by Duffy Brown
“Jail! Mercy, how could this be happening? I feel terrible for that girl.” KiKi sat down on the stool.
“I’ll get you some water.”
“Oh, honey, water’s for medicinal purposes only. I’m thinking Jen’s and Friends and a double martini. Walk BW, get that pocketbook of yours, and be ready in ten minutes. We are in serious need of libation to try and figure out how to make things right around here.”
Chapter Fifteen
JEN’S and Friends was packed, but on a hot summer night in Savannah at the corner of Bull and Congress that was pretty much the norm. Waiters were up to their eyeballs in customers so KiKi and I elbowed our way though the crowd to the bar to take care of our own alcoholic needs. She got a strawberry shortcake martini and I opted for the Snickers martini, the rim of the glass coated in chocolate, caramel, and nuts. A martini and a candy bar all at once, what could beat that? Probably a healthy diet. Instead I added a Snickers candy bar on the side in case I didn’t get my fill in the martini. Since business at the Fox was on a roll I could even afford it.
“So how is Detective Ross these days?” KiKi asked after we hunted down an outside umbrella-topped wrought-iron table. “You two exchanging Christmas cards this year?”
“Ross is skinny and cranky. When she walks down the hall people dive for cover including me. To add to the perfection of the day, Walker Boone was at the station. He wants me to butt out of Chantilly’s case. Why does he care what I do? What’s wrong with that man?”
KiKi stirred the martini with her skewered strawberry, a little smirk on her lips. “I’d say the man doesn’t know himself what’s bothering him, but right now we have to focus on the fact that Chantilly’s innocent and we can’t let her stay in jail forever because it’s the easy thing to do.”
“Amen.” I clinked my glass to KiKi’s in agreement, then told her about Chantilly’s text message, finding the body, hiding in the Dumpster, and how Chantilly’s prints got on the trophy. “So now we have two murders to consider.”
KiKi munched the strawberry. “One murder you look for motive, two murders you look for a connection, that’s what Rick Castle says.”
“New dance student?”
“Yummy guy on TV. But who would want Simon and Suellen both dead? I’m not even sure they knew each other?”
I licked the chocolate concoction from the edge of my glass and thought I saw Jesus. “Tipper was outside the Cakery Bakery today. He’s a lost soul with Suellen gone. He thinks the reason she was killed is that she saw who killed Simon at the wedding. He or she then killed Suellen to keep her quiet. That’s what the police are going with too and Chantilly fits the bill.”
“But Chantilly wasn’t the only one out to get Simon. What about Icy Graham, Pillsbury, Sugar-Ray, or Waynetta? There’s even GracieAnn; she was baking celebratory cookies for crying out loud. They all had motives to off Simon and they were all at the wedding except Sugar-Ray and with the grounds wide open and wearing costumes like we were, he could have sneaked in easily enough.”
“Except there’s the little matter of Chantilly’s fingerprints on the murder weapon. The question is did the others have alibis for last night? There’s only one way to find out. Ask!”
Auntie KiKi put down her glass and hunkered over the table toward me. “We have ourselves two murders now and if you go snooping around, we could have another.” She made a finger gun and pulled the trigger. “Maybe there’s a way to back into this. You know, ask around and find the connection between Suellen and Simon first. Tick off as few people as possible or at least the ones least dangerous.”
The bells bonged out seven and KiKi gulped down the last of her drink, then licked her lips savoring the taste. “I need to get on home, Putter’s calling at seven thirty sharp.” She leaned closer again, this time devilment in her eyes. “Gonna try that phone sex stuff going on these days. Heard about it on Oprah. Now that she has her own channel she can talk about anything she has a mind to. Gets me all twitterpated just thinking about it.”
I slapped my hands over my ears. “TMI . . . too much information. Do I have to hear this?” I dropped the Snickers in KiKi’s new purse. “For stamina.”
KiKi left in a state of giggles and I tried to forget the last minute of conversation with my dear auntie. I decided to walk home and maybe stop by Pinkie Master’s. With a little luck Pinkie’s was Bridesmaid’s new haunt and she was there again. Bridesmaid knew Simon and she was the only person I hadn’t managed to tick off in the last twenty-four hours who might know something about Simon and Suellen and if they had a connection.
I headed down Drayton, the sun finally dropping behind the trees, Pinkie’s outside tables jammed. I ducked inside to loud music and an elbow-to-elbow crowd munching Tabasco-flavored popcorn and downing forties. Bridesmaid sat on a stool at the end. She spotted me, smiled, and gave a little finger wave.
“I want to thank you for putting me in a cab the other night and being nice,” she said over the din.
“Looks like you’ve recovered.”
“Some things are meant to be. I never really did fit into the highfalutin social scene with the Waverlys. Mamma wanted me to better myself with being a debutante but truth be told it wasn’t better at all.” Bridesmaid nodded to a guy by the jukebox with the body of a lifeguard and the looks of George Clooney, the younger years. “I met TJ.” She laughed. “He’s a janitor. Actually he owns the company but he’s a hardworking guy.”
“Brown Eyed Girl” filled the bar and Bridesmaid beamed. “He’s playing that for me. He says I’m his brown-eyed girl. Isn’t that the sweetest thing ever? Did you come here to try and meet somebody, too?”
“Did Simon know a waitress over at the Pirate House? Young, blonde, wears her ponytail to the side, lots of blue eye shadow.”
“Blue eye shadow and ponytail.” Bridesmaid nodded. “Simon was with her at the restaurant one time. It was a year or so ago before Waynetta came into the picture. I was meeting Simon at the Pirate House for a drink. The place was crowded and I parked in the back lot. Those two were there by his car all cozy like. I remember because I was fuming mad thinking Simon was two-timing me. If I’d had an ounce of sense, I’d have realized Simon was probably three- and four-timing me but that’s another story. Anyway, he said he owned her money and it was all just business and nothing more. Monkey business if you ask me.”
I congratulated Bridesmaid on her delish guy, slipped the waiter a few bucks for some take-out popcorn for KiKi, who would no doubt be famished after her phone rendezvous, and turned for home. The one thing I knew for sure now was that Simon and Suellen did indeed know each other and something had been going on between them. Simon got GracieAnn to send him clients from Wet Willies so it made sense that maybe Suellen did the same at the Pirate House. They’d overhear someone talking about their financial situation and tell them about Simon. No better advertisement than word of mouth.
GracieAnn was involved because she was hard up for guys and had a crush on Simon. Suellen was good-looking and a sexpot and in it for the money. Simon and Suellen were partners and that explained how she got into Simon’s condo last night with the security code. The idea that Suellen met with the killer at Simon’s to get paid off was more valid than ever. She probably set the location and she had to trust this person to meet with him or her alone.
That ruled out Pillsbury for sure. Nobody would meet one-on-one with a known member of the Seventeenth Street gang if he were indeed the killer. I figured the same was true for Icy Graham except he had a daughter. Maybe the daughter killed Simon or helped her dad? Lord knows she had motive and she would also fit nicely in a peach dress with crinolines. Maybe Waynetta? Suellen wouldn’t feel threatened by her and as for wanting money from GracieAnn that seemed unlikely.
It was after nine when I got back to Cherry House. A humid breeze carried in from the ocean and clouds paraded across the quarter moon. I retrieved BW for a potty break and we started for Rose Gate to deliver the popcorn, the only lights the ones on timers. KiKi
should be watching Fox News by now, but the bedroom was dark. Good grief, how long did phone sex last? Personally I had no idea, but two hours of long-distance hanky-panky seemed a little extreme.
A phone rang inside and kept on ringing, Auntie KiKi not picking up. Oh, Lordy, maybe KiKi fell? Maybe she was in the shower? Maybe all that phone sex brought on a heart attack? I found the spare key under the third rock in the garden and let myself in, the kitchen dark and quiet except for the ringing phone in the hallway. The answering machine clicked in with Uncle Putter saying the Vanderpools weren’t available and if this was a medical emergency to call his answering service or 911. The caller didn’t leave a message.
“KiKi?” I yelled, my voice echoing in the house I’d known all my life. This wasn’t just my auntie’s house, you see, this was the house I’d grown up in. With mamma being a working single parent and KiKi and Putter having no children I was pretty much joint property. I knew which steps creaked, which windows stuck, and which toilet handle needed a good shake to flush. I flipped on the kitchen lights. “KiKi!”
My heart hammered in my chest. The phone rang again and again. No other sounds. Something was wrong, really wrong. I could feel it in my gut like when I was speeding and knew there was a cop around the next corner and there he was, big as you please, and sure enough I had myself a ticket. ’Course that was back in the day when I had a car. “KiKi!”
I flipped on the living room lights and snagged the phone on the hall table. “Hello?” I said, taking the cordless phone with me as I searched.
It was Uncle Putter. He’d been trying to reach KiKi for two hours now. He sounded fine, his soothing cardiologist voice steady and even, dealing with whatever comes, making light of his wife forgetting a phone call. But he wasn’t fine. He knew his wife and I knew every nuance of Uncle Putter’s voice probably better than I knew my own. He may not be my father but for sure he was my dad.
KiKi wasn’t in the parlor, dining room, bedrooms, library, bathrooms. I was scared and shaking and no way could I convey this to Uncle Putter four hours away in Atlanta and who could only worry from afar. I lied my little heart out that Auntie KiKi got asked at the last minute to sub at the canasta club and had to do Mildred Kincaid a favor and was out for the night and wouldn’t you know it here was her cell phone on the table and gee, she must have forgotten Uncle Putter was going to call. When I hung up I realized Uncle Putter didn’t even ask why I was in his house alone at night, meaning he knew my voice too and would be on the next flight to Savannah.
This was my fault. Icy Graham, Reese Waverly, and Sugar-Ray were seriously worked up over me digging around in their lives and they’d all threatened to do something about it. There was no better way to get my attention than through Auntie KiKi, everyone knew that. Boone made it clear at the police station he wouldn’t help me and I couldn’t call the cops. What would I tell them, my auntie didn’t show up for phone sex?
I needed help. I needed someone who knew the city and had eyes in every nook and cranny. What was that old saying about not burning bridges in case you had to walk back over them? Rain fell as I kissed BW on the nose, then closed the door behind me. No cabs would go where I was headed. I held Old Yeller tight to my side and took off in a dead run.
• • •
Seventeenth street was dismal in broad daylight with full sun and blue skies. At midnight in the rain the place was downright miserable. That I was soaked to the skin and had four guys in do-rags following did not help my opinion. I didn’t belong here. I knew that and so did my escorts. I imagined the only reason I got this far without being run off or robbed was sheer curiosity of what the likes of me was doing here in the first place and what would a woman with a plastic purse have worth robbing.
In the dark all the houses looked alike and my brain was too scrambled to think of the exact address where I’d made the UPS delivery. A light spicy scent breezed by me and I remembered the red crape myrtle bushes next to Pillsbury’s house. I took the worn steps of the gray bungalow with faded green shutters, the boys waiting on the sidewalk to see what happened next. Yeah, I wondered that myself.
An AC unit sticking out the front window purred at full tilt, an old wicker rocker with threadbare cushions sat by the door. I took a deep breath to keep my teeth from chattering and knocked on the weathered screen door making it rattle in the frame. The door opened to someone I didn’t know dressed in jeans, a faded red beater shirt, some very impressive muscles, and a 17 tattoo on his shoulder. Word was that the Seventeenth Street boys all had 17 tats. Word also had it that Walker Boone sported that very same tat and Dr. Gilbert’s nurse nearly peed her pants giving him a flu shot last year. “I’m looking for Pillsbury.”
“Who you?”
“Reagan Summerside. I have a problem. I need to talk to Pillsbury.”
A deep laugh sounded from inside. “Git lost.”
I knew this would happen. You didn’t tell a guy to not visit his girlfriend then hit him up for a favor. I knew it was a long shot but Pillsbury was my only shot at finding KiKi. Now what? There wasn’t any plan B; this was the only plan I had and it sucked. “I can’t get lost,” I sniveled, my insides going to jelly. “My auntie KiKi’s missing.” Hearing the words come out of my mouth made KiKi’s disappearance all the more real and I started to cry. “I know someone’s got her and it’s all because of me and I have to find her before Uncle Putter comes back from Atlanta and I know he’s worried something terrible and—”
The door slammed shut in my face, leaving me with mad boys of the hood inside and menacing boys of the hood outside. My crying turned to flat-out fear. Slowly I turned around to cold stares. The door behind me opened again. This was one of those rock and hard-place situations. Who would have me for dinner first?
“Dr. Putter?” muscled guy in the doorway asked. “The guy who carries that golf club around with him everywhere?”
“The heart guy?” one of the boys on sidewalk cut in, his eyes warming.
I nodded like a bobblehead doll and swiped my runny nose with the back of my hand. “Auntie KiKi was supposed to be home and she’s not and Uncle Putter called so they could have phone sex and I brought popcorn from Pinkie’s, that Tabasco kind she likes, and now someone has Auntie KiKi and it’s all because I ticked off the wrong people.”
“You? Tick off the wrong people? Imagine that,” Pillsbury said, his big hand taking my arm and leading me inside to a nice leather chair and Pottery Barn interior that did not match the exterior at all. A new meaning to keeping a low profile. Big Joey handed me a glass.
I met up with Big Joey a few months ago when trying to save Cherry House and he helped me break into Boone’s office for less-than-legal purposes. “Drink this fast.”
Brown liquid in a crystal glass, the hood’s version of a red apple offered by a sinister queen? I had infuriated Pillsbury after all. “Poison? You’re going to kill me?”
“That give the street a bad name.” Big Joey grinned, the light catching his gold tooth. “This be single-malt scotch. Drink.”
Like I had a choice. I gulped it down and saw stars, choked, and instantly felt warm all over and revived. “You know my uncle Putter?”
“A truly righteous individual,” Pillsbury said in his James Earl Jones voice. “He took care of Mamma when she had a heart attack some years back. Did it all for free, didn’t charge a dime ’cause she had no insurance. Did the same for Tiny’s grandmamma back in ’08.” Pillsbury nodded at one of the boys who was anything but tiny and who’d been on the sidewalk and now stood inside. “’Course that’s changed now,” Pillsbury added. “We have a group plan with low deductibles and minimum co-pays.”
“You have medical insurance?” What did I expect form someone who had the cloud. “I don’t have medical insurance.”
“Need to get you on the plan, babe.”
Another Rambo-built guy hunkered down in front of me, iPhone in hand. “I put out the word on your auntie,” he said.
“KiKi is fiftyish wit
h curly auburn hair and about five-four and probably could stand to lose a few pounds but don’t tell her I said that and—”
“This her?” Rambo held up the iPhone screen, a picture of KiKi staring back at me. He touched the screen again and the Beemer came into view complete with Foxtrot license plate. “Google knows all. Got a tweet that Foxtrot head south on Bull two hours ago.”
I gave another bobblehead nod. “Thank you, kindly. I’ll start looking for her,” I said, getting to my feet.
“We find her. You’ll get in the way. Make the brothers nervous.” Pillsbury put his heavy hand on my shoulder. “Sit tight.”
“I suck at sitting tight.”
“Try real hard.”
And I did, I swear. The thing was I got Auntie KiKi into this so how could I sit around sipping scotch and wait for someone to clean up my mess? Besides, I knew KiKi and how she thought and now I had the Bull Street information to go on.
Wherever KiKi was she wouldn’t be sitting around either. It was in the Summerside genes to do something even if it got us into more of a mess while doing it. Even Mamma had her moments. We couldn’t help ourselves, like scratching an itch. I waited till the Rambos went on the porch to plan strategy, then I snuck out the back door.
Chapter Sixteen
BULL Street ran north and south, bisecting the city into east and west and was broken up by the squares, Johnson, Wright, Chippewa, Madison, and Montgomery, in that order. It took an eternity to traverse around the squares, all of them one-way. That was fine when out for a casual evening or admiring the loveliness of the city, but KiKi was on a mission to get where she wanted to go. She’d never take Bull Street. Instead she’d take Congress to Price.
I figured there were only three things that would keep Auntie KiKi from her phone call tonight—me, Mamma, and Uncle Putter. Uncle Putter was on the other end of that call and Mamma was at a debate for city council over at the Marriott. That left me hunting a murderer and if I threw Bull Street into the mix that led back to Simon’s condo that faced Wright Square. I couldn’t imagine why KiKi would go there and no one had seen Foxtrot parked nearby, but it was the best lead I had and I needed to start somewhere.