Whiskey and Gunpowder

by Liliana Hart

  “Yikes,” Rosemarie said.

  I’d learned to just let Scarlet’s stories roll off. “Anyway,” I said. “Gerard’s daughter has a beach condo on Tybee Island, but she’s been cut off from daddy’s pocket book. Last month she reported an armed robbery and told police she’d been tied up and assaulted while her condo was ransacked. She had a few abrasions around her wrists and some scratches on her face, but nothing too serious. Between the jewelry and art, almost a million dollars of stuff was taken. She filed a claim with insurance, but insurance isn’t buying it that it went down as she said it did. The insurance company hired us to decide whether or not they’re going to have to make a million-dollar payout to Miss Willis.”

  “How are we going to catch her?” Rosemarie said. “A little B&E like that one case you and Kate did? Maybe she’s got all the goods hidden away in her safe.”

  “Nothing that exciting,” I said. I was barely proficient at B&E when I was with an expert like Kate. I couldn’t imagine what it’d be like with Rosemarie and Scarlet tagging along. “There was an alert from a pawn shop in Charleston where some of the stolen goods were brought in. We’re going to check it out and see if the items match up with our list and if the clerk can give a positive ID on whoever brought it in.”

  “I love going to Charleston,” Scarlet said. “I think one of my husbands was from there. Or maybe it was his brother who lived there. Whichever it was, I remember a big white balcony and a bathtub full of vodka.”

  “Your trips to Charleston and mine are very different,” I said.

  Chapter Eleven

  It took us a good three hours to get to Charleston, and it was going on four o’clock by the time we arrived.

  I found parking on a side street, and I maneuvered Black Betty into the space. Thank goodness there was no one parked behind me, or parallel parking wouldn’t have been as easy as I’d made it look.

  My phone rang and I didn’t recognize the number. “Addison Holmes,” I said.

  “This is Jolene Meader,” the woman said. “You know, from the Good Luck Café?”

  “I’ve know you since I was born, Jolene.”

  “People forget their roots when they move away,” she said. “I don’t expect you to be any different.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “I saw that man again,” she said. “The one I was telling you about from last fall. Creepy brown eyes.”

  “When was that?” I asked, grabbing a pen and piece of paper from my bag.

  “This morning. Saw him at the drugstore. I’ve got a girl who opens the café for breakfast now so I don’t have to get up so godawful early, but I like to go into the drugstore early. That’s when you find out all the juicy bits about people. Who’s picking up prescriptions they don’t want anyone to know about, buying condoms or pregnancy tests. The early birds usually have something to hide.”

  “Good to know,” I said. “What did creepy brown eyes buy?”

  “Lots of packing tape, a couple of bottles of alcohol, scissors, a screwdriver set, a padlock, a home wax kit, and a pack of gum. Cinnamon flavored. There might have been a few more things in his basket, but I couldn’t see them.”

  “Impressive,” I said. And a reminder to never buy anything in Whiskey Bayou. “Did you see where he went?”

  “He was heading toward Bayou Bridge and driving a beige Cadillac. Older model.”

  “Was anyone with him?”

  “Nope, just him. See you at the party. I always said you and that boy you’re marrying are good people.”

  She hung up, and I shook my head in wonder. I’d never heard Jolene say a good word about anyone.

  We all filed out of the van. I was going to say something to Rosemarie and Scarlet about not drawing a lot of attention to ourselves and letting me do the talking, but then I stopped to really look at us and figured it was a waste of breath. We looked like we’d just gotten off the crazy bus—Scarlet in her fur coat and Rosemarie in her puffball hat and too wide anime eyes.

  “Let’s do this,” Scarlet said, and started walking across the street.

  I sighed and followed after her.

  “I love pawn shops,” Rosemarie said. “It’s like a store of hidden treasures.”

  “Or other people’s junk,” I said.

  “When I got divorced I sold my wedding rings to a pawn shop,” Rosemarie said. “And all his guns and ammo and most of his clothes. Plus his record collection and his toolbox. He was real mad about that toolbox, but I got a great price on it. I used that money to buy Johnny Castle and Baby. I figured it was the least Roger could do since he got all new stuff when he moved in with that skank.”

  “What’s a skank?” Scarlet asked.

  “Like a ho,” I said.

  “I like the words young people use nowadays. I keep a list of all my favorites. Cray, trolling, catfishing, bae, wizard sleeve… It’s like learning a whole new language. I’m bilingual.”

  “Where did you learn those words?” I asked.

  “When I was at the grocery store one day this girl said, “Bitch, you cray,” and then I was like, “Damn skippy.” And apparently, catfishing is what I was doing when I filled out my online dating profile. I don’t photograph as good as I used to, so I used a picture of a young Delta Burke and put a lot of different filters on it to give her that soft dewy look. But I guess that’s illegal because they yanked my profile down when that young man complained. He wasn’t nothing special anyway. He must’ve been wearing a toupee in his picture because he was as bald as an egg when he showed up on our date.”

  “Poor guy,” I heard Rosemarie mutter under her breath.

  Queen to Pawn was one of the larger pawn shops in the area. It sat just outside downtown Charleston and was located on the corner of a strip of buildings. It took up both floors and had tacky neon signs and arrows pointing to the front door.

  I opened the front door and a little bell rang, alerting our arrival. The place was huge and smelled of must and other people’s stuff. There were musical instruments against one whole wall, and speakers and amps. There were autographed gold records and vintage movie posters, and big screen TVs on the other side. There was a row of square jewelry counters with glass tops and fronts, and the cheaper pieces were up toward the front of the store and the diamond rings closer to the main counter in the center of the store.

  Behind the counter were all the guns—racks and racks of them—and there was a little bald man standing by the register, staring at us like he’d never seen three women coming into a pawn shop before. He was about my height and wearing a long-sleeve plaid shirt with the cuffs rolled up to the elbows. Both his arms and knuckles were tattooed, and his name tag said Daryl.

  “I’m gonna look around,” Scarlet said. “I’ve got my eye on that banjo over there.”

  I looked at Rosemarie, and she shrugged. “I’m sure the people on the cruise ship will love that.”

  I smiled and then looked at the man behind the counter. “I’m Addison Holmes,” I said. “I’m working for Alliance Insurance on a fraud claim, and I saw on the hot sheet that you’d bought some items.”

  “Actually, the new guy bought the items,” he said, his disgust clear to see. “Dummy didn’t bother to check the hot sheet first for some primo goods. I noticed it when I was going over the inventory report when I came in just after noon, so I called it in. Cops haven’t been here yet. But the new guy is now unemployed. I don’t deal in stolen goods in my place. Now I’ve got to find a new dummy to work for me.”

  “They like being called dummy?” Rosemarie asked.

  The guy shrugged. “Depends on if they deserve it. I mostly say it behind their backs.”

  “You shouldn’t have any problem finding someone new,” Rosemarie said, deadpan.

  “Do you have the items?” I asked. “I’d like to check them against the list the insurance company gave me.”

  “Yeah, I put them aside once I realized what they were,” Daryl said.

  He gra
bbed a box from under the counter, and then got one of the black velvet rectangles so he could display the jewelry. He took the pieces out one by one and laid them on the velvet.

  I opened my file and took out the list and a picture of Zoe Willis. “Do you recognize this girl?” I asked.

  He squinted at the picture and shook his head. “I’ve not seen her before, but I wasn’t here when these were brought in. I can check the security camera and have it brought up on the big TVs in the front.”

  “That would be great, thanks,” I said. Rosemarie had wandered off, and I was left there alone to look at each piece of jewelry and see if they matched the descriptions from the insurance company.

  “She brought in a couple of pieces of art too,” Daryl said. “New guy paid her way too much for that stuff. The dummy. He deserves to be unemployed.”

  I heard the first strains of “Dueling Banjos” from somewhere behind me, and I grimaced in apology to Daryl.

  “I’m going to get the security video set up,” he said, and escaped to the back.

  From somewhere upstairs came the answering call of “Dueling Banjos”, only Rosemarie didn’t have a banjo. She was singing in her high operatic soprano.

  “Oh, Lord,” I whispered and tried to read through the list as fast as possible and check off the matching items.

  These were definitely Zoe Willis’s belongings. Now I just needed to see if she was dumb enough to bring them in herself. Either way, the insurance company wasn’t going to have to shell out the cash, and the ball would be back in their court as to what to do with her about the insurance fraud.

  By the time Daryl came back to the counter Scarlet and Rosemarie were in full dueling banjo mode.

  “Is that a cat?” he asked, looking toward the stairs that led to the second floor. “I think someone stepped on it.”

  “Were you able to get the video?” I asked, talking louder to drown out the background noise.

  “Yeah, it’s pulled up on the TVs in front.”

  We walked to the front of the store where the big screen TVs were and the screens were all blue. I could see Scarlet from where we stood in front of the TVs and she’d tossed her mink over a sousaphone. Daryl seemed a little shell-shocked. I was guessing he’d never seen a ninety-something year old woman with hair extensions rocking out on a banjo. I hadn’t even known she could play.

  She looked up at us while Rosemarie was singing her part of the song and gave us the devil horns sign and stuck out her tongue like Gene Simmons.

  “This won’t take long,” I told Daryl.

  He snapped out of his trance and turned toward the TVs. He had a remote in his hand and he pointed it toward a little black box I hadn’t noticed before attached to the ceiling. When he hit play the screens lit up with the security tape, and he fast-forwarded until Zoe Willis came into the store.

  “That’s her,” I said. “Can I have a copy to give to the insurance company?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “I’m going to take this banjo too,” Scarlet said. “But I’m not paying five hundred dollars. What’ll you take for it?”

  Daryl didn’t miss a beat. “Whatever you think it’s worth. It’s yours. Please take it.”

  “See, Addison. The art of the deal. I’m an expert.”

  I nodded and waited while Scarlet dug a hundred dollars out of the pocket of her mink and left it on the counter. I finally understood how she’d been a successful spy. She’d just worn people down until they’d either killed themselves or turned themselves in. It all made sense now.

  Rosemarie came back downstairs with several porcelain dolls, and I remembered she collected them. They were all over her duplex, and I’d once mistakenly gone into her guest bedroom instead of the bathroom and screamed because of all the creepy doll eyes staring at me. Between the dogs and the dolls, Rosemarie didn’t have a lot of house guests.

  Daryl came back and handed me a disc of the security footage, and he rang up Rosemarie’s dolls. Scarlet had wandered off again, picking at her banjo and browsing the aisles. The bell dinged above the door and someone walked in with two boxes, one stacked on top of the other.

  I couldn’t see a face because the boxes covered it up, but when she shifted to the side to put her boxes on one of the counters I realized it was Zoe Willis, back for a second run. Lord, she was a dummy. She must’ve had no idea how the system worked for pawning stolen goods. And the fact she’d gotten away with it the first time because the clerk was a dummy too just made her more bold.

  I took a step back and got my phone out so I could take a couple of pictures, just to seal the deal. I could tell Daryl recognized her, but he was playing it cool, continuing to ring up Rosemarie’s dolls.

  The problem with having a choir teacher and a geriatric spy as sidekicks is that one of them doesn’t understand the element of surprise and the other one understands it but has reached the age she doesn’t care.

  Rosemarie gasped, her Cupid’s bow mouth making a perfect oval, and she stared straight at Zoe Willis. Zoe took a step back and turned her head so she looked directly at me, where my camera was still up and clearly taking pictures of her. This was enough to spook her, and she started running for the front door.

  It didn’t matter. We weren’t cops. We weren’t there to arrest her. We got all the proof we needed, and the insurance company and local police could sort out the rest. It should have been that simple. But Scarlet jumped out in front of her, wielding her banjo like a sword.

  “You’re going down, sucker,” she yelled, swinging the banjo again.

  Zoe hopped back out of the way and I went forward to try and contain Scarlet before she hurt herself or someone else. But Zoe must’ve thought I was coming for her because she turned and sucker-punched me right in the face.

  “Ouch,” I yelled, covering my face with my hands. “Son of a b—”

  My nose was gushing blood and my vision blurred, but I heard Scarlet let out a war cry and the smash of the banjo as she took out Zoe at the knees and the girl went crashing down.

  Rosemarie brought me a handful of tissues to stifle the bleeding and said, “Your face is really going to clash with your dress come Friday.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Wednesday

  My alarm went off at six the next morning, and at first I thought someone had put a cinder block on my face sometime during the night. My face hurt. Bad. And I couldn’t quite open my eyes. That probably wasn’t a good sign.

  Nick hadn’t made it home the night before, which was probably a good thing. This seemed like the type of news that was delivered best through text message. I’d slept with an ice pack on my face in hopes the swelling would go down. I wasn’t sure it had done much good, but at least I could breathe.

  I got out of bed and shuffled off to the bathroom, feeling old for the first time in my life. I didn’t like getting punched in the face. I didn’t like getting punched anywhere. Or falling or getting knocked down on purpose. It hurt. And I could definitely feel the changes in my body as I got older. I didn’t bounce back as quickly as I used to.

  I walked right past the mirror and to the shower to turn it on, not quite ready to face the facts about looking like Quasimodo in my wedding pictures. I groaned and put my face against the cold tile on the wall. I didn’t even have a wedding photographer to take pictures. A couple of tears escaped and I sniffed. I was tougher than this. Stronger than this. I could overcome any obstacle. Except it felt like everything was working against us.

  I stripped out of my nightshirt and stood there naked while steam filled the bathroom. I hoped it would lessen the blow when I turned to look in the mirror. It didn’t. I gasped at the sight of my face and immediately burst into tears. My nose was swollen and I had two black eyes.

  Crying didn’t help anything because I couldn’t breathe again, so I got into the shower and tried to come up with an alternative plan. I went through every scenario in my head, from wearing a mask to getting an emergency facelift. And then I th
ought about calling off the wedding altogether and bit my lip. I should’ve eloped.

  I finished showering and dried off quickly, not bothering to spend any more time dwelling on something I couldn’t change. Mostly I couldn’t stand to look in the mirror again because I was afraid the tears would keep coming.

  I dressed in black leggings and a soft black sweater because the day seemed to call for mourning, and I grabbed my things to head to the office early. I was just reaching Telfair Square and looking for my usual parking spot when Savage called.

  “Got your message,” he said. “We need to talk.”

  “I’m just pulling up to the agency.”

  “Me too,” he said and then hung up.

  I raised my brows in surprise, but it hurt too much so I relaxed my face again. Whatever information Savage had must have been good.

  He pulled up behind me in his black Tahoe, and he was waiting on the sidewalk before I could get out of the van.

  “What does the other guy look like?” he said, examining my face.

  “I don’t know. She’s in jail for the time being. But she doesn’t look as bad as me. Scarlet only managed to kneecap her with a banjo.”

  Savage’s lips quirked. “She’s losing her touch. She usually goes for the head.”

  “The girl was kind of tall. It’s no longer my problem, thank God. The cops and the insurance company can figure it out. I didn’t press charges. She’s going to have enough to deal with. And, of course, Scarlet hightailed it out of there before the cops came because she’s a person of interest in Big Mo’s murder. I haven’t seen her since.”

  He stayed silent and just stared at me, looking pained.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I don’t know what to say. Everything that pops into my head seems like a bad idea.”

  “Probably a good idea to say nothing. I’m trying not to think about what my face is going to look like in wedding pictures.”

  “Maybe just keep the veil down the whole time.”