Dying for Dinner Rolls

by Lois Lavrisa

“Not this time,” José said. “I spoke to Lucy’s husband. He’s been on a fishing trip in North Carolina with his friends, so he has an airtight alibi.”

  Bezu wrung her delicate hands. “Why are we even discussing this? The law enforcement of this fine city will take care of it.”

  “Actually, ladies, we’ve been so overworked, even with a couple new hires, we are still understaffed. I’ve also been informed that this case will be wrapped up as suicide and closed before the end of the day.” José took off his sunglasses and wiped his brow.

  “My tax dollars hard at work.” Annie Mae rolled her eyes.

  “Lord Almighty. Poor Lucy.” Bezu threw her shoulders back and patted her blond hair, as if fixing herself up.

  “Listen. There’s something very wrong here, and we need to find out what.” I choked on the words. “There may be a connection to my father’s death.”

  “Cat, don’t you have too much going on, taking care of your children and your business, to involve yourself in what is clearly police business and not ours?” Bezu asked.

  “Cat’s making some good points. I have to agree with her. Lucy’s death doesn’t feel right to me, either. And maybe José is right, which, by the way, would be a first.” Annie Mae put on a half grin and turned to José.

  “If it wasn’t suicide, which it seems most of us agree it wasn’t, then we have a much bigger issue, don’t we?” I looked at each of them one by one. The words caught in my throat as my eyes teared up again. “Who killed Lucy?”

  Chapter 5

  One week later

  José plopped in a chair. “Lucy’s case has been closed as a suicide. The official investigation said she slit her left wrist with a butcher knife, lost a lot of blood, then fell and hit her head against the wall. There was a contusion on the back of her head.”

  We sat around Bezu’s dining room table, having called a Chubby Chicks Club meeting. This was the first time we’d seen each other since we’d attended Lucy’s wake and funeral last week.

  “Well, then, I think we forget any thoughts about it being anything other than what the police said it was.” Bezu set a pitcher of iced tea on the table next to a large, red ceramic pot of shrimp jambalaya.

  “Bezu, I disagree. I still think someone killed her.” I unfolded the cream linen-and-lace napkin and set it on my lap. “As her friends, it’s our duty to find out who did it. There’s a possibility that her death may be connected to my dad’s.”

  “Do you really think so?” Annie Mae asked.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” I fought back a tear. “Regardless, Lucy is dead, and how it happened is suspicious. Like the mystery around my dad’s murder.”

  “I’m with Cat.” José began to scoop out jambalaya onto a plate. “It doesn’t ring true to me, either. But my hands are tied. It’s not my case.”

  “Why don’t we do the investigation?” I took the plate José handed me.

  “No.” Bezu straightened her back.

  “Maybe we should just drop it. Let Lucy rest in peace. Poor soul.” Annie Mae made the sign of the cross. “Sorry, I still have leftover habits from twelve years of Catholic school. Praise the Lord. Let’s eat.”

  “Now someone here is finally talking sense.” Bezu took her fork. “José, thank you for serving. Now, why don’t we chat about something more pleasant?”

  “Annie Mae, I’m surprised you don’t want to investigate it,” I said.

  “I’m educated in theater and the arts, not detective work.” Annie Mae put a forkful of food into her mouth. “Plus, the police said it was suicide. And they’re professionals. So maybe we should just agree with their expertise.”

  “Do you think they’re right?” I asked.

  Annie Mae nodded and then shrugged her shoulders.

  I straightened my back. “I bet they didn’t even follow up with the other side of the note, where Ina threatened Lucy. Or what about the lipstick on the note? That was not Lucy’s color. Oh, and Lucy thought that Bert might have had a mistress, too. And I bet none of those leads were explored.”

  “They were not.” José wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  “So, you see, we need to examine possible suspects, at the very least.” I looked around at each of them. “Who’s with me?”

  Annie Mae chewed her food and then swallowed.

  Bezu looked down at the table.

  “We need to find out how she died because she was our friend. And we are the only ones who can make this right.” I slapped my hand on the table, hoping to get someone to react. It worked at the dinner table when my kids argued and caused a ruckus.

  José laid the serving spoon on a plate. “I say we don’t do anything.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Annie Mae agreed. “Let’s leave it alone.”

  “Annie, that is a fine idea.” José winked at Annie Mae.

  “I say we don’t leave it alone.” I cut my eyes to José.

  The spicy smell of the jambalaya lingered in the air.

  José shook his head and looked away from me.

  “Let’s listen to José and drop it.” Bezu glanced at me and smiled. “If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay under the porch.”

  “What the heck? Bezu, please translate that from Southern to English,” Annie Mae said.

  “We don’t have the law enforcement know-how, so we should stay out of any type of investigation.” Bezu held Annie Mae’s hand. “Can’t we just talk about the festival next week?”

  “While a dear friend of ours is dead? I can’t think of anything else, festivals or otherwise.” I pushed my plate away from me. “C’mon. The note from Ina, the pink lipstick, Lucy’s happy disposition. There is so much that is not clear-cut. If any one of you can say for one hundred percent sure that it was suicide, then fine, you’re out. But if you even have the slightest doubt, then it’s your duty to find what really happened. We owe that to her.”

  José put his hands in the air, as if saying he gave up.

  Bezu took in a deep breath.

  Annie Mae held her thumb and index finger a short distance apart. “I have a smidgen of doubt. So it wouldn’t hurt to look into it just a little. Plus, I do have some free time now.”

  “Great, Annie Mae. I’m glad that at least someone else besides me can see that we need to do something.”

  “C’mon, José and Bezu,” Annie Mae said. “The more I think about it, Cat’s right. Someone killed our friend, and I want to know who and why. And put them behind bars for life.”

  “All in favor of looking into Lucy’s death, say aye.” I took a quick look around the room. The afternoon sun shone through the tall windows.

  “Aye.” Annie Mae fidgeted with a napkin.

  José checked his cell phone, and Bezu seemed fixated on a spot on the table.

  Silence hung in the air.

  Bezu sighed.

  “I’m out.” José stretched his long legs. “I’ll say it once more. It’s not my case. If I got involved, it’d be insubordination.”

  I held my hand up. “I move for the Chubby Chicks Club to accept this mission, even without José.”

  “Not a good idea.” José shook his head.

  “Jeez.” Annie Mae glared at José. “Are you kidding me? You’re not going to help us?”

  “No. I have a bad feeling this is going to be a train wreck.” José rolled his head side to side as if working out a crick in his neck. He stretched his arms, holding his hands, and cracked his knuckles. “And I don’t want to get fired. I also think you should stay out of it.”

  “Fine. You’re out, José,” I said. “But I think the rest of us should investigate.” I raised two fingers. “So far it’s Annie Mae and me.”

  Annie Mae nodded and took another bite of food.

  “What about you, Bezu?” I asked.

  Bezu let out a deep breath. “Sorry, no. I think y’all even thinking about investigating Lucy’s death with no experience is like having only one oar in the water.”

  “That means no, right?�
� Annie Mae said.

  “Yes, it means no.”

  “So that just leaves Cat and me.” Annie Mae’s face twisted into a grimace. “What could go wrong?”

  “Don’t be so pessimistic,” I told her. “It’s our duty as Lucy’s friends to do this for her.”

  “Right. Let’s find her killer,” Annie Mae agreed.

  José took in a deep breath and then exhaled. “Since you’re insisting on continuing with this, which I strongly advise you not to, then I can be an unofficial consultant. Just to keep you two out of jail. But that’s it.”

  “Thanks, José. Any help from you is better than none.” Annie Mae’s face softened. “And don’t you think it was weird the way Lucy’s husband was flirting at her wake? He practically jumped the bones of that redhead.”

  “Talk about inappropriate decorum.” Bezu sighed. “He should be ashamed of himself.”

  “I saw that, too,” José said. “Some folks use wakes as pickup places.”

  “Not us black folk. No, we honor the dead. We cry and carry on for days on end.” Annie Mae thumped her chest.

  I corralled the conversation back on topic. “Maybe that was his mistress. Lucy had thought he might’ve been having an affair. Here’s what I think we need to do next. I think we need to interview some people who knew her and find out if she had any issues or problems with anyone.”

  “Like someone who may have wanted her dead,” Annie Mae added.

  “Yes.” I put my napkin on my plate.

  “Great. The Chubby Chicks Club goes from misfit social group to amateur Southern sleuths. Well, at least half of the group.” Annie Mae chuckled. “How in the hell did I get involved with this bunch of oddballs?”

  “We needed an African American to round out the group.” José playfully tapped Annie Mae on the arm. “And you were round.”

  “Just a little chubby.” Annie Mae smiled. “You caught me at a vulnerable time, that’s all. My Ernie had just died, so I wasn’t in my right mind. Now I’m sort of attached to you all. Kind of like when you fall in love with a homely puppy no one wants.”

  Annie Mae and I came up with a few strategies to tackle Lucy’s investigation. José listened and offered suggestions.

  Annie Mae and I wanted to talk to Lucy’s neighbor, Ina Nesmith, about the fight they’d had and the threatening note. I also thought that it was important to find out if Bert was having an affair and with whom. We also needed to somehow find out why Lucy’s note had been written in pink lipstick and whose lipstick it could’ve been. Annie Mae planned to make a few phone calls, including some to Lucy’s friends in her Bible study group.

  Anne Mae and I intended to stop in at Lucy’s favorite stores, the Red and White grocery and Blue Belle antique store, in order to find out anything we could about her state of mind and if anything had seemed amiss in her life.

  One thought kept nudging me: either there were two killers on the loose in Savannah, or just one. Could the same person have killed both my father and Lucy?

  I shuddered. I abhorred either thought.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning, I felt groggy. I’d tossed and turned all night, thinking about Lucy.

  Since it was Saturday, my eighteen-year-old sons, Teddy and Timothy, left early in the morning for their jobs. We lived in the Victorian District, close to downtown, so they either skateboarded or rode their bikes to work.

  At my husband’s and mom’s insistence, I was taking a day or two off from the store. They had not been thrilled when I’d told them that Annie Mae and I were launching an investigation into Lucy’s death. But they supported me and knew I was too stubborn and would do what I felt needed to be done.

  My five-year-old daughters, Nina and Nancy, were spending the weekend at my sister-in-law’s beach house on Tybee. I packed their beach gear and overnight bags before slathering sunscreen and kisses on them.

  After dropping off the girls, I picked up Annie Mae, and we grabbed a cup of coffee at a drive-through while we planned our day.

  Annie Mae sipped her coffee. “Whoa. Bitter. Needs way more sugar and a few more creams. Hey, I forgot to tell you, I’m going to be a guest professor at UNC Chapel Hill. They have a great actor-training program and have asked me to help out.”

  A sadness overcame me. “North Carolina?”

  “What’s going on, Cat? You look like you lost your best friend.”

  “My mom told me she’s taking the girls to Korea, and now you’re leaving.” I swallowed hard. “I’m feeling out of sorts, like something bad will happen if everyone leaves.”

  “Now listen here, Cat. Keeping people under your nose is not going to prevent anything bad happening to them. Didn’t you tell me that your parents took the boys to Korea when they were five?”

  “Yes.”

  “And they had a great time, right?”

  I nodded. “But that was another time; things have changed now. It’s all different.”

  Annie Mae placed her hand on my shoulder. “No, it’s not. What’s happening here, I think, is that you are still blaming yourself for your father’s death. And you are transferring all of that guilt and overprotecting those close to you.”

  “Wow, that was deep.” I grinned.

  “I minored in psychology.”

  “So where to now?” I drove my silver SUV. The air conditioner blasted, blending the smell of our fresh coffee with the bubble gum air freshener chosen by my girls.

  “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Bert killed Lucy. I just know it.” Annie Mae poured a few sugar packets into her coffee and then used a red plastic stir stick.

  “He has an alibi. Fishing at James Cohen’s lake home in North Carolina.”

  “Yeah, right. But still I think we should double-check Bert’s story. It’s fishy.”

  I chuckled. “Why?”

  “I don’t know, but the way he was flirting with that redhead at Lucy’s wake It’s just not right. Something is going on with him that we need to figure out.”

  I drove east on DeRenne Avenue. “Lucy told me Bert was taking Viagra. She suspected that he had a lover.”

  “Let’s go to James’s house. I’m looking it up right now.” Anne Mae tapped on her iPhone. “Take a left on Bull Street.”

  “What do we say to him?” I merged into the left lane. “I don’t want to sound rude or nosey.”

  “Let me handle it.” Annie Mae dumped three creamers into her coffee.

  Several minutes later, we pulled in front of our destination, parked, and climbed out.

  “Ready?” Annie Mae asked. “I’m all tingly and jittery. Probably because of all the excitement about sleuthing.”

  “I think it’s from all the sugar you had. My kids get that way, too.”

  We walked in the sunny muggy morning. The eighty-degree heat promised a blistering afternoon. I felt my skin frying as my hair clung to the back of my neck.

  Annie Mae pushed the door buzzer.

  The green door opened, and a bald man with tiny eyes and a hunched back greeted us. He looked like a mole. “What are you ladies selling?”

  “Nothing. We’re friends of Lucy Valentine.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m Cat Thomson, and this is Annie Mae Maple.”

  “I think I remember seeing you two at Lucy’s funeral last week.” James shook our hands. He led us into his house. Smelling of beer and mothballs, the living room was dark, cool, and decorated with fishing memorabilia. A stuffed fish sat on a hallway table.

  I began with, “I’m really sorry about disturbing you, but we wanted to—”

  Annie Mae interrupted. “Find a liar.”

  James’s mouth fell open for a second.

  I shot Annie Mae a look that I hoped said “behave.” “What Annie Mae means is that we loved Lucy and want some closure about what happened to her.”

  “She killed herself.” James walked into a sitting room. We followed.

  “Whoa. Listen here, Jimmy.” Annie Mae got in his face. “That’s our friend you’re ta
lking about. Please show some respect.”

  “Sorry. And it’s James.” He moved away from Annie Mae and stood looking at fishing trophies on the fireplace mantel. “I don’t know what I can do to help, but I have a few minutes. What do you need?”

  Annie Mae picked up a trophy. “Well, it would be nice if you could tell us about the fishing trip you were on the day Lucy died.”

  “Um, yes. The trip.” James studied his thumbnail. “We were up at my lake house in North Carolina.”

  “Who went with you on the trip?” I asked.

  “Two buddies.” James looked at the back of his hand.

  I remember Lucy saying Bert went with three of his friends, so that would mean a total of four. James now said it was only two plus him. Three. “Who were they?”

  “Smitty and Guy,” James said.

  “No one else?” I asked.

  “Nah.” James cracked his knuckles.

  I got right in front of him, eye to eye. My kids could not lie if I looked them in the eyes. “No Bert?”

  James ran his finger along the edge of the mantel. “I mean there were, uh, four of us, including me and Bert, of course. I forgot to add Bert.”

  “First place, huh?” Annie Mae read the trophy in her hand. “James, you’re quite the sportsman.”

  “And I got another first place a week ago.” James picked up a folded newspaper on the end table and handed it to me.

  It was the last page of the North Carolina Times sports section, dated a week ago. Two guys I didn’t recognize wore fishing vests and wader pants. They must have been Smitty and Guy. They stood next to a grinning James, who held a fish by its tail. The picture credit read “Rex Mallard, Staff Photographer.” Annie Mae looked over my shoulder at the picture.

  “That’s a huge fish,” I said to James.

  He puffed his chest out. “My biggest trout yet.”

  “Good job, James. That’s a great catch.” Annie Mae tapped the paper. “But where’s Bert? I don’t see him in the photo with you and your other two friends.”

  “Oh? Um. He…he took the picture,” James mumbled.

  “He didn’t take this picture. The photo credit says Rex Mallard did,” I added.