by Duffy Brown
“According to IdaMae, Janelle said Hollis would make her rich, and now I’m thinking it wasn’t from selling real estate. Dinah Corwin’s wake tomorrow night could be mighty interesting. Best I can tell, everyone thinks Hollis did the deed, case closed. The real killer should be right comfortable at the moment and might not feel the need to keep to the down-low. The killer could very well be Dinah Corwin herself. She sure didn’t make a secret of her dislike for Cupcake. If Dinah had her way, she’d be dancing on Cupcake’s casket all the way back to Atlanta.”
“But she has a boyfriend now,” KiKi reminded me. “She seems happy, not moody and resentful. I don’t think she killed Cupcake one bit. She’s moved on.” KiKi looked down at the snoring dog. “Worst deviated septum I’ve ever heard. Sounds like a freight train coming through a tunnel. Too bad he’s not some cute little fluffy puppy that fits in a purse. Purse animals are very in. I suppose you could call him Calvin Klein. Slap a designer label on anything, and nobody will mind if he hangs around.”
I eyed a muddy-brown, mangled ear and scarred snout. “Poor thing. The tip of his tail’s missing, and I think he’s missing a front tooth. He’s pretty beat up for Calvin.”
KiKi scratched behind his ears. “I do believe this here is Bruce Willis in a fur coat.”
“I do not need a pet.”
Contented snoring sounds surrounded us. “Honey, you’ve done been outvoted.”
I ignored the outvoted comment but knew KiKi was right as rain. Bruce and I had broken McNuggets together. It was a done deal. We’d bonded. I gave BW a reassuring pat and decided to hit up KiKi while she was feeling all softhearted. “You know, what I do need is an excuse to visit the loafer boys and check out their shoes to see who Raylene was talking to. That would be a big help, and I could do it if I had an accomplice. In fact, it would be a snap if I had someone to be a distraction while I went off to find the bathroom, got lost, and happened upon a shoe closet.”
KiKi made a sour face. “How did I get roped into this? Wait, you’d actually go through Urston’s shoes?”
“He’s our prime suspect because you saw him pay off Cupcake for whatever reason. Tomorrow we can stop by Urston’s and ask to see his rose garden because you’re redoing your backyard and need suggestions on landscape.”
“Uh, how many rosebushes have you seen on a putting green, but I suppose I can cook up some excuse to go see Urston. The thing is, I can’t see him or Raylene knocking off Cupcake.”
“We’re looking for a lead; that’s all there is to it, nothing more. Maybe Urston will let it slip why he was handing Cupcake money.” I said this to appease KiKi. Personally I believed Urston would knock off Cupcake in a heartbeat if he had to, and so would Sissy and maybe even Franklin. Reverend or not, he was human, and people got desperate and did desperate things. I watched those CSI shows, and I knew if the stakes were high enough, anything was possible.
If Cupcake threatened to spill the beans, and it became common knowledge that Franklin was doing the naughty with Sissy, he’d lose his congregation, respect, and probably his family. Raylene was into something big, or she wouldn’t have been having a conniption fit right there at her own garden party. She could have filtered money to Cupcake though Urston. I figure Raimondo was innocent and just happened to have on the right shoes at the wrong time.
I had suspects, an invite to a wake, and a meeting with Urston’s shoe closet. Was I on a roll or what? Walker Boone, eat your heart out.
“What are you grinning about?”
“What time should we visit Urston?”
Chapter Seven
A THIN sliver of moonbeam slipped though the dining-room windows and splashed across the pine floor between the display of jackets and blouses I set out. I laid the dress rack I was working on across two sawhorses and finished putting in the last screw. I’d concocted the thing out of leftover wood from the upstairs bathroom project and only nicked my finger twice with the jigsaw.
The Tybee Island Country Club had a bash next week, and the Rotary Club was planning a dinner event. The Oglethorpe Society always had some charity affair on the books. Spring was a great time for party dresses and accessories, and that should translate into good business for the Fox. Besides, I couldn’t sleep, and building stuff relaxed me, least it did till I heard a dog bark right outside in my yard. I guessed it was Bruce Willis but couldn’t be sure since I’d never heard Bruce bark. Footsteps made their way across the front porch and stopped at my door.
Like any city, Savannah had its safe parts and the not–so–safe parts, except the robbers, rapists, and murderers sometimes drifted out of their designated comfort zones. The front door handle turned, and I held tight to my screwdriver. I was one mean dude with a screwdriver. The door opened, and Walker Boone strolled in, my heart dropping to my toes. “You scared me to death. Ever hear of knocking?”
“It’s three in the morning. Why aren’t your doors locked?”
“Every window is open, and getting through a screen isn’t much of a challenge. I’m not too crazy about closed–in spaces if I can help it. Besides, if I screamed, Putter would be here in a flash, waving his fearful golf club. You’re up at three; why shouldn’t I be? And why are you opening the door to my house uninvited at three in the morning?”
He gave me a little smile. “Your lights are on, seems like a good-enough invite to me, and I got reason to be up at this hour.”
“So do I. Things need to get done around here.” I suspected Boone’s reason to be up and about was a lot more fun than mine and probably included a hot date, cool drinks, and…other pursuits. “Are you charging me for this little intrusion?”
Boone canvassed the room, touching this and that. “You got nice stuff. You need an alarm system.”
“I’ll add it to the list right behind food and water. I bet you don’t have an alarm system.”
This time Boone gave me a steely smile. “I got me.” He leaned against the newel post at the end of the stairs, looking a little unkempt and a lot mysterious. “Someone’s out to not only murder Janelle but frame Hollis. The body wasn’t tossed in the river or under a bridge but specifically planted in the Lexus. Someone’s got it in for your ex big time, and you might be in danger too; ever think of that?”
“How do you know I didn’t whack Janelle and frame Hollis? I had motive. I had so much motive I could write a book on motive.”
“If you were going to whack someone, it would be me.”
“Now there’s a happy thought to hold on to in the middle of the night.”
“You’re over Hollis. You’ve moved on, but your getting involved in this murder could be bad for your health.”
“You already gave me this sermon at the party.”
“It was a really nice party.” He gave me a knowing look that said he didn’t mean the party at all but my visual contribution to it.
I ignored him and instead paid attention to my sleazy lawyer senses that were starting to tingle. “Why are you here in my house in the wee hours of the morning? Cherry House isn’t exactly on your way home.” I was thinking out loud, connecting the dots to what was going on. I arched my right brow. “You know something you didn’t know before, and it brought you here. You want something.”
Boone sat on the steps next to the pile of bills. “Like I said, you’re not stupid.” He did a little shrug. “Except when you married Hollis and signed the prenup, and now you won’t let me handle Hollis’s case. Those things are all pretty stupid.” Boone leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. If he wasn’t such a rat, he’d be marginally handsome. I took another look. Nope, forget handsome—all rat.
“I was at the police station,” Boone said, leading up to something. “Janelle was knocked over the head with one of those ‘For Sale’ signs Realtors use. The couple she showed the place to said she intended to put a second sign in the side yard that faced Lincoln, for more exposure. The police figure that when the couple left, Hollis showed up, continued the argument from the Telfair, and k
illed Janelle in a fit of anger. He wrapped her in the plastic, dragged her to his car, and stuck her in the trunk with the intent of ditching the body later on. Except you borrowed the Lexus and foiled his plan.”
“Why wouldn’t he just ditch the body right away? And why would he take the body when he knew someone surely saw his car at the house?”
“The police say stress makes people do dumb things, and since Hollis had that fight with his fiancée at the Telfair and then killed her in a fit of anger, he was under a lot of stress. We both know Hollis didn’t do the deed. Janelle’s murder may not have been premeditated, but framing Hollis was well thought out. The killer took the car, counting on the fact that it would be seen and that sooner or later someone would discover the body in the trunk. Or the police would go looking for Janelle and find her there. Everything pointed to Hollis.”
“Someone wants Hollis out of the way. How did the murderer get Hollis’s car?”
“Janelle’s purse is missing, and Hollis said she had a key to the Lexus. He said you gave it to her. The killer must have used that key to get the Lexus. He saw the car on the street. and it wouldn’t take very long to steal it, load the body. and return the car. It was parked on the street, and Hollis was working in his back office. He wouldn’t have seen anything, and framing him was a piece of cake for anyone who knew of the fight he and Janelle had earlier.”
“That means the killer must be a man. Bodies are heavy, and you’re telling me all this because…?”
“I want you scared. I want you to realize you’re dealing with some nut-job who can kill and carry on with life as if nothing happened. I want you to back off looking for this guy.” Boone gazed around the house. “Nice place, but it’s not worth winding up dead over.”
I folded my arms. “This is Walker Boone being polite and considerate? You’re neither, least not to me. What are you up to?”
“I’m just a lawyer doing my job, trying to find the real killer and keep you out of it.”
“You’re a lawyer all right, clear through. You’re not here because of me, Boone. You’re here because of my mother. If something happens to me while you’re defending her rotten, devious, lying bastard of an ex–son–in–law, it could go badly for you when you have a case to try in her court. Guillotine Gloria may not look kindly upon Walker Boone, attorney at law.”
At least Boone had the decency to blush.
“Out!” I pointed my screwdriver to the door. “If you think I’m going to back off this case for your own personal benefit, you are out of your freaking mind. In fact, it makes me more determined than ever to stay with the case. I know stuff, lots of stuff. I can find the killer and not pay you one red cent.”
“This nut-job is for real.”
“And so is Judge Gloria Summerside.” I threw a black evening bag at his head that he caught in midair. Good reflexes from dodging bullets, knives, and the occasional baseball bat. Boone put the purse on the steps and started for the door. He opened it to Bruce Willis standing on the other side. Finally something was going right. I had a dog, a big dog. I had protection! I had Cujo! “Get him. Bite him,” I ordered, clapping my hands for emphasis.
BW looked from me to Boone, grinned—yeah, BW really did grin, I swear—and jumped up with his paws on Boone’s shoulders. Tail wagging, he licked his face. It was that kind of night. The only good thing was, I could now tell that Bruce Willis was indeed Bruce and not Brucette.
Boone did the scratch-behind-the-ears routine, and Bruce got back on all fours, looking happy and content and completely nonthreatening. “If this is your protection strategy, I wouldn’t give up on that alarm system if I were you,” Boone said as he walked out onto the porch. This time I nailed him in the back with one of my blue flip-flops. Revenge is sweet, even if it does come at the hand of a rubber shoe. Boone stopped and looked back to me, his eyes dark and serious. “Get the alarm system, Reagan. I saw someone on your porch looking in your window. That’s why I stopped.”
“You’re just trying to scare me again.”
“Yeah, I am.”
And he was doing a darn good job. BW followed Boone outside, my guard dog retreating to his domicile under the porch, and Boone’s silhouette fading into the dark. Who would be on my porch at night? What did he want? Breaking and entering for used clothes made no sense at all. What was going on, and how did I figure into it? Then again, maybe Boone fabricated the whole thing trying to get me off the case so he could collect his hefty lawyer fee.
THE NEXT MORNING I WAS UP EARLY WITH BAGS under my eyes and a headache from too little sleep and nightmares about obnoxious attorneys in my house. That AnnieFritz and Elsie Abbott came in through the back door with sly smiles on their faces meant they knew about my late-night visit from Walker Boone and wanted the 4–1–1.
“What were you both doing up at three in the morning?” I asked as AnnieFritz set a cinnamon cake smothered in pecans on the dining-room table next to a display of costume jewelry. Elsie put down three mugs of coffee and wandered into my kitchen for plates. I knew their kitchen, and they knew mine. KiKi wasn’t the only one who had pulled me out of the depths of divorce hell.
Elsie said, “Well now, sweet pea, we’ll tell you what we were doing up at the wee hours after you tell us why that handsome son–of–a–gun Boone was here. Something like that we just can’t walk away from. It wouldn’t be neighborly.”
I swiped a pecan from the cake. I didn’t want to have this conversation, knowing anything I said would be held against me in the court of gossip, but there was cake, jam, and coffee to consider. “Boone thinks Hollis didn’t kill Janelle, that someone had reason to frame him, and I could be in danger since I’m Hollis’s ex.”
Elsie cut a slab of cake and passed it to me, then cut sections for herself and AnnieFritz. “Took a mighty long time for Mr. Boone to get out that little bit of information.”
AnnieFritz parked her ample girth on an antique chair that creaked under her weight. She exchanged knowing looks with Elsie. They were bookend sisters, being more alike then different. One taught religion over at Saint Peter the Apostle, the other at Notre Dame Academy. All that talk about sex, guilt, and keeping things covered and zipped had more influence on the sisters than their horny middle-school students, and neither married. They were great neighbors, true friends, and reliable gossips. What they said could pretty much be taken as gospel. I pulled out a chair.
“So,” Elsie started, “maybe you should be paying attention to what Walker Boone is telling you. Last night at the Holstead viewing, some of that Seventeenth Street gang showed up. Seems Jerome Holstead has gone over to the dark side, but even the dark side shows up to pay respects when a daddy is laid to rest. They were all downright polite, nice as can be to everyone there.”
As they cased out the late-model cars in the parking lot and sized up the jewelry, I added to myself. AnnieFritz took a nibble of cake and said, “I got to talking to Big Joey right there by the open casket. I said that no man should have to wear a pink paisley tie, even when dead and gone, and Big Joey agreed wholeheartedly. Then I said how sad it was that Janelle and now Mr. Holstead both passed right sudden like. Big Joey said Janelle’s demise was not unfortunate one bit, and she had it coming, and good riddance to her.”
The cake suddenly tasted like glue. “You were chatting it up with members of the hood?”
AnnieFritz took a sip of coffee. “He didn’t wear any hood, honey, but he did have a nice tattoo on his forearm—a heart with ‘Mother F’ inside. I couldn’t see the whole name of his mamma because his shirt covered it, but isn’t that the sweetest thing? I figured anyone who thought that much of his mother had to be a fine person, no matter what anyone said.”
I considered the “Mother F” reference. Probably his mother’s name did not begin with F, but I decided to keep this to myself. If AnnieFritz hit it off with Big Joey, who was I to interfere?
Elsie sliced more cake. “Do you think the Seventeenth Street gang knows who did in Janelle? Wi
th a comment like that, it sounds like they sure know something. Up until last night, Sister and I were convinced Hollis was guilty as sin, but this got us to thinking that the boys—that’s what they call themselves, the boys—might know who did the deed. It would be god awful if Hollis was convicted of a crime he didn’t do, no matter how much we’d like to see the scallywag rot in jail for how he treated you.”
I wanted leads to the killer, but did it have to be this sort of lead? Poking around Urston’s house and Raylene’s garden was child’s play compared to “the boys,” but if the boys thought Cupcake had it coming, then they knew why. I took a gulp of coffee to wash down the cake and choked. AnnieFritz pounded me on the back hard enough to make my teeth rattle.
“Are you okay, sugar?” She looked at her watch. “Well now, I suppose it’s time to be opening this here shop of yours. Elsie and I are in need of some new bereavement ensembles. The Dunwhitty funeral is tomorrow night, and we surely can’t be showing up in the same thing time after time, now can we? What would people think? That would be downright bad for our business.”
By lunch I’d sold enough to visit the grocery without having to dump my purse upside down on the counter, hunting for change. I had done that last week at the Kroger store, and once was enough. I filled Bruce Willis’s water bowl, promised I’d bring home the bacon or something equally tasty, and locked the door. Auntie KiKi backed the Batmobile down her drive, stopped, and I took shotgun. The plan was to head to Urston’s place first to check out his shoes. KiKi said, “So what was Mr. Hunky doing at your place at three in the morning?”
