it’s all because of the body in the Lexus, but now we are getting clothes to sell. I also took in some costume jewelry that looked kind of nice, and maybe we should start to do furniture. While you were gone, I went and named your store the Prissy Fox. I got it from our customer this morning before you went dancing with Bernard. How is he?”
“How is he?” I growled, then peeled off my left shoe and held out my red big toe. “He’s just fine and dandy, thank you very much.”
There was a knock at the door, and KiKi stood. “We need one of those ‘Open’ signs so people can come right on inside like a real store.”
A real store, I thought to myself. I had a long way to go before that happened, but at least people were here looking around. KiKi admitted a woman in her midforties with styled blonde hair and a tan knit suit. She gazed past KiKi, spied me on the steps, and hurried over, holding out her hand. I shook it as she gushed, “I saw you on the news yesterday. I’m Dinah Corwin. I wanted to meet you, since we have so much in common, and that common thing is now dead and gone, Lord be praised.”
I didn’t think it was good karma to be praising the demise of another human being, but I wasn’t wearing sackcloth and ashes about this particular event either. “Cupca…Janelle wasn’t one of your favorite people?”
“Oh, honey.” Dinah laughed and put her hand to her chest to contain the jubilation. “I’m with WAGA Atlanta. I do the Georgia Southern Style segment of the news every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I’m here to cover the Homes and Gardens Tour you-all are having this week. I saw on the news about Janelle. Today is a fine day indeed.”
Dinah did a little happy Snoopy dance right there in my hall. “I was celebrating with a nice pinot at the Marshall House, where I’m staying. That hunky bartender with the dreamy bedroom eyes gave me the dirt on Janelle breaking up your marriage, too. Said your husband ditched you just like my husband did to me back in Atlanta when Janelle came along. Of course, she never married the old fool, just bled him dry. He bought me a cute little blue Gucci handbag with a braided handle for our anniversary, then swiped it right out of my closet and gave it to that little round-heeled Sue. A month later, she left him and moved here to Savannah. Lucky you. I, on the other hand, got myself a new beau in Atlanta. Henry. We’ve been going together for six months now. I suppose all’s well that ends well.”
I blinked a few times trying to take this all in. “Your husband? Janelle?”
“But now she’s dead as a doornail, and I have Henry. With all my celebrating last night, I spilled a glass of wine on my black dress and lost one of my favorite earrings to boot. I’m hoping you can fix me right up in an outfit I’ll look good in. I wanted to throw some business your way if I could since we’re sort of connected ’cause we married low-down conniving cheaters who did us wrong. I have a ton of interviews scheduled, you see. Tonight I’m at”—Dinah took her iPhone from her purse and touched the screen—“Raylene Carter’s house. Seems her garden is the front runner for Best of Show fourth time in a row. From what I understand there’ll be garden parties all week long but tomorrow night, I’m having a little wake of my very own over at the Marshall House to observe this momentous occasion of Janelle dead and gone. Spread the word, honey. Drinks are on me. I shouldn’t be so vocal about this, but I simply can’t contain myself.”
Obviously! I slipped on my shoes, my big toe screaming no, no, no in protest then hobbled over to Dinah. I showed her some new black dresses I’d taken in on consignment then retrieved a box of earrings. A half hour later, I finally found ones similar enough to make her happy. If every sale was going to be this hard, my shop was doomed from the start.
After Dinah left, KiKi whispered to me, “Mercy me, Cupcake had a checkered past?”
“Better than that, Cupcake had enemies. Franklin, Sissy, Urston, and now Dinah Corwin. It’s getting to be a regular laundry list of people who wanted her out of the way. I wonder if Hollis…”
“Honey, Hollis knew Cupcake was young, stacked like a brick outhouse, and that his marital status at the time was not an issue. In the world of Hollis Beaumont the third, what else is there to care about?”
“Being in the slammer. I’ll keep the Prissy Fox open till noon. I need the business. Maybe a few more curious customers will drift in, and are we really going to name this place the Prissy Fox?”
“Better than Ye Old Secondhand Store.”
“You convinced me. I’ll close up for lunch, then go visit Hollis.”
“And then you’re going to visit Walker Boone, right? You have a lot of information now and real suspects besides Hollis. Let him handle things, honey.”
I crossed my fingers behind my back. “You bet.”
You bet wasn’t exactly a full-fledged lie to my dear auntie, who would worry herself to a frazzle if she thought I was in danger. Worse still, she’d tell Mamma, and then they’d both worry. In my opinion, it was the duty of a caring daughter and niece to prevent her mother and auntie from any sort of frazzle on her part.
HOLLIS LOOKED BAD. THEN AGAIN, JAIL WASN’T exactly a Sedona spa. I sat at a long metal table separated into cubes. A piece of glass perforated with holes to let voices though and nothing else divided me from Hollis. I handed a police officer the cheesecake I’d picked up for Hollis from Sugar Daddy’s. Guess the cops were going to stab around in the goo to make sure I didn’t sneak in a hacksaw.
“You look good,” I lied.
“Boone better get this straightened out and fast. That’s why I’m paying him.”
Actually I was the one paying Boone, but this didn’t seem the best time to quibble. “Why weren’t you bawling your eyes out when you found out Janelle was…dead?”
“You came here to ask me that?”
“I brought cheesecake.” Hollis loved cheesecake. If anything would get him to open up and tell me what was going on, it was cheesecake. “Did you know Janelle was fooling around before? That she broke up a marriage in Atlanta? Why do Reverend Franklin and his cute little deacon have Janelle on their do–not-like list?”
The first two questions passed over Hollis without so much as a raised brow, but the Franklin-Sissy issue warranted a clenched jaw and flared nostrils. Pay dirt!
“Leave it alone, Reagan. I’m not telling you anything, no matter what kind of cheesecake you brought.” His eyes narrowed. “What kind did you bring?”
“Raspberry amaretto swirl.”
“Glory be.” He licked his lips, his eyes glazing over. “Franklin has nothing to do with Janelle’s death, so forget it.”
“Janelle wasn’t the cute little pixie doll you thought. She was up to something, and it wasn’t just selling houses.”
“Let Boone handle this. You’re just going to screw things up, like you always do.”
Now I understood the reason for the glass partition; it was to keep me from strangling Hollis with my bare hands. “You’re the one who screwed up my life in so many ways. If I didn’t have just fifteen minutes with you, I’d gladly list them. Tell me about Janelle and Franklin; you owe me that much. I brought you cake!”
“Franklin has kids, and you know his wife is my cousin. We’re family, and I don’t want to see Birdie hurt. Drop it.” Hollis ran his hand over his face, looking exhausted.
So, what would hurt Franklin’s wife? Duh! Another woman! I knew all about that kind of hurt. Auntie KiKi was dead–on about Sissy and Franklin. Auntie KiKi had great rumba radar. “Franklin’s having an affair with his little deacon.”
“Leave it be,” Hollis repeated, this time adding some stern to his voice. Translation:
there was more than just an affair to deal with.
“I bet Janelle knew about the affair, and that’s why Franklin and Sissy didn’t like her. So why did he look so awful yesterday at your office when he heard Janelle was dead? He should have been jumping up and down and doing cartwheels across the room. His secret was safe.” I sucked in a quick breath. “Unless he wasn’t safe. Bless my soul, Janelle had pictures, or love letters, or something. Intrigue.”
Hollis had that same Oh sweet Jesus look in his eyes he did when I caught him and Cupcake on top of his desk at the office two years ago. It was the look that said Busted!
“What tied Janelle to Franklin and Sissy was that she was blackmailing them, and Franklin doesn’t know where the blackmail goodies are.”
“Franklin’s a minister and doesn’t have two dimes to rub together for blackmail. You’re way off base.”
I felt more like I was rounding first and heading for second. “His wife is a Beaumont, and she does have money. Of course, Franklin getting it to pay off Janelle to keep her quiet might be a little tricky since then he’d have to tell dear Birdie why he needed it.”
Hollis whispered though clenched teeth. “The day before the murder, Franklin came to me about Janelle and asked me to get her to back off and leave him alone. Before that, I swear I had no idea what Janelle was up to. I tried to tell her to stop, but she just laughed in my face. Said Savannah was easy pickings with all the secrets. She said that’s why she hooked up with me. She got to know everyone’s business.”
“That’s what the argument at the Telfair was about, and why you weren’t all that overwrought at Janelle’s death.” Hollis gave me a shoulder shrug that said I was right. “What about bail and getting you out of here?”
“First-degree-murder charges and all the evidence against me makes bail a freaking fortune.”
