by Mary Kennedy
“Yes, and then I had it glassed in, and added heat and air-conditioning last year when I retired from the Academy. But on a day like this, I prefer to use the screens and enjoy the warm air. I find it so relaxing to sit out here, my own little oasis. It’s good for the soul to be surrounded by plants and flowers.”
She glanced out at her well-tended garden, filled with trailing bougainvillea, delicate pink and white roses, sunny daylilies, snowy daisies, and lush beds of impatiens. A small fountain bubbled in the shade of a magnolia tree, and the air was rich with the smell of honeysuckle.
“That it is,” Ali agreed.
“Is there anything new about Chico and how he died?” Lucinda asked after a moment. I was wondering how to broach the subject, and I was relieved she brought it up first.
Ali took Kevin’s photo out of her purse and passed it to her. “There might be a suspect in the case. Does he look familiar to you? He was spotted on security tapes.”
Lucinda looked at the photo and gave a delicate shudder. “No, I’ve never seen him before,” she said quietly. “He looks like a thug.” She started to pass the photo back to Ali but I stopped her. I noticed her hand was trembling.
“Take another look,” I said quickly. “Please,” I urged her. “It could be important. His name is Kevin Moore. Have you ever seen him around town? Or anywhere?”
“I’m afraid not,” Lucinda said with a thin smile. She pushed the photo away from her as if it were radioactive. One side of her mouth twitched in a nervous spasm, and I noticed she was clasping her hands a little too tightly in her lap. “You said he’s a suspect. Is he local?”
Ali told her what we had learned from Gina. I had the feeling Lucinda knew more than she was letting on, but she kept her expression bland, maintaining her composure. She was hiding something, but what?
“So how was the dinner at the Waltons?” Lucinda asked, deftly changing the subject.
“It was wonderful,” Ali gushed. “What a place. Did you ever go back to that same dream, Lucinda? The one about dancing in a ballroom with a man with no face?”
“I’ve never had that dream again,” Lucinda said slowly, “and maybe it’s just as well.” She raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “Some things are better left unexplored,” she said quietly.
“The mansion in your dream sounded a lot like the Waltons’ place,” I piped up. “Did you ever investigate that further?” I remembered that Lucinda had mentioned she was going to look for some old photos of the mansion, when it was the Collier estate, and see if it resembled the ballroom in her dream.
“I did,” she said, brightening. “I found some wonderful photos from the Historical Society and copied them. It’s quite amazing. The frescoes and the French doors are exactly like I pictured them in my dream. And the fountain, too. It was remarkable—everything was identical, down to the tiniest detail. I’ll have to remember to share that at the next meeting of the Dream Club.”
“These rolls are delicious,” I said after a moment. I smiled at Lucinda. She was leaning back on the settee and seemed more relaxed now that we weren’t talking about the photo. “I bet they’re made from scratch.”
“Why, yes, they are,” she said, beaming. “Sour cream is the secret ingredient. It’s one of my great-aunt’s favorites; it’s been in the family for years. Would you like the recipe?”
“I’d love it!” Ali said, enthused. “Taylor and I were talking about expanding the shop and offering coffee and desserts. This would be a wonderful addition to the menu. If you’d allow it, of course.”
“Why, I’d be honored.” Lucinda said. “I’m putting all my recipes in a computer file, and I just printed out some copies of the cinnamon roll recipe for the bridge club.” A bell dinged from inside the house, and Lucinda glanced at her watch and jumped up. “I need to check on my blueberry muffins.” She gestured to a glass-topped table in the far corner of the sunroom. “You’ll find some copies of the cinnamon roll recipe right there next to the computer. Just help yourself; I made plenty.”
Lucinda bustled off to the kitchen, and I crossed to the glass-topped table for the recipe. The laptop was open and I accidentally jostled it. The screen sprang to life, and what I saw made my heart skip a beat. Lucinda had logged in to a members-only section of an online dating service called Find Your Mate, and it was open to her home page. Horrified, I glanced at her online profile and winced at a rather unflattering headshot and quickly closed the screen. Lucinda and an online dating service? As Ali would say, who knew? The wren-like woman with the quick nervous mannerisms was full of surprises. I could hardly wait to tell Ali.
* * *
“You look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” Ali said as soon we got outside. We headed north toward Forsythe Square, and the noonday sun was filtering through the banyan trees lining the sidewalk. We’d decided to have an early lunch at a little family-run place on Henry Street that has some of the best crab bisque in town.
“I have something to tell you,” I began. “And you’re going to find it a little shocking.”
“The cinnamon rolls weren’t really homemade and they came out of a can?” Ali joked.
“No, the cinnamon rolls are the real deal. But back at Lucinda’s, I saw something on the computer screen that rattled me a little.” Ali raised her eyebrows and shot me a questioning glance. “Shy little Lucinda is looking for a man—online.”
“No! Lucinda? I can’t believe it,” Ali said and started to giggle. “Please tell me you’re kidding.” I told her about the dating site I’d discovered on the computer. “There has to be some other explanation. Maybe she was checking it out for someone else.”
“’Fraid not,” I said. “I saw her profile page with her photo. She was wearing a navy blazer with a crisp white blouse and looked rather stern. Exactly like a headmistress. I don’t think she’s going to have many takers with that picture.”
“Oh dear, that’s probably the same photo in the Academy yearbook. It’s dreadful. I wish she had confided in me. I could have helped her with hair and makeup, you know, made her look a little more approachable. And maybe I could have introduced her to someone, so she didn’t have to go on one of those awful dating sites.”
I shook my head. “Lucinda would be horrified if she thought you knew about this. Please don’t mention it to her, Ali. You mustn’t breathe a word.”
Ali’s lips twitched and then she snapped them shut like a turtle and turned an imaginary key. “My lips are sealed,” she said with a grin.
We settled in a booth at the Back Burner Grille just in time to see Persia coming in the front door. I remembered that Persia worked as a paralegal at a real estate office nearby, and the restaurant was popular with Savannah lawyers. I felt like I’d stepped into a Matlock episode when I saw a group of men at the neighboring table. They all had silver hair and were wearing seersucker suits, talking animatedly over their mason jars of sweet tea and generous platters of chicken potpie.
“Can I join you?” Persia asked, giving a wide smile. “I’m taking a quick lunch break, so I’m just going to have a bowl of soup and run.” She slid into the booth next to Ali. “Have you been out shopping?”
“Something like that.” I smiled. Shopping for a suspect, I thought to myself. I dug Kevin Moore’s photo out of my purse. “You haven’t seen this guy around town, have you?”
Persia wore red-framed cat glasses, which dangled elegantly from a chain around her neck. She perched her glasses on her nose and squinted at the photo. “Nope, never. But if he’s in Savannah, Marlene will know.”
“Marlene?”
“One of the best waitresses in town. She’s got such a following, they mention her in the local guide books. Show her the picture when she takes our order. I bet she can help you out.” Persia glanced briefly at the menu and then looked at us, brimming with excitement. “Have I got some news for you!” she said.
“Good or bad news?” A frown flitted across Ali’s face.
“That depends on who you are,” Persia said mysteriously. She had our complete attention and was enjoying every second of it. “I learned something very interesting. It has to do with our friend Chico, and it came as a huge surprise to me. In fact, it’s something of a shock.”
“You learned something from a dream?” Ali asked.
Persia waved her hand in the air as if she were swatting a fly. “Not in a dream, honey. This is the real thing. I learned it from the law office.” She leaned forward across the table. “I was researching some real estate records, and I discovered that Chico was planning on buying up practically an entire block of buildings. On your block,” she said, nodding at Ali. “You would have been out in the cold if he’d stayed alive, sweetie, and that’s the truth.”
“Yes, I know,” Ali said sadly.
“You’ve already heard?” Persia looked astounded. “Hardly anyone knows about this. I’m curious—how did you ladies find out?” She looked disappointed, as if someone had stolen her thunder.
“We heard a rumor,” I said quickly. There was no need to tell Persia what we knew or didn’t know; my main interest was ferreting out as much information as I could from her. “How did you discover this, Persia?”
“It was just plain dumb luck.” Persia tapped a manicured nail on the tablecloth. “I picked up a wrong file by mistake. That’s when I discovered that Chico planned on buying up the whole block and selling all the buildings to some real estate developer.”
“But they wouldn’t be worth much,” Ali objected. “Most of the buildings are really run down. Chico’s studio was probably one of the nicest places, and the outside wasn’t much to look at.”
“But Chico had a plan. The developer was going to get some money from the state for ‘gentrification.’ That way, he could receive funding to rehab the buildings, turn them into B and B’s, and attract tourists who were looking for a little charm in a downtown location. Close to all the sights with all the comforts of home. Southern charm at a reasonable price. It was genius, sheer genius.”
“But you say Chico was going to buy them up? Where would he get the money?”
Persia bit her lips, her eyes thoughtful. “Now that’s the part I can’t figure out. I don’t see how he could have had that kind of money to invest. Do you suppose he was doing something illegal? Or had some source of income that nobody knew about?”
“Like what?” Ali asked.
“I don’t know, I’m stumped. That’s the part of the story that doesn’t make sense.” Persia gave a little sigh. “Where’s Marlene? She always covers this table.” She glanced worriedly at her watch. “I hate to eat and run, ladies, but duty calls. If she doesn’t show up soon—”
“Hold your horses, Persia, I’m right here.” A large woman in a crisp pink uniform appeared at the table like a genie out of a bottle. She grinned at Persia and whipped out a pad. “Can I get you the usual, hon?”
“Just the crab bisque today, please,” Persia said. “No time for a panini.”
“What about the lemon pie?” Marlene winked at us. “It sells out real quick, but I always hold back a few pieces for my favorite customers.”
“Well, in that case, you tempted me. But please make the pie to go, Marlene. I’ll eat the soup here and save the pie for back at the office.”
We quickly gave our orders, and before Marlene darted away, I whipped out Kevin’s photo. “Any chance you’ve seen this guy before?”
“She never forgets a face,” Persia offered. “Take a real good look, Marlene.”
“Sure, I do remember him,” Marlene said, tapping her pencil on the order pad. “He was in here for dinner the other night. It was Saturday.”
“You’re sure about that?” My pulse jumped with excitement. Now we could prove that Kevin was in town the day before Chico was killed.
“I’m positive. I know it was a Saturday because he ordered the chicken and dumplings; that was the special that night. I remember he asked me how it was fixed. Obviously a Northerner,” she snorted, rolling her eyes. “I don’t think he’d ever heard of chicken and dumplings. Anything else?”
“No, that’s fantastic, you’ve really helped us.” I tucked the photo back in my tote bag and sighed. “Well, that’s a step in the right direction,” I said as she hustled back to the kitchen.
“How does this Kevin person fit into the picture?” Persia asked.
“We’re not sure, but Gina thinks Chico swindled him in a business deal. It had something to do with the dance studio. But maybe Kevin’s involved in this new real estate deal, too. He could have loaned Chico the money, and maybe Chico cut him out of the deal? Chico’s probably into Kevin for a lot of cash.”
Persia raised her eyebrows. “But how’s that a motive for murder? If Kevin killed Chico, he’d never see a dime of that money.” I thought of Noah always telling me to follow the money trail. It was one of his favorite expressions. We did, but the trail was getting cold.
“True,” Ali agreed, biting her lip. “It had to be something else. Maybe Chico was blackmailing Kevin.”
“Over what?”
“I have no idea,” Ali said. “We need more information. There are a lot of missing pieces, and I feel like we’re attacking an iceberg with a toothpick.”
“Persia,” I said, “do you have any idea what’s going to happen to the real estate deal, now that Chico’s dead? Is someone else going to step in and take his place?”
“Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if they did; it’s a real good opportunity if someone has that kind of cash lying around.” She turned to Ali. “Do you happen to know Hildy Carter? One of the lawyers told me she had her eye on that block of buildings earlier this year. From what I heard, she was scrambling to get together the money and Chico beat her to it.”
“Hildy Carter, the decorator?” I remembered the woman who was talking about “finials” at the Walton dinner party. I had never gotten around to Googling the term.
“That’s the one,” Persia said, reaching for a biscuit. A tempting array of biscuits, muffins, and corn bread squares were nestled in a small wicker basket in the center of the table. I had been doing my best to resist temptation, but now that Persia had a biscuit in hand, I felt my own hand creeping toward a blueberry muffin.
“I remember she said times were tough in the decorating business. I had the feeling she was hard up for money.” I also recalled that when she mentioned Chico’s death, she had said something about karma.
Persia laughed. “Oh, don’t let that pauper act fool you. She inherited a ton of money from her daddy and she’s a sharp one, always looking for a good investment. You have to move fast on these deals, and I think Chico beat her out by a few hours. Or at least he would have, if someone hadn’t knocked him off. At least, that’s the word around the office. I’ll tell you one thing about Hildy—she doesn’t like to lose. She’s sweet as pie, until you cross her.”
I raised my eyebrows, not sure what to do with these new pieces of information. “Chico’s death could be a lot more complicated than anyone realized,” I said, putting my napkin on my lap. “It’s like trying to put a jigsaw puzzle together when you don’t have all the pieces.”
“That’s a darn good analogy and I feel the same way,” Persia said. She sat back, catching the eye of the plump waitress, who was headed for our table. “But for the moment, let’s put Chico out of our minds and enjoy our lunch. Marlene just came out of the kitchen with our order, and that soup smells heavenly.” After Marlene had served us, Persia reached for a sour cream muffin when she suddenly paused with her hand in midair. She had a Cheshire cat smile on her face, and Ali and I exchanged puzzled looks
“Is something wrong, Persia?” I asked.
“Oh no, nothing’s wrong, but I just remembered something,” she said, casting a thoughtful look at Ali. “I had
the strangest dream last night. One of those out-of-the-blue, it-could-never-happen dreams. The kind where you wake up and think, ‘Wow! What was all that about?’”
“Really?” Ali leaned forward, eager to do an interpretation. “We all have those dreams from time to time, I’d love to hear about yours.”
“And I’d love to tell you about it,” Persia said, shaking her head. She gave a throaty chuckle, her eyes bright with merriment. “But I think I’ll save it for the Dream Club. It’s about one of the members, and it’s a doozy! If I talk about it right now, I’m going to collapse in a fit of giggles. That’s how outrageous it is.”
“You can’t even give us a hint?” Ali’s tone was plaintive.
“Just remember, still waters run deep,” Persia said mysteriously. “Very deep.”
21
“I have no idea what she was talking about, do you?” I said as we stepped into the bright Savannah sunshine. It was nearly two o’clock, and tourists were sitting in Lafayette Square eating mint chocolate chip ice cream and poring over travel guidebooks.
“Not a clue.” Ali laughed as she pulled her sunglasses out of her purse and hoisted her bulging tote bag a little higher on her shoulder. “Persia certainly was being secretive. My mind is still reeling from our visit to Lucinda. Who would have suspected she’d signed up for an online dating service? It was very sweet of her to share her recipe with us, though.”
“So you really are making plans to offer dessert at the shop? I was so happy when you asked Lucinda for that cinnamon roll recipe, but then I thought that maybe you wanted to flatter her.”
“Oh no, I wasn’t just being polite. Those rolls were awesome. I’ve been thinking about what you said. I think we should start off small, bring in a few tables and chairs, and offer desserts and coffee. It could lead to bigger things for us down the road. A whole new revenue stream and some new customers as well.”
“Absolutely,” I said, enthused. I didn’t want to push Ali too fast, but I could already picture making Oldies but Goodies a fun gathering place. We could hold regular events, maybe have some book signings, or even offer cooking lessons from local chefs. And if we could get a magazine like Savannah Styles to feature us in an article, it would be a huge draw. My mind was racing with possibilities, and I heard Ali give a low chuckle.
