Demise in Denim (8 page)

The waitress gave us one of those
what the heck are you talking about
looks. “Mr. Russell said that? Just between us, the man's not much of a tipper.”

“See there, he's mending his ways.” Chantilly smiled and we took off down the hallway. We cut through the inn and came out onto the back lane where we'd parked the Chevy. “So let me get this straight,” Chantilly said as I powered up the car. “Russell really wants to buy the Old Harbor Inn?”

“That's what it looks like to me.” We waved to Lamar, who was busy with other guests, and headed for the land of Victorian houses and fewer tourists.

“Jiminy Christmas, can things get any worse?” Chantilly ran her fingers though her long curly hair in frustration. “We got to keep this to ourselves. Boone's for sure going to fry if it gets out.”

“I don't get it. Why does this matter so much?” I asked, stopping for a red light.

“Because if Boone knew about the sale of the inn and he knew Conway left the inn to him, it looks like Boone knocked off Conway before he could sell and cheat him out of the inheritance.”

“Holy freaking—” The car behind honked, jarring me back to the moment. I hit the gas and motored on. “But Boone didn't know about the inheritance till after Conway was dead.”

“There's no way of proving that. The Russell deal is another nail in Boone's coffin.”

“Mind if I make a McDonald's stop?”

“Boone is going to skin you alive for eating in this car, I can tell you that . . . except I could do with a McMuffin right now. And about a gallon of coffee to get my brain cells activated. Things are not improving here, kemosabe.”

Chantilly cracked her knuckles as we motored into the
drive-through and ordered up. I headed for home and pulled the Chevy around back to the garage and killed the engine as we polished off breakfast from a bag. “We can talk later,” I said, downing my last bit of apple pie. “I've got to open the shop, and you need to get to work, too. If you think of something, send it over in another order of mac and cheese.”

“We just polished off a bazillion calories. We shouldn't be hungry till next week.”

“Except for your mac and cheese.” I added a smile so she'd know I meant it. “Thanks for going with me this morning.”

We climbed out of the car; both of us had a lot more questions than answers and no idea how to turn things around.

“I'm not telling Pillsbury what we found out about Russell,” Chantilly finally said. “If the Seventeenth Street guys get involved in this, it will make Boone look more guilty—if that's possible—with ties to the gang. And you know Pillsbury will tell Boone about the inn and how it makes things even worse, and the guy's got to be lower than a snake's belly as it is.”

Chantilly gave me a hug, her voice cracking. “What are we going to do, Reagan?”

I couldn't talk, with a lump the size of Georgia in my throat, the apple pie like a brick in my stomach. I hugged Chantilly tighter. “We'll figure it out. We figured out what happened with you and Simon, and we'll get this right, too.” Then I offered up a quick prayer that I was right.

“We're just missing something,” I added. “I can feel it. It's like a big old mosquito out there buzzing around in the dark driving me nuts.”

Chantilly let me go and swiped away a tear. “Well, when you smack it down flat, honey, you let me know.” She trotted off for her Jeep, added a little wave, and then headed for Cuisine by Rachelle over on Jefferson. I headed inside.

My brain was mush, but somehow by ten I was open for business as usual. With new customers bringing in clothes to consign, I didn't have a minute to think more about Russell buying the inn and Boone rotting in jail. Change of season was always good for the Fox. People cleaned out closets and brought their gently worn items to me. With a little luck they would find a few things here at a bargain to fill that spot they'd just cleaned out. Recycling at its finest . . . and Reagan Summerside made money.

“Business sure is brisk,” Anna said to Bella as the sisters pranced in the front door during a momentary lull.

“See, it's just like I told you.” Bella smiled. “This here shop is a great idea.” I started to offer a greeting, but they strutted right past me as if I didn't exist. Guess I wasn't worth the effort, since I hadn't planned on dying and leaving them money.

By noon I'd taken in two full racks of clothes to sell that needed to be priced, and I had people standing in line to check out. BW took to sleeping behind the counter so as not to get stepped on, and the sisters were still hanging around the shop looking at the clothes. My guess was they intended to bring in some of their own to consign, and that was fine by me. For sure they were complete snobs with questionable morals, but they had great fashion sense.

I closed the shop at six sharp. If I hadn't had KiKi's Shakin' Seniors and Melvin the octopus to contend with, I would have
stayed open longer to let a few more people shop, and I could have cleaned up the place since it was trashed. It would also have given me time to think about the Russell/Old Harbor Inn situation. But I did have the dance lesson at seven, and I wanted to look in on KiKi. She hadn't been over all day to get the skinny on Russell, and that was so un-KiKi-like. Either dear Auntie was in a terrible state or she was wallowing in her soaps.

I didn't see Uncle Putter's car in the drive, so he wasn't on hand to offer sympathy. It also meant KiKi was well enough to be left on her own and the
terrible state
possibility was off the table. I made up a pot of mint tummy-soothing tea, then begged some blackberry scones from the Abbott sisters, who were recouping from the Conway Adkins wake with a pitcher of margaritas. I picked flowers from KiKi's lovely garden and put together a cheery get-well-soon tray.

“Teatime,” I sang out as I knocked and opened KiKi's bedroom door. Princess the cat—who morphed into a snarling, hissing, biting Hellion the cat when KiKi wasn't looking—sat perched on a satin pillow. The TV warbled on from the other side of the room and Auntie KiKi sobbed uncontrollably into a white hankie. Her eyes were red and blotchy, her nose was running, and tissues were strewn across the covers like little puffs of fluffy snow.

“Sweet mother in heaven, who died?” I asked, figuring it had to be that to warrant so much anguish. I set the tray on the nightstand and gathered KiKi in my arms. BW jumped up on the bed, gave Hellion a wide berth, and offered whiny sounds of sympathy.

“Alfonzo,” KiKi managed between choking back sobs. “He's truly gone!”

“Oh, honey, that's terrible.” I held KiKi tighter. “Did you know him well?”

“Oh my, yes. Eleven years now. He went to Brazil to rescue Arielle and got captured by the pygmy headhunters and they ate him for dinner.”

Ewww! And I thought I'd had a tough day. “Oh my God! Oh my God! I am so sorry,” I soothed, patting KiKi, who was now blubbering on my shoulder. “How did you find out? Are the authorities sure that's what happened and he's just not missing in the jungle and . . . Waitaminute, there aren't pygmies in Brazil, and they don't eat people.”

“Of course there are, and yes they do.” KiKi sobbed louder still. “
The Years of Our Splendor
would not make up such things. And Alfonzo was such a biscuit, he was just starting to get that touch of gray at the temples that men do.” She let out a deep sigh. “He's so romantic.”

“Honey, trust me, Alfonzo will show up next week as a twin, a ghost, father, uncle, cousin, or maybe he'll crawl out from under a rock. He's coming back, I promise.”

“You really think so?” KiKi sniveled, looking at me now and swiping at her eyes.

“I truly do.” I grabbed a tissue and blew KiKi's nose. “And you can make sure if you check online to see if Alfonzo renewed his contract.”

“That seems a bit like cheating.”

“So is having man-eating pygmies in Brazil.” I fluffed KiKi's pillows, except the one Hellion occupied, and then I poured out the tea. “How's your stomach?”

“Getting itself up and running. I think Putter brought home a bug from the hospital, is all. I tell you, that man's
immune to everything; he's got the constitution of a rhinoceros, but this ailment sure had me down for the count.” KiKi sipped her tea and broke off a crumb of scone. “I was perking up right fine this afternoon till the Alfonzo situation. Sent me right into a relapse, it did.”

“I think what got to you was sneaking over to my house and devouring my leftovers from Walls'.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” KiKi sipped tea and ate more of the scone between feeding bits to the resident pets.

“The ribs? The greens? Eating too much of that stuff will really get you late at night. No wonder you got an attack of jelly belly.”

KiKi scrunched her nose and wagged her head. “Reagan, dear, I was in this here bed all night and I have no idea what on earth you're talking about.”

“Of course you don't, and that's just fine as long as you're feeling better.” Heck, I wouldn't be too anxious to own up to an overindulgence of that magnitude either. I stood and smiled and kissed KiKi on the head and smoothed back her curly red hair, thankful that an upset stomach and Alfonzo were the only things upsetting KiKi.

“Guess I better get myself downstairs; the Shakin' Seniors will be arriving. Any words of advice for Melvin?”

“The .38's in the desk drawer and the .22's in the closet. Feel free to help
yourself.”

B
Y
eight the Swingin' Seniors were smiling and waving and trooping out the front door, the last strands of something country-western thumping in the background. I ran the dust mop around Auntie KiKi's dance studio, which had once been the dining room and parlor.

Back in the day of the horse and buggy and when folks came a-callin' in their top hats and hoop skirts, a fifteen-room Victorian house was all the rage. But when Auntie KiKi came along she figured that thirteen rooms were as good as fifteen, she and Uncle Putter needed money for medical school, and setting up her very own dance studio was a dream come true. Plus it paid the bills.

I punched up KiKi's iTunes playlist of music to tidy up by, and the Beach Boys came to life telling me that “God Only Knows.” Amen to that.

“You are such a cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater,” Auntie KiKi said as she came down the stairs in a peach robe that went to her toes. She parked herself on the bottom step with BW sitting beside her, his head in her lap. “I could hear the thump of that music all the way upstairs, you know. I'm guessing you did a little cha-cha, threw in the electric slide, and ended up with the Texas two-step.”

“Those are dances; we danced.”

“And not a touchy-feely dance in the lot. You chickened out.”

“I improvised a little and it worked; everyone was happy. How are you feeling?”

“I seem to be doing a bit better.” KiKi yawned, then patted BW and stood. “Putter should be home soon. He gave one of those
olive oil for butter
and
applesauce for sugar
talks to the Scrumptious Savannah cooking club tonight. If they don't tar and feather the dear man and run him out of town, he should be home by nine. Lock up on your way out.”

KiKi started up the steps, then stopped, her face pulled into a frown. “How did you and Chantilly do with that Grayden Russell person over there at the inn? Did you find out anything that can help Walker?”

KiKi was already feeling poorly, and I saw no reason to add to it. “We've got a few leads.”

“Oh, boy. That bad?” KiKi wagged her head and continued on. “We'll figure it out; we're just missing something, is all. Something that ties this all together.”

I knew KiKi was right, even said the same thing when I was with Chantilly, but we were running out of time. Detective Ross might not believe Boone knocked off Conway, but
it was her job and every other Savannah cop's to bring him in. Boone was a wanted man and Savannah wasn't that big. Sooner or later their paths would cross. Boone hadn't left the city, I was sure of that. I could almost feel him watching everything, everybody. I could feel him watching me.

I turned off the lights, letting one burn in the living room for Uncle Putter, the soft glow filtering into the dance studio of cream stucco walls and high ceilings. Frank Sinatra sang “I'll Be Seeing You” and I hoped there wouldn't be big black bars between Boone and me when that happened. I closed my eyes for a moment, the music washing over me, and I let my mind wander, searching for answers.

Why kill Conway? Why frame Boone? Why had all this happened now, and where was Boone? Was he okay? I slowly opened my eyes, and there he was right in front of me. It was dark and I was tired and I wanted him to be here, so maybe he was. He took me in his arms and we danced to Frank and seeing old familiar places. I could feel Walker's breath tease my hair, his heart beating slow and steady against mine, his warm hand at the small of my back pressing me close, his thigh brushing . . . my thigh brushing, his hand holding my hand.

We glided across the floor, the room dappled in soft shadows and moonlight. He tipped me back in a long slow dip, his mouth on mine, the heat of his lips setting me on fire as we stood there, the song fading away. I blinked my eyes open and . . . and Boone was gone. Or, was he never really here? I looked at BW. He yawned and smiled, winked, and then went back to sleep. Again, worst watchdog on the planet.

Still in a daze, I checked all the doors to make sure KiKi was locked up safe and sound. I glanced back to the dance floor one last time to see if Boone would somehow reappear. Was it a dream? Was it real? Did I need therapy? I missed him more than I thought possible.

With the help of an oatmeal cookie from KiKi's golf ball cookie jar, I finally convinced BW that we had to return to the land of no AC. I had a window unit on the first floor to keep customers happy—nothing worse than wiggling into tight jeans with sweat slithering down your legs—but the second floor was open-windows territory and a breeze if I was lucky. The very top floor was more attic than finished house. In the dead of summer the top two floors were like an oven, but in spring it was the scent of flowers and ocean and new-cut grass.

“I have a prezzie for you,” I singsonged to BW, who was now wagging his tail as we crossed KiKi's front yard, which butted up to mine. I opened the back door of Cherry House, went to the fridge and pulled out a little white box, and headed for the front porch, with BW's nails tapping across the hardwood floor as he followed me. We sat together on the top step and I opened the box.

“Do you remember what today is?” I took a Chicken McNugget from the box and split it in two. I popped half in my mouth and fed the other to BW.

“One year ago you and I became BFFs. I was in a bad way and you weren't any better. We'd both been abandoned. You were hiding under this very porch, though then there wasn't a hole in the roof. I shared my McNuggets with you.” I broke another one in half. “I'd just opened the Prissy Fox. I needed
money to keep Cherry House going and I had a closet full of designer clothes I didn't need since Hollis the now-ex had kicked me to the curb for Cupcake the now-dead.”

BW seemed only marginally interested in my sentimental walk down memory lane. I kissed him on the snout and he gobbled a McNugget right from the box. “So here we are, just the two of us, one year later. Any chance you'll start doing the laundry anytime soon?”

I got an eye roll, I swear I really did.

“Vacuum?”

BW chomped two nuggets right out of the box.

“Are you happy?”

This time I got a burp and a doggie head in my lap. I took that as a yes.

•   •   •

Morning business was brisk again, thank you, Jesus. Actually it was crazy busy with everyone in an
I need a new spring wardrobe
frame of mind. I had to break up a fight over a pair of blue strappy Kate Spade shoes and convince a customer that, yes, the Prada bag was real and, no, I did not sell knockoffs. I signed up two new consigners who brought in terrific clothes as a girl in her late twenties, wearing denim short-shorts, heels, and a halter top flipped a really nice wedding dress onto the counter. “I don't want to be seeing this here thing ever again. Sell it quick and mail me the check. Harper Norton, 126 West Harris.”

“It looks brand new.” I unzipped the dress from the long plastic bag.

She flipped back her long straight hair, which had to be
the very devil to keep in Savannah humidity. “It
is
brand new. Never been used; I'm still single.” Harper held up her hands and wiggled her fingers. “See, no ring. I couldn't get my money back on the flowers, the cake, or the reception at the Madison. That no-count Walker Boone is their attorney, said I signed a one-week cancellation agreement and that I should just be glad I didn't marry the creep who broke up with me at our rehearsal dinner.

“Let me tell you,” Harper went on. “All that's easy for Boone to say. He's not the one out all the money. Do you have any idea what a sit-down dinner with open bar costs these days, especially at a nice hotel here in town? I maxed out my credit cards and it'll take me years to pay them off and I'm still not married!”

“I know you,” I said, giving her a long look and thankful for once I wasn't hearing that statement. “You played the piano at Conway's wake the other night. You're really good, especially considering the occasion and that you were in competition with the sobbing Abbott sisters.”

“Yep, that was me all right. I play funerals, weddings, anniversaries, bar mitzvahs, happy engagements, happy divorces. Steffy Lou and I went to school together, so she hired me, bless her heart. Credit card debt is a scary thing, especially if it's for nothing but a broken heart. Actually, the broken bank accounts bother me more.”

Harper puffed out a long breath and pulled a satin shoe from a bag. “I lost the other one or you could sell these, too. They were expensive. Maybe someone will buy this one that I have left and use it as a planter or candy dish.”

Reaching under the counter, I found the satin shoe KiKi
and I got at Walker's house and plopped it on the counter. Harper's eyes nearly popped out of her head. She looked from the shoe to BW and back to me. “Holy catfish, that was you I pushed out of the way when I dropped off the shoe at Walker Boone's house? You know, I just planned to leave the thing on the back stoop because I was ticked and felt the need to vent. But then the door was wide open so I thought what the heck, I'll see how the other half lives. To tell you the truth, that was a mighty disappointing experience. So, what were you doing in Boone's house?”

“Looking for a runaway dog. Did you see anyone hanging around?” I wanted to know, hoping maybe Harper got a look at the person who dropped off the happy-family pictures.

“Nope, it was just me nosing around the place; the man doesn't even have a decent TV and that couch is a disgrace. Anyway, when you showed up I freaked out and ran.” She turned back to the dress. “So, can you sell this blasted thing for me or what?”

“Oh my, I bet I could sell this dress in a heartbeat,” Bella said, wandering over to the counter and picking up a corner of the wedding dress. “This is lovely indeed. Vera Wang? Everyone just loves Vera. Designer items are a big sell these days. Anything with a logo or tag gets top money even in consignment shops.”

Anna faced Harper and turned her back to me. “You could get a lot more for this dress in a more upscale shop than this one. You need to take it somewhere else.”

“Hey,” I butted in. “This
is
an upscale shop and I
do
get top dollar.”

“Like where should I take the dress?” Harper asked, totally ignoring me. “I need money.”

“Well now, you best keep your eyes open,” Anna added. “You just never know what shops are going to be popping up around here in this city. Things can change when you least expect them to.”

Harper snapped the dress off the counter and said to Bella, “Thanks for the tip, I appreciate it.” She floated off in a cloud of white chiffon, with Bella and Anna right behind her, and I saw a nice profit from the sale of a terrific wedding dress float out the door.
What was that all about?
I wondered.

“What was that all about?” Mamma asked, walking in and plopping a big box of food on my checkout counter.

“A lost sale that would have been really nice, and what's with the box?”

“Lunch.” Mamma smiled and waved her hand over the contents. “A nice nutritious lunch.”

“And dinner and breakfast for a month,” I said, peeking inside. Mamma had on a new black
I am the judge
suit. She also had a navy scarf with tiny orange polka dots looped around her neck.

“There's nothing but hot dogs in your fridge,” she went on. “BW is going to look like a sumo wrestler in no time if you keep it up.”

“Sumo might stand a chance, but a wrestler, never. He's a lover, not a fighter, and those hot dogs have no nitrates and they are low fat,” I said while exchanging Mamma's navy scarf for a cream one I had on display. Mamma was a fantastic judge, no doubt about it, sharp as they come. But she didn't have one drop of fashion sense in her whole body.
KiKi and I shared the opinion that it was indeed divine intervention from the powers above that made Mamma a judge, where black was the color of choice.

“And that's not all BW eats,” I added, feeling like a bad dog mommy. “I feed him really expensive high-protein dog food that comes in those little silver and blue bags and it has no by-products, whatever that is.”

“And he eats it?” Mamma asked, one brow cocked in doubt.

“Of course. Sometimes.” Maybe. I rummaged through the box of apples, bananas, grapes, and avocados. Packages of ham and turkey, cheese and bread. I finally hit pay dirt; the Fig Newtons were buried in the bottom.

“You don't have the whole story, you know,” I said with a full mouth and getting a
this is my cross to bear
glare from Mamma. “KiKi steals my leftovers, sees my empty fridge, then tattles to you. Think of it this way: If KiKi didn't filch my ribs and greens in the first place, I'd have more food in the fridge than hot dogs.”

Mamma tsked. “KiKi knew you'd say that and maintains her innocence, and for your information you're starting to sound just like a lawyer.” Mamma leaned closer. “So, have you seen one certain lawyer lately?”