by Kylie Logan
I lifted the floor-length skirt and maneuvered my way down the front steps, which was no easy thing considering the dress was so tight and Jerry Garcia was sitting in the middle of the stairs and refused to move. I had another moment of dumbstruck silence when we got out to the driveway.
That is, right before I burst out laughing.
I laid a hand on the top of the golf cart that Levi had outfitted to look like the buckboard wagon Rhett and Scarlett used to escape the burning of Atlanta. Don’t ask me how he did it, but he’d somehow attached boards to the sides of the cart to make it look rustic, and he’d added a plush toy rocking horse to the front so that the cart looked as if it was being pulled by the animal.
“It’s wonderful!” I told him, and slid onto the bench he’d covered with homespun red-and-white-checked fabric (yeah, I knew it was really a tablecloth from the bar, but I didn’t mind). “It’s perfect.”
“Not exactly.” In an effort to settle himself behind the wheel, Levi pushed down the empty scabbard and tried to climb into the cart, but the scabbard immediately popped back up, poking him in the leg and getting in his way. He tried again, holding it down this time and keeping it down while he sat down. “Honestly, I don’t know how soldiers did it in the old days.”
“They probably didn’t ride around in golf carts,” I reminded him.
All right, it was a terrible joke and he gave me the look I deserved. “The boots aren’t bad,” Levi said, “but the jacket and pants are wool, and they’re hot and itchy. And this hat and the sword—”
“You look very dashing,” I told him, and he actually blushed.
“I have a cousin who’s a Civil War reenactor,” he confessed. “And lucky for me, we’re just about the same size.” His bottom lip protruded just a little. “He wouldn’t let me bring the sword, though. He said somebody might get hurt.”
It was such a guy thing, I couldn’t help but smile.
Before he backed out of the driveway, Levi glanced next door. “Does Chandra need a ride to Tara?” he asked.
“She told me not to worry about it, she had everything taken care of. And by the way, she didn’t kill Vivien.” While we drove, I filled Levi in on the details of Chandra’s alibi.
“You going to tell Hank?” he asked when I was finished.
I fluffed my diaphanous red shawl around my shoulders and tried for a Southern accent that was nowhere near worthy of Scarlett. “What Hank doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and besides, the only things Chandra kept were some pictures and a yearbook.” The accent was silly, not to mention terrible, so I sloughed it off. “I can’t imagine Vivien’s cousins would want any of those pictures of Bill, anyway, which means they probably would all just be thrown away. At least if Chandra has them, someone will remember Bill.”
He slid me a sidelong look. “For a detective, you’re a pretty soft touch.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
Levi settled a hand on my knee. “You’ve got heart. But you can look at a situation objectively, too. To me, that’s a winning combination.”
By this time, we were closer to downtown, and from there, we’d drive to the southern part of the island and to Tara. Getting there . . .
Well, that was another story.
The members of the Chamber of Commerce had been absolutely right—the gala and the ban on vehicle traffic for the evening had attracted a lot of attention. Downtown was packed cheek to jowl with tourists, and watching them standing in line for tables at the bars and gathering in the park was a bit of a surreal experience. Most of them wore shorts and T-shirts, sundresses and flip-flops, but there were a good number of them in gowns and uniforms (though none with as much panache as Levi’s), and watching them mingle made me feel as if we’d stepped into a time machine that had spit us out in some crazy dimension where past and present were all mixed up.
“The island’s really hopping tonight!” Levi inched the golf cart through the crowd and we waved when people pointed at the cart, and when someone called out, “Miss Scarlett, you look beautiful tonight!” I bowed as much as I was able.
Outside of town, the crowds weren’t quite as thick. At least not until we got closer to Tara. Then, there were actually people lined up along the road, three and four deep, as if they were waiting to watch a parade go by. There were cameras, too, from the TV stations on the mainland, and when we passed them, I made sure I turned just enough to make sure my face stayed out of the picture.
Besides, no matter how we were dressed, I was pretty sure two people in a tricked-out golf cart weren’t nearly as interesting as so much of the rest of the crowd going to Tara for the gala. Ahead of us, I saw a couple of horses prancing along the road, their riders tipping their hats to the crowd. There was a carriage, too, complete with a team of white horses and a driver wearing a top hat.
“All right, I have to give the Twins credit.” I hated to admit it, but hey, I can be a grown-up when the occasion calls for it. “They said this party was going to attract a lot of attention, and they were absolutely right.”
“They’ve sure got the clout when it comes to publicity.” Levi tipped his hat to a group of ladies standing along the side of the road. I’m pretty sure a couple of them swooned.
We turned onto Langram Road and were met with the sounds of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” being played up ahead.
“Looks like the school band beat us,” Levi said, only now, with the crowds bigger than ever and cheers all around us, he had to raise his voice so I could hear him.
The crush of onlookers was greatest right at the wide drive that led to Tara. In honor of the gala, the trees there had been hung with shimmering bunting. There were bonfires here and there beneath the trees, and the shiny fabric caught the light and winked like a million stars. There were lit torches along the drive, too, and the Tara staff, most of them college students like the kids I’d seen behind the front desk, were dressed in period costumes. They lined the drive and bowed as we drove past.
Levi slowed and we waited our turn for golf cart valet parking, and once we’d given our key to a young guy in a Confederate uniform, Levi hurried around to my side of the cart and offered me his arm just as the band—arrayed along the front portico—broke into the first jaunty notes of “Dixie.”
Kate and Jayce were waiting near the front entrance. Kate, in a white gown sprigged with tiny blue flowers and a straw hat with a matching blue bow on it, was the picture of springtime. Jayce was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt.
“Hey, I’m a Civil War-era farmer,” he said before I could ask. “There was no way I was going to wear a costume!”
We were greeted at the door by a young man in a formal black butler’s outfit who took our tickets and invited us inside for cider and lemonade. In the lobby, a young lady in a wide-skirted gown proffered a tray. Levi handed me lemonade and took a glass of cider for himself.
“It’s like stepping back in time!” Her eyes wide and her cheeks pink, Kate looked around the lobby at the soldiers and surgeons and so many ladies in ball gowns and the black dresses that made them look like war widows. There were a couple of women dressed as battlefield nurses, a nun (I’m not exactly sure how that relates to the Civil War, but hey, a costume is a costume), and a man who was definitely out of the time period in knee breaches and a powdered wig. In my book, he got points for style.
There was no sign of the Twins.
“Your dress is exquisite,” Kate told me. “But then”—she gave me a conspiratorial wink—“I suppose you can afford it.”
Before I had a chance to thank her, Luella walked in with Frank Tolliver. He wore a dark suit and a white shirt. Modern all the way—but he’d made a nod to the spirit of the evening with a red, white, and blue tie. As promised, Luella was all in black—long skirt, short-sleeved top dotted with sparkling beads. She looked elegant, and call me a hopeless romantic (which I’m definitely not)
, but I bet Frank noticed, too. That would explain why he smiled every time he looked her way.
“We should have thought of a party like this years ago!” Luella hugged us one by one while Frank went over and got lemonade. “This is really something, isn’t it?”
If any of us answered, the words were lost in the strains of piano music and a woman singing “Beautiful Dreamer” in the parlor. Nice choice of a song. Too bad it was sung by the same lady who sang the national anthems in the park that afternoon.
She hit a note that made me cringe, and Kate laughed. “Oh, come on, Scarlett, get with the program!”
“I am, honest.” I pulled in a breath that was dripping with the scent of magnolias. “I will be the first to admit, this is the party to end all parties.”
“And a great way to raise money for the historical society.” Luella lifted her lemonade glass. “The Twins have to be commended for that.”
“Agreed.” I’d finished my lemonade and Levi took my empty glass and his over to where a young man stood with a tray, and while he was at it, I peered through the crowd. “Anybody seen Chandra?”
As if on cue, the front doors flew open and the chatter that had filled the lobby dissolved in awestruck silence. “Beautiful Dreamer” still oozed from the parlor but I hardly paid it any attention, even when the singer hit a particularly sour note.
Like everyone else, I was too busy staring at Chandra.
Gold satin gown, decorated with filmy fabric leaves on the sleeves and along the low-cut neckline in a color that reminded me of burnt cinnamon. A tiara of fake jewels on her head. And her cheeks rouged to a color that gave fire-engine red a whole new meaning.
I clapped a hand over my mouth in surprise and thought about the book we’d just read. “It’s Belle Watling!” I announced. “The madam from the Atlanta brothel.”
Chandra spotted us and sashayed over, unfurling her lace fan as she did. “Why, good evening, y’all,” she purred.
“Only you could pull off a costume like that!” Kate squealed her delight.
“Well, y’all didn’t expect me to come as Scarlett, did you?” Chandra whisked the fan in front of her face. “I knew every sweet young thing on the island would do that.” She crinkled up her nose when she looked at a woman in a (bad) replica of Scarlett’s dress made from the curtains at Tara. “Although you”—she rapped the fan closed so she could tap me on the arm with it—“you, my dear, are an absolute vision. You pulled it off. You are certainly the belle of the ball.”
“Don’t speak too quickly; we haven’t seen Riva yet.”
Chandra pursed her lips. “Upstart! Her and that no-good brother of hers. It doesn’t matter if they show their faces or not. It looks like we can have a fine gala without them.”
She was right, and the point was brought home when the singer (thank goodness!) took a break and a five-piece orchestra took over. The fainting couches and stiff-backed chairs had been removed from the parlor, and there was just enough room in there for dancing.
Levi took my hand and led me to the dance floor.
“You waltz?” I asked him.
“What, you think strippers can’t waltz?”
I was afraid the heat in my cheeks gave away what I just naturally thought about, but Levi was a good sport and didn’t give me time to consider it; he swung me into the dance.
Considering his résumé, I wasn’t surprised that he was a good dancer. I gave myself over to the rhythm and enjoyed myself.
When I wasn’t getting tangled in my own two feet.
“Sorry.” I cringed. It wasn’t the first time I had to apologize for tripping up. “The dress doesn’t exactly help when I’m trying to move around.”
He smiled down at me. “The dress is perfect. So is the woman who’s wearing it. Although now that you mention it, moving around might be a whole lot easier once you get that dress off and after we leave here tonight and—”
I had no doubts about what he was going to say. Too bad he didn’t have a chance to say anything at all. At that very moment, the orchestra switched from the lazy tempo of the waltz to a tune with more of a regal tone to it, something more appropriate for a royal coronation.
Even before we stopped dancing and turned to look toward the door, I knew the Twins had made their entrance.
Quentin walked into the parlor first, looking dapper, indeed, in a Confederate uniform worthy of Robert E. Lee himself. A second later, Riva swaggered in.
“It’s the same dress you’re wearing!” It’s not like Levi had to poke me in the ribs to get his point across; I could see what he could see. He leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “You look way better in it.”
It was every woman’s party nightmare. There we were, glittering red dress to glittering red dress, gauzy shawl to gauzy shawl. In a tip of a hat to Scarlett, Riva was even wearing a dark wig.
She caught sight of me and her top lip curled, but hey, I was in too good of a mood to let that spoil things for me.
“We have good taste!” I called out, and the crowd laughed, the orchestra started up again, and that was that.
“She’ll get over it,” I told Levi when he led me to the side of the dance floor.
“I’m not so sure about that.” Over his shoulder, he watched Riva make the rounds of the room, greeting each person in turn in between sending death ray looks in my direction.
“She makes a lousy brunette,” he said.
“Oh, I don’t know.” From where I stood, I had a glimpse of Riva’s profile. “It’s obviously not a cheap wig. She looks—”
“Bea! Excuse me, Bea!”
The voice came from behind me and I turned and found myself face to face with—
Rhett Butler?
I shook away the moment of surprise and smiled a hello to Zane Donahue. That evening, he might just have stepped out of the pages of Gone with the Wind. His dark hair was slicked down and he had a convincing fake mustache pasted above his top lip. He wore a black suit, a tan vest, and a black-and-white-checked cravat tied with the sort of flair one would expect from a hero of his ilk. He had a cigar—unlit, thank goodness—clamped between his teeth.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Zane tucked the cigar in his jacket pocket. “Bea, can I see you for a moment?”
I told Levi I’d be right back and followed Zane into what was usually the breakfast room. My gaze strayed briefly to the highboy, but not before I saw that everything that had been in parlor—the fainting couches, the chairs, the bric-a-brac—had been brought in there for the evening.
“I hate to do this to you in the middle of the party,” Zane said. “But I stepped in here and I saw something and I thought I should tell you about it.”
As far as I knew, he couldn’t have been talking about the highboy, so I looked around and asked, “What is it?”
“There.” Zane pointed to the buffet, where someone who probably wasn’t Riva or Quentin had set the silver candlesticks and the oil lamp I had once hoped to purchase from Estelle.
“I was here the other day and saw those things. They used to be in the parlor,” I told Zane.
“But they were at Estelle’s house,” he said.
I nodded. “With my highboy.” I gave it a longing glance. “I wanted to buy those, too, but when I got there that evening Vivien was killed, they were already gone.”
As if trying to get his thoughts straight, Zane shook his head. From out in the parlor, the music ended, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of red. Riva had moved to the center of the floor to welcome her guests. Her gaze must have been caught by my red dress, too, because briefly she looked over to where Zane and I stood talking before she launched into her speech.
“Friday. That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Bea.” Zane glanced Riva’s way, too. “I’m not sure what it means, but something tells me it’s important. I told you Vivien and I were
together that Friday afternoon in the house next door to Estelle’s.”
I remembered the orange Tic Tac on the bed and nodded.
“But I didn’t tell you . . . I didn’t think it mattered . . . I didn’t tell you that when I got over there at the time Vivien and I arranged, she wasn’t at the house next door. Vivien was busy sorting her aunt’s things. I went over to Estelle’s to let her know I was waiting for her. And . . .”
Zane scraped the palms of his hands against his pants. I wasn’t sure what he was getting at but I couldn’t fail to catch the tremor of excitement in his voice.
I put a hand on his sleeve. “And . . ?”
When he ran his tongue over his lips, one corner of his mustache came loose. “And those things were still there. The candlesticks and the oil lamp. They were at Estelle’s before Vivien was killed.”
“But not when we found her dead. And now, they’re—”
In a flash, I thought about all the times I’d written scenes of surprise into my novels. I sometimes described the feelings that zipped through my characters as bolts from the blue or frissons of realization or the slap of an icy wave.
I knew now that none of those descriptions was adequate.
In that one moment, the truth dawned, my mouth fell open, and I spun around so I could see what Riva and Quentin were up to.
Bad timing.
Riva had just finished her sweet little welcome to all, then she took one look at me and she must have seen the spark in my eyes. She called out her brother’s name and took off running.
20
Yeah, it all happened fast.
But it felt like we were moving in slow motion.
I saw Quentin flinch when Riva called out to him, and though he looked plenty confused as to what was going on, he didn’t hesitate. He bolted for the door right behind his sister.
I watched as Riva lifted her skirts and took off through the lobby.
I yelled for Levi, but by this time, the crowd was onto the fact that something interesting and perhaps even tabloid-worthy was going on, and everyone surged forward, blocking my way.
