by Duffy Brown
My stomach lurched, KiKi stifled a gag, and Sissy buried her face back in her hands, crying for all she was worth. She finally managed, “Are you going to tell the police I tried to run you over?”
“I’m not the only one who thinks you could have killed Janelle,” I said to Sissy. “Franklin as your alibi isn’t much of one, with both of you wanting Janelle out of the way. I wouldn’t leave Savannah and take a job in Charleston just yet. Makes you look even guiltier.”
“All Virgil and I did was fall in love. Two people who couldn’t help themselves. Maybe Virgil and I will both be arrested and convicted. Lovers till the end.”
KiKi and I left Sissy in fantasy land and headed down the hall. “What do you think?” I asked as we stood on the sidewalk outside by the magnolia with blooms bigger than my head.
“I think Franklin should be castrated and do the world a favor, and Sissy needs a shrink and lots of meds. She could have killed Cupcake. She’s delusional and so blinded by love that she’s dangerous to herself and anyone who happens to get in her way. That would be you and Cupcake, in case you were wondering. Sissy’s a big girl and looks strong. She could have managed the body.”
“If she got the car close enough to the back steps of the ‘For Sale’ house, she could have dragged the body out onto the little porch, down a few steps, and right into the trunk.”
KiKi checked her watch. “I need to get back for a salsa lesson.”
“Since I’m up this way, I’m going to get Hollis’s mail and write a note to the post office powers-that–be to hold everything. Piled–up mail is a surefire invite to burglars, and we’ve already had our share. I should have done it sooner. I didn’t think it would take this long to find the killer.”
“They find the bad guys in an hour on TV, and that’s including commercials,” KiKi said. “I’ll have the Batmobile ready at eight thirty tonight. We need to talk strategy.”
“Strategy about what?”
“If Raylene killed Janelle, killing us won’t be a problem. An exit plan is in order, and I don’t mean in a body bag.”
KiKi drove off, and I hoofed it over to the town house. Using the new key I got from IdaMae, I jabbed it into the lock as a man in khaki pants and a blue polo walked over to me. I looked up into nice eyes, great teeth, and a big smile. Ted Bundy had nice eyes, great teeth, and a big smile.
“Hi?”
“Now, dollface, is that any way to greet a newfound friend?” He gave me a little wink.
“Cinnamon Sugar?”
He tugged at his shirt. “Conway by day, Cinnamon Sugar by night. You’re just the lady I was looking for. I hear you opened a right-nice consignment shop over there on Gaston. Think you might have something for Cinnamon Sugar? Gets real expensive putting together outfits for the stage, and a girl needs to keep things fresh and interesting; you know what I mean?”
“I have a black beaded shawl that just came in.”
“Honey, Cinnamon does not do black.”
Since Cinnamon was probably a size 24 and about 240 on the hoof, my resources were limited. “I took in a rhinestone necklace you might like. There’s a red-sequin purse that might work.”
Conway’s eyes brightened. “Now you’re talking. Cinnamon does well with red, maybe a little turquoise now and then.” Talking about himself in the third person was a bit strange until I considered the fact that Cinnamon Sugar was one person, Conway another.
Conway said, “I’ll stop on by later this week. If you happen to see anything else that catches your eye for Cinnamon, you just put it aside now, you hear?” Conway hitched his chin toward the town house. “Your ex’s, right?”
“I have to get the mail and check plants that I’m destined to kill. Do you know anything about watering? Too much, too little?”
“Botany major at Ole Miss.”
Conway/Cinnamon Sugar was a person of many talents. “Some things are meant to be,” I said. I turned the key, and Conway followed me inside. I led the way over to the mini jungle by the window.
“Walker told me the place was broken into.” Conway said, gazing around the living room. “This here looks like someone had themselves a holy fit and broke everything in sight. Least they didn’t knock over your planters. These are some expensive palms you have here. Your ex has good taste.”
“My ex doesn’t know a rose from a daisy. These belong to his ex–fiancée.”
“And someone murdered her?” Conway pulled a few spiky brown blades off the palms. “Who would do such a thing?” He held up the blades by the window to get a better look. “Honey, your fronds are stressed.”
I didn’t know if I should make another sign of the cross or offer an apology. “I take it that’s bad?”
“They’re brown, not pink like they should be.” Conway tsked. “Too much water.”
A six-foot-two guy tsking like Grandma Summerside over her petunias took me by surprise. Then again, if the situation of brown instead of pink warranted a good tsk, size and gender didn’t matter diddly. Conway poked his finger around in the soil, saying something about rotting the roots. I only listened to this part with half a brain, the other half thinking about the palm that was the wrong color.
Before when I’d been in the town house, I’d been obsessed with finding the blackmail files or picking up horn-rimmed glasses. “Are these the same kind of palms that are out at the Sweet Marsh Country Club?”
Conway laughed, his big, white, toothy smile cutting across his mahogany face. “Cinnamon Sugar is not exactly country-club material, if you get my drift. But these here palms are exotic, and I’m sure the country club gets the very best out there. Raimondo Baldassare has the palms at his nursery, the only place around as far as I know. Raimondo grows things no one else can. Word has it he’s got a new rose coming out this summer that’s just dynamite. That Urston Russell guy who judges the Homes and Gardens Tour is going plumb crazy trying to find out what it is. Raimondo has a green thumb, as they say.”
“And a mighty fine butt.”
“Amen, sister.” Conway stuck the fronds in his pocket, just the way Raimondo did. When he noticed me watching, he said, “You don’t want dead leaves in your soil. Messes with the pH balance. Wait two days to let them dry out, then water the plants good and leave them alone for a few more days. Now, I better be on my way. I’ve got a show to get ready for, and right now I smell like shrimp and scallops. I’m a chef over at the Pink House.”
“Shrimp and tasso ham in cream gravy over cheddar grits is my favorite thing at the Pink House.”
Conway beamed. “That-there’s my dear auntie’s recipe. Like I said, chef Conway by day and best-queen Cinnamon Sugar by night.”
Since it was day, I thanked Conway for the plant advice. I told him I’d hold the necklace and purse for him at the Fox. After he left, I wrote a Dear Mr. Postman/woman note and Remptied Hollis’s mailbox of catalogs, flyers, and a few bills. I put everything on the kitchen counter so Hollis could take care of business when he got out of jail. By then, he might be ready for a free cruise, a five-dollar pizza, and a hearing aid. I caught the bus, and as it rumbled along, I wondered how Hollis and Janelle could afford exotic plants from Raimondo when they couldn’t afford a security system. They were gone most of the day at the office. It was only common sense to choose security over palm trees.
I’D FINALLY REMEMBERED TO WIND MY GRANDfather clock, and it bonged ten times, the rich mellow sound filling Cherry House as I opened the door to let myself and customers inside. Business was steady enough to keep me hopping, and in between hops, I wondered what in the world Raylene wanted to talk about tonight. Maybe she’d confess to killing Janelle. Maybe hell would freeze over and winged pigs would fly over Savannah.
I was putting a straw hat tied with a teal scarf on the display table next to a nice Coach bag when IdaMae came in from the direction of the kitchen. She gave me a shy smile and little wave from the hall. “I was up this way showing a bungalow over on Bolton,” she said to me as she walked over to the d
isplay. “What a great store you have here.”
“And next time you can use the front door.”
IdaMae got all red in the face. “You know how it is: friends in the back door, guests use the front. After all these years of us knowing one another, it seemed more fitting for me to come on in through the kitchen.”
Bruce Willis trotted from behind the counter, tail wagging, snout burned in IdaMae’s dress where it shouldn’t be. Dogs have no shame. IdaMae scratched him behind the ears. “Maybe I should get a dog.”
“You sure get along with this big old guy, but Buttercup might have something to say about a canine in the house.”
IdaMae looked around as if to make sure no one else was near, then whispered, “I came to warn you, honey. I hear you nearly got yourself run over by that Sissy Collins girl yesterday. Everyone’s talking about it, and I couldn’t sleep a wink all night just thinking about you in danger like that.”
IdaMae got closer still. “I had to get myself over here and warn you. Sissy’s not quite right in the head, if you know what I mean. Her mamma and I are neighborly, and I remember her saying that her Sissy is sweet as pie, but if she gets riled up, she can be downright dangerous. I was thinking if she tried to do you harm, she could have gone after Janelle. Now there’s a woman with a real knack for ticking people off. Some say she was into blackmail.” IdaMae put her hand over her mouth as if just saying the word was sinful. “Others say Sissy Collins had a reason to get herself blackmailed.”
IdaMae gave me a hug. “Hollis has his troubles, and I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you, too. You promise me to watch yourself.” She cut her eyes back to the display table. “And since I’m here, I sure could do with a new hat and maybe a new sweater to replace this old thing I have on.”
I wrote up the sale and thanked IdaMae for the warning. I told her not to worry and that I’d look both ways before I crossed any more streets. I closed up at six, straightened, and cleaned till seven. I took a long shower, shaved my legs, and moisturized. Just in case things went the way KiKi suspected they might go tonight, I put on good underwear and a nice yellow dress I wouldn’t be mind being caught dead in. If I wound up on a slab at the morgue, I didn’t want to embarrass Mamma. These things mattered in Savannah.
At eight thirty, I met up with KiKi, and we headed for the Historic District. “Given any thought to that strategy you were talking about?” I asked her as we tooled along.
“To tell you the truth, I took a lesson from Janelle’s playbook.”
“You’re going to blackmail Raylene?”
“I wrote a letter and put it in my mailbox. It’s all about how Urston and Raylene are in cahoots to fix the Homes and Gardens judging and how Janelle got wind of it and was blackmailing them. I said that we’re on our way over to Raylene’s house, and if this note goes out, come looking for us in her garden under the fountain.”
“That should be enough for the police to investigate.”
“Who said anything about the police? I sent the letter to Elsie and AnnieFritz. If we don’t make it home, the letter goes out to them. One phone call from Elsie and AnnieFritz, and it will be all over Savannah what Raylene and Urston have been up to. They won’t be able to lift their heads in this town ever again, and it will serve them right.”
When we got to Saint Julian, we parked two blocks from Raylene’s. “I suppose this is discreet enough,” KiKi said and killed the engine. We got out and walked down to Raylene’s, but instead of going up the elegant front main entrance, we took the gate to the side. A narrow path led to the garden, which was lit with little brass electric lights. Raylene sat at a wrought-iron table across from Urston, my fountain trickling in the corner.
“I’m not sure why we agreed to come here,” I said to Raylene, KiKi and I taking the two empty chairs.
“Because you have no proof that Urston and I were involved in Janelle’s murder, and you’re hoping to get some information to save that husband of yours.”
“Ex–husband.”
“Whatever. Urston and I need to get this Janelle thing straightened out before you ruin us both, and in this town it doesn’t take much. Junior has no idea what’s going on, and he wouldn’t be one bit happy if he found out. Winning Best of Show is nothing to him. I do declare, all that man cares about is his bank and whether Mother Carter called today and whether she was fairing well.” Raylene cut her eyes to Urston. “Some men never do grow up.”
“We figure you know about our little arrangement,” Urston said, ignoring Raylene. “Belinda told me that you found my red notebook and the racing form when you were at my house. Doesn’t take rocket science to figure out what we’re up to.”
“I’m not proud of what I’m doing,” Raylene added. “But I’m the kind of person that when I want something bad enough I don’t wait around to get it handed to me. I go after it, and nobody gets in my way.”
I was okay up until that last comment. “And we’re in your way?”
“You two are in everyone’s way,” Urston grumbled.
“Now you’re going to kill us because we know too much,” I said to Raylene and Urston, and KiKi rushed in with, “You should know we left a letter saying where we are and what’s going on here. If we don’t get home in one piece—”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Raylene said in her most exasperated voice. “There’s no need to kill you, though there are times when it’s been mighty tempting, indeed. The truth is, Urston and I weren’t anywhere near Janelle when she was murdered. You’re right in that I went to see her when she was showing the house, but that was the last time I laid eyes on the woman. I needed to talk to her. With me giving money to Urston and Janelle these last few months, I was out of cash. In the beginning, it was simple—I just paid Urston—but then Janelle came along. If I went to Junior for more money, he’d ask questions. Having the wife of the bank president involved with blackmail and bribery would not set well with him and even less with Mother Carter. Junior may not divorce me, but things would never be the same between us; I know it.”
“Janelle said she didn’t care about your problems so then you killed her,” KiKi said putting the obvious spin on the story.
“You’re not getting this at all,” Raylene huffed. “Janelle and I had a fight, verbal not physical, over my paying her. I couldn’t afford it. She told me that was too bad and a couple wanting to look at the house was due any minute, so I left the place. I called Urston, and we met at Forsyth Park, in front of the fountain. There was a concert that night, and I had on some dreadful clothes that one of the maids keeps here at the house. Urston and I blended right in with the Savannah riffraff. We needed to figure out what to do about Janelle, but there was nothing we could do. Janelle held all the cards.”
I rolled my eyes so far back that I nearly fell out of the chair. “And you expect me to believe that you then left the park and meekly went home.”
“After my encounter with Janelle, I was dying of thirst and started to buy lemonade from a street vendor,” Raylene continued. “Lola’s Lemonade. She had a daughter, six or seven, who kept playing with the cups. I told the girl to stop touching everything with her dirty little grimy hands and that she needed a haircut and to wash her filthy face. She called me an old witch. I called her a street urchin. The mother and I got into it, and a policeman came over.”
I felt bad for the little girl, the mother, and the cop, and it was unfortunate Raylene hadn’t gotten tossed in the slammer.
“If you have any notion about telling Junior or the Homes and Gardens Committee about Urston and me and our arrangement”—Raylene went on—“realize it’s your word against ours. You have no evidence of bribery or payoffs. You’ll look like fools. And, of course, I’ll have to sue you for defamation of character.”
The looking-like-fools part was more bark than bite. Half of Savannah already suspected there was something going on between Raylene and Urston. Getting Best of Show three years in a row was suspicious as a hairpin in a bachelo
r’s bed. “What did Janelle have on you?”
“Why do you need to know?” Raylene asked.
“It could help us find the killer, and that would get us off your back.” Truth be told, it was a bad case of plain old Savannah nosiness on my part.
“This whole ugly affair is a result of Urston’s big ego and small brain,” Raylene quipped.
Urston straightened his bow tie. “Janelle played me like she played Hollis. She was young and pretty, and she and I shared a few bottles of Château Lafite. I told her I was an important person in this town and I was going to make Raylene win the competition. Janelle said I was fantastic, powerful, and handsome. She followed me around till she got pictures of Raylene paying me.”
“Who knows where those pictures are now, but you sure don’t have them,” Raylene said to me in her snooty, high-pitched voice, irritating as nails across a blackboard. “In fact, you don’t have anything on us.” She stood. “Now go find the real murderer and leave us be.” She did a little shoo wave as if KiKi and I were pesky mosquitoes who dared to invade her garden.
On our way to the Beemer, I said to KiKi, “I was so sure Raylene and Urston had something to do with Janelle’s murder, and now we’ve got nothing.”
KiKi gave me a devilish grin. “We got Raylene sweating, and that in itself is worth the price of admission. But I have to say, this makes Sissy Collins our gal.” KiKi took the driver’s side. “She must have been the one to visit Janelle after the couple left. She killed her and got the Lexus using the key in Janelle’s purse.”
“Can you really see Sissy doing that? Having the wherewithal to pull it off?” I asked KiKi.
“Bet if I had a martini in my hand I could see it a lot better.” KiKi headed up Bull Street to Jen’s and Friends. The place had cheap drinks, was always crowded, and the decibel level made overhearing anything nearly impossible.
