Iced Chiffon

by Duffy Brown

  “I’m working on it.”

  He rubbed his hand over his face, then motored through the green light. “Virgil Franklin has his faults, to be sure, but he helps a lot of people. He doesn’t care if they’re from the hood or the country club; he steps in and saves marriages, gets people in AA, rehab, finds kids homes, gets food on the table where there isn’t food or a table. Big Joey and Franklin get along, and Joey wasn’t happy when he got wind that Janelle was blackmailing him about his little…shortcoming. Franklin is the sacred cow around here. Hands off. Big Joey didn’t kill her.”

  “Someone else beat him to it?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  Boone’s eyes were back to business black. “So you stay off Seventeenth Street, and if you had two ounces of sense, which I know you don’t, you’d stay off this case.”

  Boone pulled up in front of my house and did the quick look-around. “Where’s your furry friend?”

  I clapped my hands, and a doggie head appeared from under the porch. “We’re making progress. You’re the only one he’s ever come out to see.”

  “We badasses hang together.” Boone climbed out and opened the door on my side. I stepped out and grabbed my purse. Bruce Willis trotted up to Boone and licked his hand. Boone did the ear-and-head-scratch ritual.

  “I don’t believe this. He doesn’t come out from under the porch for me, and I feed him.”

  Boone climbed back into the Chevy, then pulled away from the curb. He stopped and looked back. “He likes hot dogs. He’s been living out of Dumpsters and needs a break from all the healthy crap you no doubt dump in his bowl each day. I gave him part of my dog from Dog and Deli when I was here last night. We bonded.”

  “How much is Hollis’s bill so far?”

  “Beats me—I suck at accounting.”

  “Boone.”

  “What.”

  I had to do this no matter how much I didn’t want to. I took a deep breath and clenched my fists at my sides. “Thanks for showing up tonight.”

  “Now, was that so hard?”

  “Yes!”

  He gave me a little salute. “Remember to lock up.”

  He sped off, and I switched my attention to the traitor at my side. “A hot dog? I give you Science Diet at thirty-five dollars a bag while I eat cheese sandwiches. You eat healthier than I do, and then you spoil it all with a hot dog?”

  Bruce smiled up at me, tail wagging. “I try to be a good doggie mommy and this is what I get?” There was more tail-thumping happiness. Defeated, I started up the steps, and Bruce reclaimed his perch under the porch. At least he came out once in a while, even if it was for artery-clogging food.

  I went inside and switched on the lights. As I stood in the hall I smelled…dog poop? Except Bruce was outside, and I was diligent about scooping. Oh for the love of…I was the one who smelled like dog poop, and this was my favorite blouse because it didn’t need ironing. Maybe my shoes had been defiled? My capris? No, I loved these capris! I unbuttoned my blouse, slid off my pants, and tossed them out on the porch, followed by my flip-flops. I bet Cupcake never had these kinds of problems. Then again, Cupcake was dead. She had serious problems; I was just relegated to my bra and panties. Things could be worse.

  I wiped off my Old Yeller, one of the joys of shiny plastic, and scrubbed myself under a steaming shower till the hot water conked out. Exhausted, I fell into bed but was instantly wide awake. Did I remember to lock the doors and close the windows? Of course not. I never did these things. I dragged myself off my nice comfy pillow-top mattress, something dear old Hollis left behind that I could actually use, and made my way downstairs. I secured everything that had a bolt or latch and even wedged a chair under the back doorknob for extra protection. I pulled the blue gingham curtains closed so no one could see in.

  I kept two lights burning, in the dining room and kitchen, then got out my trusty baseball bat. I sat on the second step next to my bill pile and stared at my neat little shop, not really seeing the clothes, shoes, and jewelry. I didn’t want to think about what my purse snatcher said tonight, but the words kept running around in my head and wouldn’t go away. I wasn’t all that well versed in the behaviors of muggers, but I was willing to bet that “Give me your money” fit the profile of a purse snatcher a whole lot better than “Mind your own business.”

  My mugger wasn’t a purse snatcher. I’d ruffled someone’s feathers, and considering my activities these last few days, that covered a lot of territory. If Boone hadn’t come along when he did, who knows what would have happened in that alley. Someone wanted me to stop snooping around. It could have been Urston or Raylene or, more likely, someone they hired. Maybe it was Sissy, and she waited for me after the wake? Big Joey and the boys didn’t want me hanging around for sure, but as far as I knew, a black trench coat didn’t fit with typical gang garb. Somehow I’d gotten close to finding Cupcake’s killer, and this was a warning shot over my bow to back off.

  Whoever it was meant business, and sitting here on the steps alone in the semidark with just a baseball bat gave me a bad case of the willies. I had to get a phone, and I’d have a little woman–to–dog talk with Bruce Willis about guard duty and not falling for every guy who wagged a juicy hot dog in his direction.

  AT NOON THE NEXT DAY, AUNTIE KIKI HUSTLED through my back door with two glasses of sweet tea and stopped right in the middle of the kitchen, eyes bugging. “Lord have mercy. Every day you look a little worse, honey. What in heaven’s name happened this time?”

  “I had a run in with a purse snatcher.”

  KiKi plopped the glasses on the counter and clutched her bosom. Scarlett O’Hara couldn’t have done it better. “What is this world coming to? Are you all right?” KiKi took in my scraped knees and hands, then gave me an auntie hug, patting me on the back like she did when my soccer team lost the state finals.

  “It’s just a phase,” KiKi soothed. “Ever since Cupcake came on the scene, things have been a mite rough for you. But it’ll get better; you just wait and see. Walker Boone came looking for you last night at the Marshall House; did he ever find you?”

  “He’s the one who scared off the mugger.”

  “Why, see there,” KiKi beamed as she let me go. “Things are better already. Boone did you a good turn for a change, and who would have thought that would ever happen?” Her brow furrowed again. “But is there some particular reason why you’re all splattered with yellow paint?”

  I led the way to what used to be my pantry off the kitchen. “Ta–da,” I said as I opened the door to sunshine-yellow walls, a cute vintage crystal light fixture salvaged from one of the bedrooms on the third floor, and a gilded cheval glass from the attic.

  “How did you do this? You hate getting into little places.”

  “I left the door open, and since I have no food to put in here, I decided to make it into a dressing room for the customers, if I had customers.” KiKi and I listened to a house void of shopping noises.

  “You know,” KiKi said in a sympathetic auntie voice, “you could sell Cherry House and start over. You’re young; you can do that. There might be a teaching job for you out there; the city schools are always looking for substitutes. You could move in with your mamma or Putter and me. We’d all love to have you; you know that. We’re family. We support each other through thick and thin.”

  Visions of being trapped in a classroom with a bunch of mean little kids ran though my brain, followed by more visions of Mamma’s perfectly ordered house, where everything had a place and never moved. Or maybe there was Uncle Putter, darting through hallways in his boxer shorts while a wild tango vibrated up through the floorboards, with KiKi saying, “One-two-three, one-two-three.”

  I couldn’t move in with Mamma or KiKi. There wouldn’t be out-and-out bloodshed or a homicide; it wasn’t the Summerside way. There would be dinners where I had to eat my carrots if I wanted dessert and long silences over morning oatmeal. I hated oatmeal an
d never understood how a carrot—a vegetable with great color—could taste like dung dunked in sugar.

  “Flyers,” I yelped, feeling a wave of inspiration—or was it desperation?—wash over me. “Like when we advertised car washes at church. If it works for the good nuns at Saint John’s, it can work for me.”

  “Well,” KiKi said, not sounding all that convinced, “I suppose we can try flyers to draw attention to the Fox; that’s one way of doing it. Cher used sixteen changes of sequined-enhanced clothing, ten wigs, five drag queens, and a mechanical bull to get attention.”

  Neither of us were drag queens or had access to a mechanical bull, so, a half hour later, KiKi and I were handing out flyers I’d made on her computer.

  “My feet are killing me,” KiKi said as we came out of Dottie Freemont’s Modeling and Finishing School. “Remind me again why I’m doing this.”

  “You’re the one who said we support each other through thick and thin. I appreciate your help; I truly do.”

  “I wish my big toe did,” KiKi said to me, then pointed across the street to Shoes by Sarah. “We should visit Sarah. She’s a good bet for pushing a consignment shop. If gals sell their lightly worn designer shoes at your place, they’re more likely to buy new shoes at hers, and I could do with some sandals that didn’t give me blisters.”

  We crossed Abercorn, and I opened the boutique’s lavender door to plush carpet, cream-colored walls, and little French chairs with tapestry upholstery. Something by Mozart played in the background. Displays of evening clutch bags, designer heels, and sporty flats dotted the store, and I spotted a pair of pink-and-white peep-toe pumps that screamed Buy me.

  “I know you,” the woman with “Sarah” on her nametag said to me as she came to the counter, where KiKi and I stood. She was dressed in the boutique uniform of white blouse and black skirt. “You were at that wake last night. You’re the ex.” She stared at KiKi. “You were there, too.”

  KiKi took off her shoe and rubbed her toe. “I was there for the martinis.”

  Sarah leaned across the counter and whispered, even though no one was around. “I suppose you’re happy as a clam that Janelle’s pushing up daisies.”

  “I take it you’re another clam,” KiKi whispered back.

  “More than once that woman returned shoes with some half-baked story about them being defective and demanded another pair for free. Said if I didn’t do right by her, she’d put the word out that Shoes by Sarah was a store not to do business with. Boutiques have a hard enough time as it is, competing with the mall. In this pitiful economy, we’re all hanging on by a thread. I gave that little witch what she wanted, but I’m here to tell you I’m mighty grateful she’s not around to bother me anymore.”

  KiKi nodded at the pile of shoes on the counter. “Well, someone sure enough likes your store. They have quite a selection picked out.”

  Sarah put her hand to her heart and gazed skyward in devout prayer. “Thank the Lord for Trellie Armstrong. That fine woman’s just the opposite of you-know-who. I do declare Trellie keeps half the boutiques in Savannah afloat. She would have bought even more shoes if she didn’t need to get herself presentable for her dear Baxter. She said he plays golf every day at the country club, then comes home and takes her out to dinner.” Sarah winked. “On her dime, of course. Baxter sure did marry well, I can tell you that much, and Trellie got herself one fine-looking man to wake up to each morning.”

  KiKi looked thoughtful for a minute. “In all fairness, I have to say I’ve never seen Trellie happier.”

  “I do believe you’re right,” Sarah agreed with a genuine smile. “Right as rain.”

  After KiKi bought comfortable navy sandals and Sarah promised to spread the word about the Prissy Fox, we cut across Broughton, passing out more flyers. KiKi’s blister looked red and angry even with the new shoes, so we took a shortcut home, cutting though the alley by the Marshall House. I sidestepped a loose cobblestone, and KiKi suddenly flattened me against the side of a huge green Dumpster. “Baxter,” she mouthed, and pointed around the corner.

  I took a quick peek. Good Lord, it was Baxter coming out the back door of the Marshall House! I wouldn’t have recognized him in a beat–up Braves ball cap, thick horn-rimmed glasses, ragged polo shirt, and cheap Levis. Sarah had just said he was playing golf at the country club. But lo and behold, here the man was right in front of us in an alley.

  I craned my neck for another look to make sure. Yep, it was Baxter Armstrong all right. KiKi stuck her head below mine. Baxter dropped a suitcase in the back of an old, rusted black pickup, then jumped in the driver’s side and brought the truck to life. For a split second, his gaze landed on us. I jumped back, pulling KiKi with me as the truck tore out of the alley.

  “Heavenly days,” KiKi said, puffing out a shaky breath after the truck left. “Do you think he saw us? What was that all about, anyway?”

  “I doubt if Baxter realized we’re here. This isn’t the usual stomping grounds for KiKi Vanderpool and Reagan Summerside.”

  “Honey, this isn’t the usual stomping grounds for Baxter Armstrong either, and yet here he was in the flesh, right in front of us. Why on earth was the man sneaking out of a hotel when he should be on the tenth hole with a driver in his hand? Maybe that was Baxter’s evil twin brother, like on Days of Our Lives. Maybe it was Baxter planning a surprise party for Trellie, and that’s why he’s here being all secretive. He could be working on one of the fund-raisers Trellie heads up. There could be a million reasons why he’s here and not playing golf today.”

  “Except why is he dressed the way he is and coming out the rear entrance? For sure he didn’t want to be recognized with those glasses and that hat.”

  KiKi bit at her bottom lip and made the sign of the cross. “I hate to even say this, but maybe he’s cheating on Trellie. Do you think he really did marry her for her money like everyone thinks?” KiKi stomped her foot right there in the alley. “I like Trellie, and up until now, I liked Baxter. Every time Putter and I meet up with them, Baxter’s nice as can be and so attentive to Trellie. Why is he doing this to her? What a rat!”

  “Last night I saw Baxter right here at the Marshall House, having a drink at Cupcake’s wake. I thought the Marshall House was his usual watering hole, and his being there was a coincidence. Now I’m not so sure. I think Cupcake might have found out what we just found out. Not that we really found out anything for sure, of course, but we have definite suspicions.”

  KiKi leaned against the Dumpster to rub her foot. “You think Cupcake knew Baxter was stepping out on Trellie?”

  “We found out, and we weren’t even looking to find out. Cupcake was on the hunt to add unsuspecting wayward individuals to her blackmail list. I think she discovered what Baxter’s doing and that’s why he was at the Marshall House last night—to celebrate.”

  KiKi held up her hands as if warding off a herd of charging cattle. “This is crazy talk. We’re making assumptions that could end up hurting a lot of people. If Baxter really does play golf every afternoon like Trellie thinks he does, or even if he just plays once in a while, Putter will have the skinny on him top to bottom. Putter doesn’t know what color our living room is or if we’ve had chicken three times in a row for dinner, but if there’s a golf ball involved, he knows name, rank, and serial number.”

  KiKi suddenly looked happy, and with the blister situation, she hadn’t smiled all afternoon. “You and I should meet Putter for dinner at the club and get this straightened out. It’s crab-cake night in the dining room, and I’m dying for a good crab cake and maybe a piece of chocolate cheesecake. This is all in the interest of getting our facts straight, of course. Put on something nice and do up your hair, honey. We need to leave by five sharp.”

  Chapter Ten

  BY the time we got back home, KiKi was barefoot and saying unflattering things about every shoe ever made. She hobbled to her house to tend to her poor toe, and I opened the Fox to three new customers and Dinah Corwin waiting for me on the front
porch. Dinah had on huge sunglasses, no doubt to hide the aftereffects of one too many dirty martinis the night before.

  “Great party,” I said to Dinah as another customer strolled through the door, making my heart do a little tap dance in anticipation of money coming my way.

  “That it was,” Dinah said in a weak voice as she sank into a chair. She held her head with both hands and made little gurgling sounds deep in her throat. “You wouldn’t happen to have two aspirin by any chance?”

  I went off to get the pills and a glass of water and collided with Chantilly, rushing in through the front door. “I almost didn’t recognize you,” I said, taking in her appearance. She had on skinny jeans, swanky boots, a yellow tank top with little rhinestones, and no sign of a brown uniform anywhere. “If UPS knew you looked this good, they’d give you special dispensation on wearing brown.”

  Chantilly laughed. “I have the day off and came over here to go shopping at the best little shop in Savannah. I’m in need of something real nice to go with this little old thing!” Chantilly thrust out her left hip along with her left hand, which sported a sparkling diamond on the third finger.

  “You’re engaged?”

  “To the finest man on earth, I do declare,” Chantilly squealed, grabbing me in a hug. “Am I lucky or what! I’m so excited I can’t stand it. I wanted you to know so that you don’t give up on men like I almost did.”

  “I am so over men.”

  “Nuh–uh.” Chantilly shook her finger at me schoolteacher style. “You can’t be doing that. I was engaged once before to a complete loser. He emptied my bank account, sold my stuff at that flea market out there by the airport, and cheated on me with Cousin Rachael and Cousin Ralph. Obviously, I didn’t know my fiancé as well as I thought I did. That was two years ago, and just look at me now. Simon is different. Simon is way different. The man treats me like gold.” Chantilly gave me a wicked look. “And he’s gorgeous as all get-out.”