by Gail Oust
“Hush.” I pressed my ear to the door and heard Bitsy moving about.
The answer to Reba Mae’s question came to me along with my first whiff of smoke.
“Oh, my god,” Reba Mae squealed. “She’s burning this place down with us inside.”
I threw myself against the door and felt it shudder beneath my weight. “C’mon, Reba Mae, don’t just stand there. Help me. We have to get out of here.”
Smoke curled underneath the door like an arthritic finger.
I lunged at the door again, but with the same results. I darted a look at Reba Mae, who stood off to the side. “What are you doing waiting?” I cried, coughing.
“I’m using my regular phone to report a fire,” she said. “I gave Bitsy my burner phone. It was nearly out of minutes anyway.”
Meanwhile smoke continued to seep into the dressing room, stinging my eyes and burning my throat. It was making me mad, fighting mad. I wasn’t about to allow some tummy-stapled, chain-smoking wannabe actress to permanently lower my curtain. Channeling Jackie Chan, I raised my leg in a kung fu move I’d seen in a movie. I felt the jolt all the way from my foot to my spine. Her phone call completed, Reba Mae joined her efforts with mine.
Under our combined strength, the old wood splintered and the bolt tore loose. Coughing and sputtering, we headed for the exit. Flames licked upward from a rag-filled bucket that had been set purposely close to the stage’s heavy velvet curtains. Reba Mae grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall, pointed the nozzle, and doused the flames.
“Are you crazy?” I hissed. “What are you doing? Bitsy’s getting away.”
“This building is about to go on the national historic register.”
Not nearly as civic-minded as my friend, I yanked her by the arm. “Let’s go. The fire department can handle it from here.”
Outside, I bent forward, hands on knees, and inhaled a lungful of the crisp November air. Reba Mae did the same. The wail of a siren in the near distance energized me. I wasn’t about to let Bitsy get away with not only killing Sandy but attempting to kill me and my BFF as well. I straightened and looked around. The night was black as pitch. No moon, not a solitary star, peeked through a thick cloud cover. Where had she disappeared?
I gazed across Main Street to the square in time to see a small flame flicker, then die. No self-respecting lightning bugs would dare show themselves this time of year. What I’d witnessed had been the flash of a cigarette lighter. Bitsy Johnson-Jones had foolishly lingered in the square in order to have a front-row seat at the drama she’d created.
I took off running. After a slight hesitation Reba Mae sprinted after me. We dodged a police car, the first on the scene, its light bar flashing. Sirens screamed louder. “We can’t let her get away,” I panted, our sneakers soundless in all the commotion. “You take the right side; I’ll take the left.”
“Gotcha! Just like NCIS,” Reba Mae huffed as we split up.
Ahead of me, I saw the glowing tip of a cigarette grow fainter and fainter as Bitsy’s figure retreated farther into the square. I took this as my cue to pick up speed. My lungs begged for oxygen, but my veins were flooded with adrenaline.
“Stop!” I gasped.
Bitsy paused for a fraction of a second, and in that fraction of time Reba Mae sailed from the opposite direction and did a flying tackle. Bitsy jerked away in the nick of time, leaving Reba Mae holding a high-heeled boot. Bitsy scrambled to her feet but, hobbling with one boot on, one boot off, didn’t get far. The next tackle was strictly mine. I brought her down to the ground with a satisfying, “Oomph!” Reba Mae, not wanting to be left out of the action, climbed on board.
“Freeze!” a familiar baritone voice shouted.
“Get them off of me—now!” Bitsy demanded.
McBride shone the beam of a powerful Maglite at the human pileup in the grass near the base of the Confederate soldier. I straddled Bitsy’s waist; Reba Mae straddled her thighs while the woman cried, cursed, and threatened.
“Hiya, Wyatt.” Reba Mae gave him a sassy grin. “Long time, no see.”
“Ladies, you have a lot of explaining to do.”
“Bitsy did it,” I said, feeling triumphant. “She killed Sandy.”
“And we have proof.” Reba Mae held up her phone. “I recorded her confession.”
McBride pulled Reba Mae and me off of Bitsy but kept his hand clamped firmly around the woman’s upper arm should she try to escape. “Remind me to include the flying tackle in my next self-defense class.”
“Don’t bother.” It was my turn for a cheeky grin. “We’ve got it down pat.”
CHAPTER 36
THE DAY WAS partly sunny, the temperature mild, perfect weather for an impromptu picnic lunch in the town square. Melly had consented to play shopkeeper while Reba Mae and I feasted on Italian subs. I stifled a yawn before taking another bite of my sandwich. We’d been at the Brandywine Creek Police Department until the wee hours of the morning answering questions and giving statements. “Don’t know about you,” I said, “but I’m going to bed early tonight.”
“Me, too.” Reba Mae tore open a bag of chips. “Phone at the Klassy Kut’s been ringin’ like crazy all mornin’. Suddenly everyone needs a trim. Or, more likely, wants to hear a firsthand account of our adventures.”
“My shop’s been like Grand Central Station. Sales are brisk, gossip brisker. I’ve already whipped up two batches of mulled cider for customers. Melly brought over a couple dozen gingersnaps she’d been saving in her freezer.”
“Wait till you hear this”—Reba Mae licked salt off her fingers—“Mayor Hemmings wants to give me the key to the city. He said me reportin’ the fire at the opera house as quickly as I did saved a national treasure.”
“You go, girl!” I gave her arm a playful swat. “If not for you and your phone it would have been curtains.”
“You got that right, honeybun, and us along with it.” Reba Mae polished off her sub and balled up the wrapper.
“What else did Hizzoner have to say?”
Reba Mae’s eyes sparkled. “This is the best part. He said soon as smoke damages and some minor repairs are done, the opera house will be up and runnin’. He’s plannin’ a press conference to let folks know Brandywine Creek is the new tourist destination for those who prefer places off the beaten path.”
“That’ll be great for business.” I watched a gray squirrel with an acorn nearly the size of its head scamper up a willow oak.
“Look who’s here,” Reba Mae said, pointing at Doug, who was making his way toward us. “The guy looks pretty down in the mouth for such a nice day.”
“Melly said I’d find you two here,” Doug said upon reaching us. “Glad you’re in the clear, Reba Mae. I never thought for a minute you were involved in Sandy’s death.”
“Wish I had a nickel for every time I heard that this mornin’. I could take me a nice vacation to Myrtle Beach.” She cocked her head, studying Doug’s serious expression. “Guess I ought to be gettin’ back to cuttin’ and colorin’. See you guys later.”
I watched the gentle sway of her paisley print skirt as she walked away, both happy and relieved her troubles were over. Doug sat down next to me and cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you about a decision I’ve reached.”
He had my full attention now. “Oh, oh,” I said. “That sounds ominous.”
He rested one elbow along the top of the bench. Behind rimless glasses, his dark brown eyes were as earnest as I’d ever seen them. “As you know, Madison has had a difficult time adjusting to life in the South. If that wasn’t enough, she’s been traumatized by the murder of someone she knew and the subsequent harassment.”
I nodded, bracing myself for what I knew was coming next.
“Madison plans to enroll at Northwestern for the winter term. She’s going to need a lot of emotional support, and I promised I’d be there for her.”
I blinked back tears, already feeling the loss. “I don’t know what to say.…”
He took my hand and gently squeezed. “This isn’t the direction I thought our relationship was heading, but I hope you’ll understand. I need to put Madison’s needs before my own.”
“Of course, I understand.” I squeezed his hand in return. And I really did. Family first was my credo, too. In fact, I admired Doug for making the sacrifice. I knew until now he’d been happy with his choice to relocate to a small Georgia town. “How soon?”
“For Madison’s sake, the sooner the better. I contacted the animal clinic where I used to work, and they’re willing to rehire me. I’ve also been in touch with a friend of a friend who might be interested in buying my practice. Madison and I will be flying up to Chicago in the next week or so to find housing.”
“Time for me to relieve Melly of her duties.” I rose to my feet, collected the remnants from lunch, and tossed them in a nearby trash can.
“I’ll walk you back.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. His plans to leave filled me with a deep sadness. Though I might not have been “in love” with the man, I was very much “in like” with him. Doug had made me laugh and listened to me whine and was a pillar of common sense whenever mine took flight. He’d be dearly missed. “Anything I can do to help,” I offered, summoning a wan smile.
“It’s not like I’m moving to Mars.” He looped his arm around my shoulders. “There are dozens of flights out of Atlanta to O’Hare every day. Chicago’s a great city, loads of great restaurants. It’ll be fun to show you around.”
We stopped on the sidewalk outside of Spice It Up! Not caring who might be watching, Doug pulled me in for a long kiss that was both sweet and bittersweet. Finally, we broke apart. “Good-bye, Piper,” he said, his voice husky. “I’ll miss you, too.”
“Bye, Doug.” I stood on the walk, watched him get into his Ford Explorer and then drive off. Reluctantly, I turned and went inside.
As I entered, Melly whipped off her apron and gathered her purse. “Tsk, tsk,” she clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Half the town saw you and Doug kissing on the sidewalk. In my day, a public display of affection wasn’t considered unladylike.”
“I’ll repent later,” I told her, shrugging out of my sweater and into an apron.
“No need to be glib, young lady.” Melly took out her compact and studied her reflection. “I’m meeting Cot for a late lunch at the country club. We’re finalizing our travel plans.”
It was my turn to cluck my tongue. “Tsk, tsk. Two unmarried people traveling together? In my day that was frowned upon.”
Chuckling, she returned her compact to her purse. “You can be such a brat.”
“What’s this about you being a brat?” McBride asked as he passed Melly on his way in.
“No comment.” I folded my arms over my chest and studied my visitor. “What brings you here, McBride? Did you hear the rumor I was handing out mulled cider and gingersnaps?”
“That’s just an added bonus.” He snatched the lone cookie off a plate on the counter. “I thought you might be interested to know Bitsy’s attorney of record has entered a plea of not guilty to voluntary manslaughter on her behalf.”
“Not guilty!” I nearly exploded. “We recorded her confession. Who is this idiot lawyer of hers?”
“Bitsy hired CJ, but I think the judge is smart enough to take everything into consideration.” His cookie disappeared in two bites. “I think the clincher came when CJ complimented her on her new figure.”
“He’s a silver-tongued devil all right.” I tucked a stray curl behind one ear. “Did Bitsy admit why she strangled Sandy?”
“The woman yearned to be in the limelight. She’d been the fat girl kids made fun of her whole life. Now that she’d lost weight, she wanted their admiration. Being onstage was her golden opportunity to have everyone take notice. When Sandy refused her the part for the second time, Bitsy flew into a rage. CJ will probably argue it was a crime of passion.”
“Sad, isn’t it, a life destroyed for the sake of a woman’s vanity?” Going to the Crock-Pot on the counter, I gave the mulled cider a stir. Immediately the shop was perfumed with the scent of cinnamon and cloves. “Sure you don’t want a sample?”
“No, thanks, I’ll take a rain check,” he said, watching me. “Not to change the subject, but I was just over at Creekside Realty. Shirley said you and the good doctor put on quite a show in the middle of the sidewalk. Are congratulations in order?”
“You could say that.” I busied myself sorting through the morning’s receipts. “Doug accepted his old job back so he can be close to Madison. She plans to return to school at Northwestern.”
McBride rubbed the back of his neck and frowned. “Doug’s leaving Brandywine Creek?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?” I asked. “How is Shirley by the way?”
“Good, she’s good.” McBride grinned that darn dimple-winking grin of his. “Matter of fact, we just wrapped up a deal for me to purchase the five acres bordering my land. It took a lot of finangling, what with offers and counteroffers, but Shirley pulled it together.”
“So,” I said slowly, my receipt sorting forgotten, “that’s what all your meetings were about?”
“Yep.” He brushed crumbs from his shirt, looking pleased with himself. “Guess you could say, I’m putting down roots. I’m here for the long haul, not planning to leave anytime soon.”
He sauntered out with a cocky smile on his handsome face. I smiled, too. I probably shouldn’t, but I liked the idea of McBride sticking around.
* * *
“Who sent you the roses?”
“I don’t know,” I said, putting the bloodred buds into a makeshift vase. “I searched high and low but couldn’t find a card.”
“Looks like you’ve got yourself a secret admirer.”
It was opening night of Steel Magnolias, and we were backstage at the opera house. The show must go on, but in this case it had taken until mid-February—Valentine’s Day. Lots had transpired since the November night Bitsy had confessed to murder. The minor damage done to the opera house had been repaired and a new lock installed on the stage door. In a moment of insanity I’d agreed to direct Steel Magnolias. Healthy and out of rehab, Bunny was ready to have the audience reaching for tissues by the poignant final scene. Lindsey had stepped in to replace Madison Winters as Shelby, the prettiest girl in town. She was rethinking becoming a physical therapist and majoring in theater arts instead. As for Reba Mae, she’d been reinstated in the coveted role of Truvy Jones. Her fellow castmates had grown accustomed to her calling Wanda Wowser instead of Ouiser.
Gerilee Barker, stage manager, spoke into a headset and her husband. Pete, the light-board operator, dimmed the houselights.
Reba Mae nudged me toward the stage. “Break a leg, kiddo.”
I stepped into the spotlight before a packed house. It felt as though the butterflies in my stomach were on amphetamines. I couldn’t make out many faces beyond the first couple rows, but I did see Cot and Melly, front and center, sitting next to Craig Granger. Dale Simons was there to support Wanda and had brought along Hoyt, his Harley-riding pal. Hoyt had become a frequent customer in my shop. Seems he’d developed a penchant for cooking. He gave me a broad smile and a wink. I was about to speak when a latecomer strolled down the aisle. Wyatt McBride, handsome as ever dressed head to toe in his signature black, gave me a smile as he took his seat at the end of the second row.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I said, addressing the audience. “Tonight’s performance is dedicated to Sandy Granger. Without Sandy’s generous spirit, none of this would have been possible.”
Suddenly the lights blinked off. I sucked in a breath. This hadn’t been part of the script. What’s more, I’d seen Pete in the wings, nowhere near the light board. But if not Pete, who had thrown the levers?
Just as suddenly the lights blazed back on. Their off-again-on-again was followed by a ripple of nervous laughter from cast, crew, and audience alike. I darted a glance over my shoulder and found Reba Ma
e among the cast members standing stage right.
The ghost, she mouthed.
Who was I to argue?
CURRY
For trivia lovers such as myself, chicken curry, as we’re familiar with in North America, isn’t a new item on the menu. It was introduced in Savannah, Georgia, in the early 1800s by a British sea captain who had been stationed in Bengal, India. Apparently the sea captain shared his recipe with friends who then nicknamed the dish Country Captains Chicken. This was the name used in 1940 by Mrs. W. L. Bullard from Warm Springs, Georgia, when she served this dish to Franklin D. Roosevelt and General George S. Patton.
It may come as a surprise to learn that curry powder used in the West is radically different in the country where it originated. Cooks in India freshly grind their spices each day for use in a particular dish, making the curry powder they use much more favorable than the store-bought variety. Curry powder is a blend of up to twenty different herbs and spices, which can include: caraway, cardamom, chilies, cinnamon, cloves, coriander, cumin, fennel, fenugreek, garlic, ginger, mace, nutmeg, pepper, poppy seeds, saffron, sesame seeds, tamarind, and tumeric (which gives curry its characteristic golden color). Curry quickly loses its pungency. It will keep for 2 months in an airtight container.
SPICY CHICKEN CURRY
3 tablespoons olive oil
16 boneless chicken tenderloins (2.5–3 oz. each) cut into 1-inch pieces
Salt and pepper to taste
2 sweet onions, chopped
4 cloves garlic, crushed
1 teaspoon fresh ginger, peeled and diced
12–14 baby carrots, halved, or 2 large sweet potatoes, peeled and in 1-to-2-inch pieces
½ cup chicken broth
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 cup diced tomatoes, well drained
1 teaspoon lemon juice
2½ tablespoons curry
⅛ teaspoon crushed red pepper or one small red chili pepper, diced
½ teaspoon cardamom
½ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon fennel seeds
