Iced Chiffon (14 page)

My purse was yanked hard, no doubt to get at my money,
but I held it tight to my chest. I had about three bucks in cash, but I couldn’t afford to replace my bag, even if it was a Target special. Another big tug came on the strap, but I had a death grip. I hoped that didn’t turn out to be a literal description.

“Mind your own business.” The voice was rough and throaty, and I had no idea who it was. I suppose that was the whole point. Footsteps hurried off, and I lifted my head as the rotten, no–good pig in a big black coat disappeared around the back of the house. I was scared, shaking, fighting to catch my breath, and thanking my lucky stars my attacker left me alone. I cut my eyes to the front of the alley where I’d nearly been purse-napped and spied another big thug coming right at me. That’s why pig attacker left. There was someone else wanting a piece of the action.

Enough action! This time my vocal cords and adrenaline rush worked perfectly. I jumped up, yelling stuff that sounded remarkably like the expletives I heard over on Seventeenth Street. I charged for all I was worth down the narrow alley, swinging Old Yeller with both hands.

“Ouch! Ouch! What the heck!”

I knew that voice. Anger pooled in my gut, but I didn’t think my life was in danger. I tried another swing, but my arms got pinned to my sides, rendering my purse flailing ineffective. I was flattened against the side of a house by a hard male body. Granted, it had been a while since I’d felt one of those, but I had a pretty good recollection. Slowly, I looked up and came eye–to–chin with Walker Boone.

“
Y
OU
scared the liver out of me!” I wanted to continue beating Boone with my purse for taking ten years off my life in sheer terror, but he had me so I couldn’t move, and his stubble was sandpapering my nose. “Do you mind backing off? Do you ever shave?”

“Yes, I shave, and I do mind. You’re a raving wildcat. I think you chipped my tooth.”

“Well, someone just tried to mug me in an alley, then you came along, and I was overwrought.” I tried to wiggle free but it was useless. “You’re squashing me here.”

“I’m considering doing a lot more. Why were you over on Seventeenth Street? Do you have a latent death wish? And who gave you permission to be throwing my name around?”

“For your information I wasn’t throwing, more like a little toss.” I ducked under Boone’s arm and slid free. “And why do you care what I say, anyway?” I parked my hands
on my hips in defiance. I’d had enough bullying and being scared for one day.

Boone took my hands and held them, palms up, his eyes blazing mad. “You’re bleeding, and you’re shaking. What happened in that alley?” He looked down. “Where are your shoes?”

“Someone tried to snatch my purse, and I sort of lost my shoes.” I nodded back down the alley.

Boone handed me a handkerchief, then picked my purse off the ground as if it were a dead rat. “You got mugged for
this?
Just give them the thing next time and consider it a blessing in disguise.”

I tried to grab back my bag, but I didn’t have the strength. Instead I held out my hand. “Give me my bag so I can go home, okay?”

“I’ll drive you.”

“I’ll walk.”

“Not without shoes.” Boone went into the alley, and I watched as he picked up one flip-flop, then the other, then came back, dangling them off the tips of his fingers. “These aren’t shoes. These are things you wear in the shower at camp so you don’t get jungle rot and your toes fall off.”

“
You
went to camp?”

“Boot camp for badasses.” He gave a slight smile as I snatched my flip-flops, with the little flowers now smashed. “Your mother sent me there instead of the slammer. I’m taking you home before something else happens and I get the blame.”

Boone took off down the street with Old Yeller, and I hopped after him on one foot, then the other, while slipping on my mangled shoes. “Hey, that purse is mine, and what do you mean,
my mother
?”

“The one who gave you birth, kissed your boo-boos, and wears a black robe sans pointed hat, though there are those of us who think she keeps it in the closet next to her broom.” Boone stopped by a vintage red Chevy convertible, top down, with a pristine white interior.

“I think my granddaddy Milton had a car like this,” I said, giving it an appreciative once-over. “I also think there are a lot of things Mamma doesn’t tell me.”

“I bet that cuts both ways.” I went to open the door, but Boone stopped me. “Don’t get in just yet. You’re really a mess, and you smell like the stairwell in a parking garage.” He unlocked the trunk and pulled out a blanket, then spread it over the passenger seat. He opened the passenger door. “Try not to touch anything.”

“I feel so welcome.”

Boone handed me my purse, then took the driver’s side and cranked over the Chevy. It was good to be safe and sitting in a nice car. The company left something to be desired, but you can’t have everything. “How did you find me?” I asked as Boone headed across East Charlton. “I have a hard time believing this was a chance encounter. Are you stalking me?”

“Don’t have to. You’re like the cops, always around when you don’t want them. Big Joey took great pleasure in telling me you paid him a visit. I thought you and I needed to chat. I heard about Dinah Corwin’s wake over at the Marshall House and figured you’d go. Your auntie KiKi said you were walking home. I saw you, parked the car, and then you were gone. I took a look around, and you were facedown in the alley with someone standing over you.” Boone plucked a Kit Kat wrapper from my hair. “How do you keep getting into these messes?”

“It’s a knack.”

“Big Joey and the boys are not to be messed with.”

I turned sideways in my seat to face him. I wanted to see his reaction to my next question. Boone always knew more than he let on. “Then you tell me why Big Joey’s all cheery about Janelle’s demise. I can’t imagine those two even knowing each other, and them running in the same social circles doesn’t compute. My guess is she did something to tick him off, and Big Joey does not seem the sort to take ticking lightly.”

“Why don’t you just play with your little store and mind your own business.”

“It’s not gonna work, Boone. I know you. We’ve done battle for two years, and I know when you’re pushing my buttons so I get all huffy and bent out of shape. Then I storm off and sulk and let you get your way.” I folded my arms. “My sulking days are over, and I’m not going anywhere. Big Joey told me that Janelle went after the wrong people and that’s why she’s dead. That means he knows she was into blackmailing, so my guess is Cupcake was blackmailing somebody Big Joey cares about. How am I doing so far?”

Boone stopped for a light, and I leveled him a hard look. “Who was Janelle blackmailing that Big Joey would take serious issue with? You?”

Boone barked out a laugh, his dark eyes lit with humor. I’d never seen this side of Boone. As far as I knew, the only thing he ever barked was orders. It was a little unnerving to see him genuinely…happy? “Savannah gossips know all about me,” Boone said. “Or at least they think they do, and what they don’t know they make up. Blackmailing me is a waste of time.” Boone sobered. “So, you think you know everyone Janelle was milking?”

“I’m working on it.”

He rubbed his hand over his face, then motored through the green light. “Virgil Franklin has his faults, to be sure, but he helps a lot of people. He doesn’t care if they’re from the hood or the country club; he steps in and saves marriages, gets people in AA, rehab, finds kids homes, gets food on the table where there isn’t food or a table. Big Joey and Franklin get along, and Joey wasn’t happy when he got wind that Janelle was blackmailing him about his little…shortcoming. Franklin is the sacred cow around here. Hands off. Big Joey didn’t kill her.”

“Someone else beat him to it?”

“That would be my guess.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Boone’s eyes were back to business black. “So you stay off Seventeenth Street, and if you had two ounces of sense, which I know you don’t, you’d stay off this case.”

Boone pulled up in front of my house and did the quick look-around. “Where’s your furry friend?”

I clapped my hands, and a doggie head appeared from under the porch. “We’re making progress. You’re the only one he’s ever come out to see.”

“We badasses hang together.” Boone climbed out and opened the door on my side. I stepped out and grabbed my purse. Bruce Willis trotted up to Boone and licked his hand. Boone did the ear-and-head-scratch ritual.

“I don’t believe this. He doesn’t come out from under the porch for me, and
I
feed him.”

Boone climbed back into the Chevy, then pulled away from the curb. He stopped and looked back. “He likes hot dogs. He’s been living out of Dumpsters and needs a break
from all the healthy crap you no doubt dump in his bowl each day. I gave him part of my dog from Dog and Deli when I was here last night. We bonded.”

“How much is Hollis’s bill so far?”

“Beats me—I suck at accounting.”

“Boone.”

“What.”

I had to do this no matter how much I didn’t want to. I took a deep breath and clenched my fists at my sides. “Thanks for showing up tonight.”

“Now, was that so hard?”

“Yes!”

He gave me a little salute. “Remember to lock up.”

He sped off, and I switched my attention to the traitor at my side. “A hot dog? I give you Science Diet at thirty-five dollars a bag while I eat cheese sandwiches. You eat healthier than I do, and then you spoil it all with a hot dog?”

Bruce smiled up at me, tail wagging. “I try to be a good doggie mommy and this is what I get?” There was more tail-thumping happiness. Defeated, I started up the steps, and Bruce reclaimed his perch under the porch. At least he came out once in a while, even if it was for artery-clogging food.

I went inside and switched on the lights. As I stood in the hall I smelled…dog poop? Except Bruce was outside, and I was diligent about scooping. Oh for the love of…
I
was the one who smelled like dog poop, and this was my favorite blouse because it didn’t need ironing. Maybe my shoes had been defiled? My capris? No, I loved these capris! I unbuttoned my blouse, slid off my pants, and tossed them out on the porch, followed by my flip-flops. I bet Cupcake
never had these kinds of problems. Then again, Cupcake was dead. She had serious problems; I was just relegated to my bra and panties. Things could be worse.

I wiped off my Old Yeller, one of the joys of shiny plastic, and scrubbed myself under a steaming shower till the hot water conked out. Exhausted, I fell into bed but was instantly wide awake. Did I remember to lock the doors and close the windows? Of course not. I never did these things. I dragged myself off my nice comfy pillow-top mattress, something dear old Hollis left behind that I could actually use, and made my way downstairs. I secured everything that had a bolt or latch and even wedged a chair under the back doorknob for extra protection. I pulled the blue gingham curtains closed so no one could see in.

I kept two lights burning, in the dining room and kitchen, then got out my trusty baseball bat. I sat on the second step next to my bill pile and stared at my neat little shop, not really seeing the clothes, shoes, and jewelry. I didn’t want to think about what my purse snatcher said tonight, but the words kept running around in my head and wouldn’t go away. I wasn’t all that well versed in the behaviors of muggers, but I was willing to bet that “Give me your money” fit the profile of a purse snatcher a whole lot better than “Mind your own business.”

My mugger wasn’t a purse snatcher. I’d ruffled someone’s feathers, and considering my activities these last few days, that covered a lot of territory. If Boone hadn’t come along when he did, who knows what would have happened in that alley. Someone wanted me to stop snooping around. It could have been Urston or Raylene or, more likely, someone they hired. Maybe it was Sissy, and she waited for me after the wake? Big
Joey and the boys didn’t want me hanging around for sure, but as far as I knew, a black trench coat didn’t fit with typical gang garb. Somehow I’d gotten close to finding Cupcake’s killer, and this was a warning shot over my bow to back off.

Whoever it was meant business, and sitting here on the steps alone in the semidark with just a baseball bat gave me a bad case of the willies. I had to get a phone, and I’d have a little woman–to–dog talk with Bruce Willis about guard duty and not falling for every guy who wagged a juicy hot dog in his direction.

A
T NOON THE NEXT DAY
, A
UNTIE
K
I
K
I HUSTLED
through my back door with two glasses of sweet tea and stopped right in the middle of the kitchen, eyes bugging. “Lord have mercy. Every day you look a little worse, honey. What in heaven’s name happened this time?”

“I had a run in with a purse snatcher.”

KiKi plopped the glasses on the counter and clutched her bosom. Scarlett O’Hara couldn’t have done it better. “What is this world coming to? Are you all right?” KiKi took in my scraped knees and hands, then gave me an auntie hug, patting me on the back like she did when my soccer team lost the state finals.