Demise in Denim (12 page)

“W
E
'
RE
going to be late,” I said to Auntie KiKi as we climbed back into the Chevy, the sun just above the horizon. I handed her my iced tea to-go cup as I backed out of the parking place between two trees.

“How can Boone have a car without cup holders?”

“Maybe it's a hint that we're not supposed to eat or drink here,” KiKi said, then slurped her own tea as I slowly motored out of the Crab Shack parking lot. We circled the alligator sanctuary, where dinner guests could buy little pellets of whatever and feed the gators. Some might enjoy the experience, but personally I stayed as far away from snappers as possible. Anything with that many teeth was not to be messed with.

“You just had to go and have apple pie for desert,” I said,
taking my cup back. “After all that you ate? Where in the world did you put it?”

KiKi patted her stomach. “Right here and proud of it. I've had a tough day and burned up a ton of calories with Bernard, so the way I figure it, I deserve apple pie and more.”

An ocean breeze caught in my hair as I pulled onto Route 80, which ran from Savannah to the island. Marshes stretched off to the right and left, the road like a ribbon of land through the water. It occurred to me that the last time I was out here I had a string of cruisers trailing behind me and was shaking like a leaf.

“Least we know where we're going,” KiKi said when we reached the island and passed the first of the T-shirt and gift shops housed in campers and trailers and white clapboard buildings. “Just aim for the lighthouse and the theater's just beyond.”

Hilton Head Island was about an hour away and more of a highbrow location. Tybee was a fishing village atmosphere where folks took pride in sitting on the back porch and spitting watermelon seeds. Not that it was poor and destitute by any means, but residents chose not to flaunt their wares and instead lived the simple life of pizza and beer. The sun was starting to dip into the ocean as we pulled into the theater's gravel parking lot, nearly running into Tucker Adkins barreling out of the lot in his big black Escalade.

“Well of all the nerve, did you see that?” KiKi said, her hair standing on end and her eyes bulging. “That jackass nearly ran us down, and he didn't even have the manners to stop and apologize for the experience.”

“Tucker's all about Tucker. I wonder if the man even
knows other people live on this planet.” I killed the engine, the peace of the island at twilight closing in around us. The main hubbub of tourists, bars, and restaurants sat near the ocean side of the island where the long pier jutted out into the water. The lighthouse and theater were located back here on a natural inlet.

“Lordy, Lordy, here you are at long last,” Steffy Lou called out as she and Harper hustled over to the Chevy. “We were getting terrible worried you wouldn't show up. I mentioned to Tucker you were coming to help out, but when you didn't show and I said he'd have to do the chanting and the like, he took off like a shot. He came out here to bring the programs and make sure his name was front and center as a sponsor. Typical Tucker, I do the work and he gets the credit, but that's okay as long as we save the theater.”

I did the quick-introduction thing between KiKi and Harper as the four of us walked across the large grassy yard now dotted with white tents, a stage, and stacks of chairs and tables ready to be set up. The redbrick Colonial-style theater was just beyond. It had white-framed doors and windows that could do with a coat of paint, but all things considered it looked pretty sound.

“Isn't it fantastic?” Steffy Lou said with a sigh while staring up at the front facade. “Soon this place will be filled with people having fun and supporting our theater. It's going to be outside because the electricity's not on, but that's all going to change soon, just wait. We simply cannot let anything happen to the place. Live productions are magnificent, a true testimony to culture and civilization and the arts. I think our first show should be
My Fair Lady
, as this theater
is truly a lady and at long last we are transforming her from rags to riches.”

Steffy Lou stood tall, shoulders back, boobs out. I braced myself for “I Could Have Danced All Night” or “Get Me to the Church on Time” or some other
My Fair Lady
tune till Harper interrupted with, “Uh, the sun is setting quick and we have to get a move on if you think this nonsense we got going on here has any chance of working on this pile of bricks.”

“Nonsense?” Steffy Lou's eyes shot wide open. “Hush your mouth, of course this is going to work, it simply has to, and this wonderful theater with so much potential is not a pile of bricks, thank you very much. We got to do everything in our power to protect the place. We are stewards of the arts.”

Harper did the good-grief eye roll as Steffy Lou opened the basket she'd had at the church. She handed out the colored pieces of material and angels. “Odilia said we put the cloths on our heads. Orange is East, green is West, yellow is South, and blue is North.”

“Our heads?” KiKi asked, staring at the square of material.

“I don't make the rules, I just follow them like the woman told me.” Steffy Lou passed out candles. “Let's see now, we need to put angels at each direction, then hold the candles chest high, parade around the theater in a clockwise direction as the sun sets, and chant,
Spirits north, south, east, and west, protect this theater, she is obsessed
.”

I gave Steffy Lou a long look. “Obsessed? Really? You sang ‘I Won't Grow Up' for Odilia, didn't you?”

“Well, she had to know I was sincere about saving the place and how much it meant to me and—”

“You all look crazy and stupid,” Grayden Russell said, coming around from the back side of the theater accompanied by two of his poker-playing goons from the other night when Chantilly and I were at the inn. “Something tells me this little rite of the ridiculous has to do with stopping me from taking over the theater, which I intend to do in short order, so this is all for nothing.”

Steffy Lou jabbed her hands on her hips and tossed her hair. “That's what you think. No one messes with Odilia, and Southern women are a force you don't want to mess with. Walker Boone warned me about the likes of you.”

“And look what happened to him,” Russell sneered, then laughed deep in his throat, pointing to the tents and chairs and tables. “This fund-raiser you got planned doesn't stand a snowball's chance in Hades of being successful, Miss Steffy Lou Adkins, patron of the arts. No way can you raise enough money to save this dump of a theater. I intend to construct a new one. This heap of bricks will be used for storage at best.”

“Over my dead body,” Steffy Lou huffed. “And the theater is not a dump or a heap of bricks. The talent show I have lined up is amazing. I alone am doing three lively songs and the cuisine is straight from Sundae Café—their delicious fried chicken, sweet potato fries, fried okra, and key lime pie. I will save the theater and there will be live productions once again.”

“Nice speech, except you're running out of time. I have money available, a lot of it, and that's what the island council
is going to see, not all your promises that could amount to nothing.”

“The council's smarter than you think. They don't want your resort.”

“We'll see about that.” Russell glared at me. “It figures you'd be here sticking your nose in where it's doesn't belong. Every time I turn around you're there.”

“And you're here, too,” I said, considering that fact.

“Stay out of my way, Summerside, unless you want to turn that dog of yours into an orphan. A couple of stupid Southern broads aren't going to get in my way and mess things up.”

Russell and company strolled off, and Steffy Lou turned to me. “You know him too? Lordy!”

“He's not only interested in buying the theater, he also wants to buy the Old Harbor Inn. There's a connection there somewhere and I can't figure out what it is. Why both places? Why these specific places?”

“Time's a-wastin',” Harper chimed in again, pointing over the water. “Can we play Perry Mason later? The sun's setting, and after seeing Russell here checking the place out, I think the theater needs all the protection it can get. Fact is, I think we do, too.” She shivered. “That guy sure does give me the creeps worse than a hairy spider.”

Steffy Lou lit the candles and each of us took a side of the building, walking and chanting in a clockwise direction around the place. I caught bits and pieces of the others reciting the words, and truth be told I wasn't sure about the obsessed part, but who was I to argue with someone who could bring on triplets?

By the time we finished chanting and parading, we'd drawn a small crowd of tourists who clearly thought we'd lost our minds, or maybe they considered us a tourist attraction, it was hard to tell which. The last rays of the sun dipped into the sea, leaving behind a panoramic view of stars and a crescent moon suspended in a coal-black sky.

We doused the candles, and the crowd slowly dispersed. Steffy Lou placed the empty green bottle and the full rum bottle on the doorstep along with three oranges and two eggplants as an offering. Someone in need of a free drink might take the rum, but it wouldn't be anyone local. The eggplants and oranges were a dead giveaway that this was a calling from Odilia to the spirit world. Messing with such things resulted in teeth falling out, going instantly bald, and the inability to perform in the sack, something no man or woman wanted to mess with. We bowed three times, then headed for the parking lot.

“Gorgeous, isn't it?” Steffy Lou said with a wistful sigh as she climbed into her Lexus, Harper taking the passenger seat. “It's the magic of the ocean that brings us out here. I thank you kindly for helping out like you did and for being here when Russell showed up. I know I'm one to get my feathers ruffled easy enough, but I have no use for the man. I sure hope the two of you can make it back here for the event. We're needing all the support we can muster, and you can buy the tickets at the door. Local talent is putting on the entertainment, and I'm doing a medley on the old theater stage so everyone can get a feel for the place.”

“You can count on us,” I assured Steffy Lou.

“Well, bless your heart, you are the best.”

Steffy Lou and Harper waved and drove off, and KiKi gave me the
what have you gotten us into now
look as I powered up the Chevy and slurped the last of my watered-down tea from dinner. “If I drag Putter out here for a night of fried and fat, he'll commandeer the microphone and we'll get a lecture on heart and health. He keeps that PowerPoint presentation in his car, you know. He has slides of intestines and clogged arteries. He has a bucket of ten pounds of fat. Do you know what ten pounds of fat looks like up close and personal? It isn't pretty. People will cry and faint dead away. I've seen it happen.”

“We have to come to the event. I think Russell might try something. He seemed awfully confident that the fund-raiser wouldn't be successful, and he was here tonight checking out the place. The question is, why? What does he have planned, and you know it's not anything good. Walker's connection to the event has got to be hurting sales; he is a man wanted for murder, after all. If Steffy Lou's hard work tanks, all will be lost for the theater.”

“So now what? You're suggesting we dress in camo and bring shotguns?”

“More just follow Russell around and keep an eye out. He can't pull anything if we keep him in sight.” I glanced back at the brick building silhouetted in the moonlight. “It would be a crying shame to have the place go to that man and get turned into a resort.”

“Fine, fine, fine. I'll be her best off-to-the-gallows voice. I'll get Gloria to arrange for Putter to guest lecture at some legal event and bore the daylights out of those people.”

“Buckets of fat on the lawyer community? Are you trying to get Mamma disbarred?”

“We could hit up the county jail; they're supposed to be punished, right?”

“Seems cruel and unusual if you ask me.”

We started for home, then got detoured by KiKi's sudden craving for a cherry snow cone at Seaweeds since our iced tea from the Crab Shack was gone. Then it was on to Seaside Sweets for saltwater taffy to sustain life during the long ride home of twenty minutes. By the time we finally got back on the road the clock on the dash was homing in on ten, my head was splitting, and I was tired clear through, but I had to admit the strawberry taffy was really good.

We settled into the comfy leather seats of the sexmobile, with the wide-open asphalt stretched out ahead. The wind was at our backs, the temperature perfect, and the aroma of barbecue barely noticeable if you didn't think about it. KiKi dozed off and I turned on the radio, hoping for a little Adam Levine to keep me awake. I hit the gas a little harder, going faster than I should, but such is the lure of a fancy car with the top down and I just wanted to get home to bed, yes bed with fluffy covers and sleep and sleep and . . .