Dixieland Dead

by Penny Burwell Ewing

  While replacing the items I’d removed from the vanity, I knocked a small, square box to the floor. Passing the beam over it, I stared down at the opened home pregnancy test. I dumped the box’s contents onto the marble counter. With a tissue, I rolled the test stick over and trained the tiny flashlight beam down on it.

  Not pregnant.

  Why hadn’t I noticed that important information on the preliminary autopsy report?

  Scarlett stood by the white claw-foot tub watching me, hurt and longing spread over her face.

  “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you wanted a child.” I was at a loss for words.

  “I didn’t either until it was too late.” She faded from view.

  Taking a few calming breaths, I stood on wobbly legs, the box still in my hands. I scraped the contents back into the box, returned it to the vanity, grabbed the sack, and headed back into the master bedroom.

  Darkness closed around me. Now disoriented, I wasn’t sure how to escape the house. I raked the room with the tiny light. The plastic sack rustled loudly. I moved slowly toward the door in front of me and stepped out of the bedroom, making my way down the hall. The soft click of a door closing reached my ears. I froze.

  Footsteps approached the foyer. I backtracked to the bedroom. Hopefully, I’d be able to open one of the massive windows before the intruder realized I was in the house. The plastic sack under my arm crackled with each step. I had to get rid of it, so I tossed it under the bed thinking I’d retrieve it later and ran to one of the windows. It wouldn’t open.

  Now, footfalls sounded in the hallway. Out of time, I dashed to the walk-in closet, burying myself deep between the layers of clothes. Removing Mini Pearl from her holster, I waited with bated breath to be discovered. From my silken coffin, I heard muffled sounds and detected a crack of light coming from the bathroom.

  The grandfather clock struck midnight before I heard no further sounds coming from the bedroom. I holstered Mini Pearl and emerged from the closet. As quietly as I could, I eased into the bedroom. Faint sounds filtered down from upstairs. Tiptoeing around to the other bedroom window, I struggled to lift it. After several attempts, it moved slightly. The prospect of escape gave me courage, and I pushed with all my strength until it slid open. The screen fell out with a whoosh.

  As quietly as I could manage, I climbed out the window, landed on the lush grass and dashed for the cover of the trees and my car parked under the massive oak down the alleyway. In my haste, I tripped and landed face down on the hard red clay, and my skirt flapped open. Sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes as I got up and raced for cover.

  “You! Hey, you! Stop,” a male voice hollered at my back. I ran harder. Ducking into the line of oaks, I tripped again, landing on a soft mound of plants, my ankle exploding with pain.

  My black Mustang loomed ahead. Lumbering to my feet, I yelped in pain as I applied weight on my injured ankle. Limping the last couple of steps, I jerked open the car door, slid in, and fished for the keys in my pocket. Although I couldn’t see my pursuer, I could hear him ordering me to stop. That I wasn’t gonna do. Gunning the engine, I slammed into reverse, did a quick turn, and sped off down the dirt alleyway. The twenty mph speed limit in the neighborhood necessitated that I slow down. Keeping my eyes peeled to my rearview mirror in case my pursuer tracked me, I painstakingly wound around the twisting streets until I reached Old Dalton Road. After a mile of nothing but dark road behind me, I relaxed my grip on the steering wheel and the gas pedal. Immediately a shaft of fear shot through me as fearful images of the break-in and pursuit built in my mind. My heart pounded, and my eyes watered. My hands began trembling, so I pulled over to the side of the road to calm my breathing and fight for control over my swirling emotions. Without shame, I gave into the tears, and had a good long cry at my foolish actions.

  After the initial shock wore off, I again started for home. As I drove, questions circled through my mind. Who had been in the house with me? Could the intruder possibly be looking for the jade elephant? What other secrets did the house hold? How many people had Scarlett pissed off? Who were the men in black? Was Scarlett the intended target that day in the salon? Carla? Me? My sisters? Crap, what had I gotten mixed up in?

  Ten minutes later, I pulled into the carport of my darkened house and killed the engine. The streetlights pooled golden light on the street. Through my rearview mirror I noticed the same late model, dark blue sedan that had trailed me earlier parked in front of the house across the street. A man sat smoking in the driver’s side. His face lay in shadows, but a heavily-muscled, arm rested on an opened window frame. From the tilt of the cigarette tip, I knew he was watching me.

  Again, adrenaline caused my blood pressure to skyrocket. Grabbing my purse, I withdrew my cell phone to call 9-1-1 and then stopped. What if this wasn’t the same car and the driver was innocently waiting for my neighbor to return home? I had no proof to substantiate my suspicions.

  Keep cool, I reminded myself as I snapped my phone shut and reached for my gun. With Mini Pearl tucked securely in my hand, I exited the car and backed to the kitchen door, fearful of turning my back to the man. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, locking it behind me. I hit the light switch and Tango immediately yowled as the room flooded with brightness.

  Quickly, I reset the alarm system in the hallway. With muted light spilling through the door from the kitchen, I positioned myself by one of the windows in the living room, and peered out from a slit in the heavy damask draperies. Relief washed over me. The car was gone. Taking a deep breath, I relaxed now that the danger had passed for the moment.

  I holstered my gun and made a painful round through the house on my aching ankle, checking every door and window until satisfied the house was secure. I turned off the front and back porch lights, and went into the kitchen, poured Tango a bowl of milk to stop his crying, and then limped down the hall to my bedroom.

  When I emerged from my shower, Tango was cleaning himself at the foot of the bed.

  Exhausted, I fell into bed and tried to sleep, but my thoughts and assumptions of the night’s events circled nonstop in my head. Disturbed by the implications of being in such close proximity with a possible killer, I imagined every night sound as a signal of danger. Restless, I tossed and turned, tangling the sheets about my body. My ankle throbbed, and I felt the slightest urge to scratch my face and nether regions.

  Tango protested loudly, so I abandoned my efforts at sleep. Rolling over, I switched on the bedside lamp, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Perhaps a cup of hot chamomile tea would aid in relaxation. In the kitchen pantry I found a box of Sleepytime Tea on a back shelf. With steaming cup in hand, I settled at the kitchen table with pen and notebook. Hastily, I jotted down my discovery at Scarlett’s house. Fact 1: The negative pregnancy test. Evidently the rumor had proved untrue. Had Scarlett been the one behind the lie? If yes, what would she accomplish by lying? I’d ask her at our next meeting—whenever that would be. Fact 2: There had been a man in the house with me. I knew that much from the masculine voice that had ordered me to stop as I had fled the scene. He was searching for something.

  Finally, the soothing effects of the tea kicked in. I yawned several times, rose from the table, and started back down the hall to my bedroom. As I passed through the living room, a strange outside noise caught my attention. As a precaution, and to assure myself all was well, I peeked through the heavy drapes. The dark blue sedan had returned.

  Quickly, I stepped back from the window, and allowed the drape to drop back in place. The calming effects of the tea seemed to dissolve with the mounting tension. Who was this man? What did he want? And more importantly, how much danger was I in? Burning questions continued to swirl in my mind as I paced the length of the living room until finally, pain from my injured ankle, and exhaustion drove me to the couch. My last thought was of Scarlett’s mangled face and the frightening possibly that her murderer watched from the dark blue sedan.

  Chapter Fourteen


  Consequences

  The early morning light beaming through the crack in the draperies pierced my closed eyelids. I fought to wake from the deep sleep of emotional and physical exhaustion. As the events of last night came rushing back, I wind-milled off the living room sofa and stubbed my big toe on the oak coffee table. Cursing my bad luck, I hopped to the window on my uninjured foot and peered out into the bright sunshine. The man in the blue sedan had disappeared—sometime in the pre-dawn hours, as best as I could figure. My last time check of the wall clock had been at four a.m. I must’ve dozed off.

  A pounding headache, and itchy, stinging skin, forced me into the bathroom. One quick look into the mirror confirmed what I’d suspected last night: I’d fallen into a patch of poison oak or ivy while fleeing the scene of my crime. My face, covered with red bumps, looked like an adolescent breakout. Even my mouth had yellowed where I’d smacked it on the hard ground when I fell. And lo, even my butt and lady parts itched.

  “What’s next, for God’s sake, Jolene? You look awful.”

  Pulling out a bottle of aspirin and calamine lotion from the medicine cabinet, I popped two pills and doused my face and body where the poison had touched with lotion-soaked cotton balls. Grabbing an Ace bandage, I limped into the kitchen and wrapped my sore ankle. Tango sat next to his bowl, expectantly.

  I filled the food bowl with cat food and then made coffee. The clock over the oven read 7:32. My cell phone lay next to the stove. I picked it up and dialed Deena’s number.

  “Hey, I know it’s early, but I wanted to call and tell you I’m feeling a little under the weather and won’t be into work today,” I said when she picked up. “Can you have Holly reschedule my appointments or see if any of the other stylists can work them in?”

  “Do I need to come over and take you to the doctor? Billie Jo can supervise if needed. Anthony called out also, but I’m confident the other stylists can pick up the slack.”

  “No thanks. I’ll be fine after a day’s rest.”

  “Oh, you poor dear, call me and tell me what the doctor says, okay? Promise or I’ll worry.”

  I rolled my eyes. Crap, now I’d have to consult with my doctor because Deena, a natural born nurturer, would hound me until I did. She would’ve made a fabulous nurse or doctor. Instead, she chose to come to work with Billie Jo and me in the beauty shop. Oh, well, while I was out I’d make a quick stop and see if I couldn’t get some answers to a few questions circling in the back of my mind.

  “I promise to call you later. Since I’ll be in the neighborhood, I’m gonna stop by the hospital and see Carla, if she’s still there. Mama spoke with Beth Stevens. Carla is expected to be released today or tomorrow.”

  “Mama and I discussed her employment last night on the phone. How do you feel about it? Oh, hold on a minute, I’ve got another call.”

  “No, I’ll talk to you later,” I said, breaking the connection before she could object.

  An hour later, I had showered and rubbed down with witch hazel. To help the itch, I sprinkled liberally with Gold Bond Medicated Powder. Even though I smelled funny, I refrained from using my usual floral body mist. Makeup helped my face a little, but not much. The rash continued to worsen with each passing minute. I suspected blisters would soon be popping up over my nose and cheeks, both facial and buttocks—just my luck.

  With my long, curly hair twisted in a decorative barrette, I dressed in black, loose-fitting slacks and a white silk scooped-neck blouse. Lastly, I slipped into my brown alligator flats and grabbed a matching shoulder bag from the top shelf of the closet.

  I cranked up the air-conditioning in my Mustang and headed for the hospital. Already, the infamous Georgia humidity added a new level of misery to my itchy skin. Luckily, the hospital parking lot wasn’t packed, and I parked close to the main entrance.

  The clerk at the information desk flashed me a ‘damn-what-happened-to-you’ smile when I limped in. She tried to give me directions to the emergency room. Before I could stop her, she flagged down a passing nurse to take a look at my ankle and spreading rash.

  Embarrassed by all the attention I’d garnered, I ducked into the elevator and punched the second floor button, all the while keeping my head downcast. The elevator stopped with a soft jolt, and the door opened with a ping.

  Detective Grant stood outside Carla’s room when I stepped off the elevator. My nose protested as I drew close, but I couldn’t avoid him, since he blocked the door. His disheveled appearance reeked of stale cigarettes and coffee.

  “You look real pretty this morning, Miz Claiborne. Nice blouse.”

  My flesh crawled as his watery brown eyes roamed over my figure, making me wish I’d chosen a less revealing neckline. “Excuse me. I’m here to visit Carla.”

  He reached out and ran his finger down my cheek. “Looks like you’ve been crawling in the bushes.”

  Shocked by his unprofessional behavior, I jerked my face away from his hand and stepped back. “Is there something you want?”

  “Yeah, but you won’t give it up easily.”

  Confused by his words, I counterattacked. “You’re way out of line. Now move back or I’ll report your behavior to your superiors.”

  A gleam of interest shone in his eyes. “Bradford is a lucky man. I see the way you look at him. I bet you’d give it to him if he asked for it.”

  My hand moved of its own accord, but was caught in his iron grip before it could connect with his face. “Be careful, or you’ll find yourself behind bars for assaulting an officer.” He squeezed down tight on my wrist. “I don’t take kindly to threats. Remember that and stay out of my investigation.”

  I cried out in pain, and he released me. Grabbing my bruised wrist, I watched with trepidation as he strutted down the corridor, his laughter loud and clear. Shock quickly yielded to anger as the elevator doors closed behind him leaving me to weigh his threats.

  One thing I knew for certain, I had gotten under his skin in a dangerous way. He would take great delight in bringing me down. Why? What could possibly be his interest in me? Did I remind him of someone he disliked—a divorced spouse? That would account for his animosity. His strange behavior puzzled me almost as much as his out-of-place Rolex watch. How could the detective afford such luxury on a policeman’s salary? Something smelled rotten, and it wasn’t just his hygiene.

  Shaking the thought aside, I pushed open the door to find Carla getting dressed. “Good morning. Feeling better?”

  She turned at the sound of my voice. Her eyes were clear and she appeared to be lucid. “I’m fine now. What happened to you?”

  “Long story. Was Detective Grant harassing you?”

  “No, he had permission from my doctors to question me, although I wasn’t much help. My memory is still so fuzzy. My doctors diagnosed me with severe depression and anxiety. I’m on drug treatment now, and they’re confident I’ll make a full recovery. They’re releasing me today.”

  “Do you remember what happened on Saturday?” I asked gently.

  She shook her head. “Not clearly. I’ve been under a terrible strain lately. My mother has been diagnosed with lung cancer. Added to that, Frank started sleeping around. He’d asked me for a divorce just days before. I know I should’ve gone to Deena when all this started, but I was so ashamed. For what it’s worth, I no longer believe that I killed Scarlett. The police, according to Detective Grant, seem satisfied that I’ll be cleared of all charges, but until then I’m still a person of interest. Please help me. I don’t want to go to jail for a crime I didn’t commit.”

  “I’ll do what I can, Carla, but where’s your husband? Shouldn’t he be here with you?”

  She gave a revealing, melancholy sigh. “He doesn’t like hospitals.” Her eyes were tortured. “He says he can explain his involvement with Scarlett. I know I shouldn’t have, but I let him come home. God, am I a fool for giving in?”

  To my way of thinking, Frank Moody was a skunk. Personally, I’d divorce him so fast he wouldn’t know what hit him. T
hen again, a broken heart could make you do unspeakable things.

  “Honey, we’re all fools in one way or another, but your problem isn’t a broken marriage, it’s a possible murder charge. I wouldn’t place too much stock in what Grant says. You need an attorney.”

  “My mother contacted Ian Garrett. I have an appointment with him in the morning.”

  “I’ve heard he’s really a top-notch lawyer. Expensive, but good. You were lucky to retain him.”

  The door opened and a nurse came in. “I have your release papers, Mrs. Moody.”

  As Carla conferred with the nurse, I stepped over to gaze out the big plate-glass window. The bright mid-morning sunshine highlighted a late model, dark blue sedan—the same automobile that had been parked outside my house last night—parked a row behind the Mustang. I shivered at the implications.

  Now, for certain, I knew this guy was following me. But why? Where did he fit into the scheme of things? The connection was Scarlett, of that I was certain. He’d only shown up on my doorstep after I started digging into her past. Could he have the mistaken belief that I had uncovered evidence, and now wanted to silence me as he had Scarlett? The thought slammed into my brain, leaving me frightened and shaken. I’d rather be alone with a rattlesnake than with my faceless stalker.

  The nurse suggested I leave so Carla could sign her release papers and finish packing. I could tell by Carla’s closed expression that she’d finished answering questions for the day, and in light of my discovery, I felt incapable of continuing. I wished her well and slipped out the door and down to the elevator. How I arrived home without wrecking the Mustang, I’m not sure. My mind whirled with questions, speculations, and possibilities. I could hear the phone ringing as I parked under the carport and shut off the ignition. Tango met me at the door, tripping me as I rushed in. “Hello?” I could now add bruised knees to my growing list of ailments.