Carlita stared at the card. “What is it?”
“It’s a BOP,” Mercedes said.
“You got one, too?” The driver asked.
“No. This is a surprise for my Ma. Do you mind if I ride along this one time?”
“Sure. Why not?” The driver pushed the door shut. “Today’s our first day, so it’s kind of a trial run. Have a seat.”
They were the only ones on board, and Carlita and Mercedes sat in the front two seats, directly behind the driver.
Before Carlita could ask Mercedes what was going on, the driver began to speak. “Walton Square and the east side will be my regular route. You can find a schedule online. The trolley will run from seven until nine in the morning for BOP holders and local residents. After that, the regular tourist trolley will run from nine a.m. until six p.m.”
The driver explained the new trolley system ran from five in the evening until seven-thirty for the locals who needed a ride home after work.
“Walton Square is now on the new trolley route,” Carlita guessed.
“Yep, and I bought you a BOP for the whole year,” Mercedes beamed. “You can use it on any trolley at any time. BOP stands for business owner’s pass.”
The City of Savannah had spent the last year discussing adding a trolley route early in the morning and then later in the evening for both residents and business owners. The goal was to keep cars off the busy downtown streets.
“You won’t take my Segway and you don’t like to drive downtown,” Mercedes said. “This will be the perfect way for you to get around without having to walk everywhere.”
“That’s so thoughtful, Mercedes. Thank you.”
The trolley made a second stop, but no one got on.
“I guess the locals are gonna need some time to buy the passes and get the schedule down,” the driver said.
“I bought one of the first passes,” Mercedes said. “The cool thing is you can use it for all of the trolleys, both tour trolleys and commuter trolleys.”
The trolley pulled away from the curb and Carlita turned her attention to the driver. “Will you be running the locals and tourist trolley in my area?”
“Yep.” The woman nodded. “I’ll share the early daily route and tourist route with another driver. I’m not sure who that will be. Some of the other drivers are whining and crying about their route. Not me. I’m just happy to have both feet sunny side up.” She glanced at Carlita in the rearview mirror. “You own a business in Walton Square?”
“Yes. I own a pawnshop, Savannah Swag, some rental properties and soon, an Italian restaurant, Ravello.”
“Nice. I’ve never worked this side of town. I’m excited to get to know the locals on the east end. My name is Claryce Magillicuddy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Claryce. My name is Carlita and this is my daughter, Mercedes.”
“I like your accent,” Claryce said. “It’s rare to hear one of those nasally northerners.”
Carlita wasn’t sure if she should be offended, but Claryce kept talking and she quickly realized it was nothing personal and more of an offhanded comment. While they rode, Claryce rattled on about her job, how she loved to meet new people.
She’d retired, after working for the city sanitation department as a dispatch operator for decades. “I sat around staring at my four walls for about a month and then I said to myself, ‘Claryce, if you sit here staring at these four walls for one more day, you’re gonna lose your mind.’ That very day, I drove down to the city offices and put in an application for a trolley driver.”
“You’re retired? You look too young to be retired,” Carlita complimented.
“I turned sixty-seven two weeks ago.” Claryce patted her hair. “Don’t let the luscious spiced cider locks fool you. There’s a head full of gray underneath.” She glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “You wouldn’t happen to know Elvira Cobb, would you? She lives on the east side, somewhere in your area.”
Mercedes snorted. “Yes, we…we know Elvira.”
“That woman is a royal pain in the rump,” Claryce said. “She’s always trying to bum a free ride on the trolleys.”
“Imagine that,” Carlita murmured. “I’m not surprised.”
“We had a few words last time she was on my route. She began interrogating a couple of the riders. I warned her to knock it off and she had the nerve to file a complaint against me.”
“She’s a trip,” Carlita said.
The conversation ended when the trolley pulled to the curb and a man wearing a gray business suit stepped on. Claryce showed him how to swipe his card and after choosing a seat behind Carlita and Mercedes, they continued their route.
By the time Claryce and the trolley completed a circle, several more passengers had boarded, getting on and off at various stops. It took a full hour for the trolley to complete the route. By then, Mercedes and Carlita knew Claryce loved living in Savannah, and she loved to gossip.
They waited until the trolley stopped at the corner in front of the pawnshop, before making their way off.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Carlita and Mercedes. I hope to see you again soon.”
“Same here,” Carlita said. “Have a nice day, Claryce.”
“You betcha. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Claryce winked at them before closing the door and driving off.
Carlita watched the trolley until it turned the corner and disappeared from sight. “What an unusual woman.”
“She’s a character,” Mercedes said. “So what do you think?”
“I like her already. She has Elvira pegged.”
“No, not that. The BOP? Do you think you’ll use it?”
Mother and daughter began making their way back to the apartment. “At first, I wasn’t sure, but the more I think about it, I’m sure I’ll use it, especially on rainy days when I need to go somewhere.” Carlita abruptly stopped. “Thank you, Mercedes. That was so thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome,” Mercedes stifled a yawn. “I’m ready to get home and crawl back in bed.”
When they reached the apartment, Mercedes headed to her room while Carlita started a pot of coffee. After pouring a cup of the hot brew, she carried it to the balcony and eased onto a lounge chair.
Rambo followed her out. He placed his chin on the side of the cushion and stared at her.
“Let me guess…you’re ready to go for a walk.”
Rambo’s tail thumped the deck.
“Tell you what - let me finish my coffee and we’ll go.” Carlita downed the rest of her coffee and set the cup in the sink before meeting her pooch at the door.
The busyness of the day hadn’t started and Carlita thoroughly enjoyed their early morning walks. The streets were still quiet and there was a crisp coolness to the air.
When they reached the Waving Girl statue, they paused to greet her before wandering along the walkway to the other end of the touristy riverfront district.
Carlita gave Rambo’s leash a gentle tug. “Do you smell that Rambo?” She covered her nose, as the acrid smell of smoke grew stronger with every step. “Something is burning.”
Up ahead, she spotted a fire truck and several police cars parked in front of the Mystic Dream riverboat.
Chapter 3
Carlita jogged the rest of the way, joining the outer fringe of a large crowd gathered at the side of the pier. The overpowering smell of smoke hung heavy in the air and she noticed wisps of smoke curling from the rear of the boat.
“C’mon, Rambo.” Carlita shifted her pooch’s leash to her other hand and made a beeline to the other side for a closer look.
Her eyes shifted up, past a charred rear railing to several firefighters who were inspecting the damage.
Off to one side, she noticed a tall, dark-haired man wearing khakis and a blue polo shirt. He was animatedly waving his arms in the air and Carlita wondered if he was the Mystic Dream’s owner, Lawson Bates.
The firefighters stepped out of sight and emerged on the dock, dragging their fire ho
ses back to the truck. After replacing the hoses, the men climbed into the fire truck and drove off.
Carlita inched past several onlookers in an attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation between the dark-haired man and another man she suspected might be the fire chief. They were still too far away and she only caught an occasional word.
She watched as the second man shook his head. He walked over to a pick-up truck sporting a City of Savannah logo, opened the door and climbed inside while the man Carlita guessed was Lawson Bates, marched off in the opposite direction.
“I guess we better get going.” Carlita began to retrace her steps when the sound of screeching tires caught her attention.
A reporter Carlita recognized from a local news channel sprang from the passenger side of a news van. A camera crew was hot on his heels and headed her way.
The young reporter adjusted his earpiece and grabbed a microphone. Carlita took a step back, anxious to steer clear of the camera’s line of vision.
“Five, four, three, two…” The cameraman began his countdown and lifted his finger for one.
“Hello, everyone. This is Brock Kensington, Channel Eleven News, reporting live from East River Street in downtown Savannah.”
“I’m standing in front of the Mystic Dream riverboat, a Savannah area landmark. City fire crews were called to the scene a short time ago after receiving reports of smoke and fire.” Brock motioned behind him. “And as you can see, this iconic Savannah treasure appears to be heavily damaged.”
Carlita rolled her eyes. “Heavily damaged?” she muttered under her breath.
“The details are starting to trickle in. From what we can tell, the majority of the damage appears to be located in the rear of the riverboat.”
“We’re breaking for a brief commercial.” Brock began to walk as he talked. “Stay with us, as we hope to have a moment to chat with the owner of the Mystic Dream, Lawson Bates.”
The reporter shifted the microphone to his other hand. “For now, reporting from the shores of the Savannah River, I’m Brock Kensington.”
Kensington gave a thumbs up and lowered the microphone. “I’ll see if I can get closer to Lawson.”
“Good luck with that,” one of the camera operators chuckled.
“He’s a jerk, I know.” Kensington straightened his back and smoothed his hair. “Still, it’s worth a shot.” The reporter made his way toward the man. There was a brief exchange before Kensington glanced at his watch and walked back to join his news crew.
Carlita scooted closer in an attempt to eavesdrop.
“Well?” the cameraman asked.
“Lawson had plenty to say,” the reporter said.
“Any finger pointing going on?”
“Yep. All ten of them. You know the drill with Lawson. The man has more enemies than his cousin, Mayor Puckett.”
The cameraman shifted the camera to his other shoulder. “Who is Lawson claiming is responsible for the fire?”
“He’s insisting it was arson and was throwing out names left and right,” Kensington said. “Emmett Pridgen, the chairman of the downtown development committee, who is also trying to get the gambling boat up and running.”
“Yeah, he would be the perfect suspect.”
“Mark Fox.”
Carlita perked up as the reporter rattled off the name of her friend’s husband. Mark Fox was a Savannah area property developer. Before she had time to digest that tidbit of information, Kensington rattled off another name…this one making her blood run cold.
“Pirate Pete Taylor. He was the first person Lawson named.”
“Pirate Pete is a good guy,” the cameraman said. “Why Pete?”
“I dunno.” Kensington shrugged. “Lawson was rambling on with all kinds of threats. I hope these guys watch their backs.”
The news crew began folding up their equipment and making their way back to the news van.
Carlita hurried after them, hoping to hear more about Lawson’s accusations.
“If I can score an interview with those three before the other local stations catch wind of Lawson’s suspicions, I might have the story of the season on my hands,” Kensington said.
“Excuse me.” Carlita tapped on the reporter’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to bother you. I watch you on television all of the time and am a fan of your reporting.”
The man’s expression softened and a slow smile spread across his face. He puffed up his chest. “Thank you. I appreciate the feedback.”
“You’re welcome. I…I would love to have your autograph, Mr. Kensington, but I don’t have anything to write on.”
“I’m sure I can find something.” Brock reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. He turned to one of the other news crew. “You got a pen I can borrow?”
The man reluctantly pulled a pen from his pocket and handed it to Kensington.
“What’s your name, lovely lady?”
“Carlita.” Carlita started to tell him her last name, but thought better of it. “You can just sign it Carlita.”
The man signed the back of his business card and handed it to her. “You can catch my next news story at six o’clock. By then, we should have more information about the unfortunate damage to the Mystic Dream.”
“So you don’t know what happened or how the fire started?”
“Not yet,” Kensington replied. “Rest assured that we’ll be working nonstop to figure out the cause.”
“I’m sure you will.” Carlita studied the business card. “Thank you, Mr. Kensington. Keep up the good reporting.”
The reporter beamed at her. “It’s nice to see my hard work is appreciated.”
One of the camera guys snickered and the reporter shot him a dark look.
Carlita thanked him again and then Rambo and she headed back to the edge of the dock where Lawson Bates stood staring at the damage to his ship.
She could see his lips moving, an angry scowl on his face. Lawson’s scowl deepened when another man stepped off the riverboat and joined him.
He angrily shook his head and motioned at his damaged ship before marching back on board and disappearing from sight. The second man slowly followed behind.
After they were gone, Carlita pulled her cell phone from her pocket and scrolled through her list of contacts. She tapped out a brief message to Pete, telling him she had some important information and asked if she could stop by to talk to him.
Her second text message was to her friend, Glenda Fox. Hi, Glenda. It’s Carlita. I need to talk to you when you have time. Please call me. It’s kind of important.
She pressed the send button and started to slide the cell phone back into her pocket when it chimed.
Your message sounded urgent. Pirate Pete was the first to reply.
Carlita dialed his number. “I’m down by the river. Someone set fire to the Mystic Dream and Lawson Bates is naming you as one of the possible arsonists.”
“You’re kidding.” Pete paused. “Someone set fire to the Mystic Dream?”
“Yes, and I have more information. I think I should tell you in person. There’s a reporter by the name of Brock Kensington who’s hot to talk to you about the incident.”
“I see.” There was another long moment of silence. “I’ll be at The Parrot House within half an hour.”
“A word of warning, the hotshot reporter may already be camped out on your front step.”
“Then I’ll take the secret way to work,” Pete replied.
“Through the pirate tunnel?” Carlita chuckled.
“Of course. Is there any other way for a pirate to sneak around?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Carlita promised him she would be there as soon as she dropped Rambo off at home and then told him good-bye.
Her phone chimed again. It was Glenda Fox.
“Hello, Carlita. I just read your message. It sounded important. Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine. I called to warn you and Mark to be on guard.” Carlita briefly repeat
ed what she’d told Pirate Pete, that the Mystic Dream was damaged and Lawson Bates was pointing fingers at Glenda’s husband.
“Oh dear,” Glenda said. “Lawson and Mark have butted heads several times over Savannah area development projects. Lawson seems to think since he’s a Savannah business owner and his cousin is the city mayor, he can stick his nose into everything that happens in this town.”
“I’m beginning to think I wouldn’t like Lawson Bates,” Carlita said. “There’s also a reporter from Channel Eleven News by the name of Kensington who was on the scene a short time ago. I’m almost certain he’s going to try to track down Mark to ask him about the Mystic Dream’s fire.”
“I know who he is. The man is a pain in the rear,” Glenda said bluntly. “Thanks for the heads up. I was going to give you a call to see if you wanted to join me for lunch in the City Market district. I figured I better hit you up before your new restaurant opens and you’re too busy for your friends.”
“I’m never too busy for friends,” Carlita said. “What does your schedule look like?”
“I know it’s short notice, but what about this afternoon? There’s a new restaurant, getting rave reviews I thought we could check out. It’s called the Garden of Goodness. The restaurant serves all kinds of baked pasta dishes, wood-fired pizzas, decadent desserts…you name it. Most of it is dining al fresco overlooking some magnificent gardens that were designed by Southern Style Courtyards.”
“It sounds intriguing. You’re making me hungry describing it,” Carlita joked.
“Perfect. If three o’clock works, I’ll call to see if they take reservations. You can’t miss it. It’s on City Market’s main drag.”
“Three o’clock is fine.”
When Carlita reached the apartment, she let Rambo inside and stepped into the hall to let Mercedes know she was heading to Pirate Pete’s restaurant.
Her daughter’s bedroom door was shut and the lights were off. She quickly jotted a note and left it on the kitchen counter before slipping back out of the apartment.
When she reached the Parrot House, Carlita tried the entrance door, and it was locked.
The restaurant didn’t open until eleven and it was still too early, so she sent Pirate Pete a text, telling him she was waiting on the front step. Carlita plopped down on the bench to wait.
Pirates in Peril: A Made in Savannah Cozy Mystery (Made in Savannah Cozy Mysteries Series Book 10) Page 3