Killer in Crinolines

by Duffy Brown

  Slowly I slipped inside, easing the screen door closed so it wouldn’t bang. Tippy-toeing, I made my way across the room toward GracieAnn’s purse till I heard footsteps crunching on the gravel outside. I ducked behind a clothes hamper of dirty aprons and towels as the screen door opened, steps creeping my way. I held my breath, didn’t move a muscle. The footsteps stopped by the hallway. I peeked one eye around the hamper and saw . . . Tipper Longford? What in the world was Tipper doing here? Stealing an apron from Delta? Sabotaging her business? Borrowing a cup of sugar?

  He pushed aside GracieAnn’s sweater. He methodically pulled on a pair of gloves then opened GracieAnn’s big purse and removed her wallet, brush, a blue scarf, a canister of hairspray, some other stuff, and her cell phone. He dropped a pearl bracelet in the purse along with the brown notebook I’d taken from Simon’s and a pink-jeweled iPhone I recognized as Suellen’s. He put the other things back on top then rearranged the sweater over the purse like it was before.

  He smiled as he took off the gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. It wasn’t the smile of good-old-boy Tipper Longford, reenactment soldier and sorrowful lover, but a sinister smile of satisfaction mixed with a huge dose of pure evil.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  TIPPER retraced his steps back to the door then let himself out into the night. I sat on the floor and collapsed against the sack of dirty laundry, my brain on overload. If I hadn’t seen Tipper Longford plant that evidence with my own two eyes, I never in a million years would have believed the man was capable of framing GracieAnn. Worse still, Tipper Longford was capable of two murders! Sweet Jesus! How did that happen? Why?

  I retrieved GracieAnn’s purse off the peg and walked into the kitchen, stacks of cookies cooling on racks, mixes whirling around and around. GracieAnn’s apron was smudged with caramel and chocolate and she looked tired clear though. “What are you doing here,” she bellowed across the kitchen when she saw me. “And what are you doing with my purse?”

  I turned off the mixers. “We need to talk. You’re not going to believe this.”

  “What I believe is that we have baking to do.” GracieAnn elbowed me aside, flipped the mixers on, then grabbed her purse right out of my hand. “Get out of here before I call the police on you for stealing.” She turned to Delta. “Call nine-one-one right now. She was probably going to sell my purse in that shop of hers.”

  “If I was stealing your purse, why would I bring it to you?” I grabbed the purse back and dumped it upside down on the stainless counter, the comb, wallet, hairspray, scarf, lipstick, and cell phone skittering across the counter followed by the pink iPhone, notebook, and Suellen’s bracelet.

  GracieAnn stared, blinked, then stared more. “How did all this stuff get in there? That’s not my fancy phone or bracelet and what’s with the notebook?”

  “Tipper put them in you purse,” I said. “I just saw him do it in the back room. All this stuff belongs to Suellen. He’s trying to frame you for her murder, GracieAnn, and Simon’s, too.”

  GracieAnn gave me a mean, hateful look. “Well now, that’s crazy talk. How do I know you didn’t put those things in the purse to make me look guilty? Everyone knows for a fact you’d do anything to get Chantilly out of jail and now you’re setting me up for murder.”

  Delta shook her head, looking sad. “Oh my goodness. You saw Tipper do this? That’s just plain terrible.”

  GracieAnn rubbed her hands on her face, turning her cheeks white with flour. “Tipper couldn’t do this. He loved Suellen to pieces, everyone knows that. Why would he kill her? You’re making this up.”

  “Tipper was jealous, that’s the best explanation I’ve got. Suellen was involved with Simon. Tipper knew it and killed them both. Blaming it on Chantilly was easy with all her motives for wanting Simon dead but I was determined to get Chantilly off so Tipper tossed me another bone, namely you.” I nodded at GracieAnn. “After one bad relationship with Delta and the divorce, the thought of two women betraying him sent the man over the edge.”

  Delta picked up the iPhone. “What I want to know is what you’re doing here in my kitchen late at night in the first place. Maybe you got these things from Chantilly and planted them in GracieAnn’s purse and made up the part about Tipper.”

  “The killer had that iPhone,” I said. “It’s how he lured Chantilly to Simon’s condo with Suellen’s dead body, making Chantilly look guilty. Tipper just told me today that GracieAnn had Suellen’s bracelet. He wanted me to take that to the police along with the other information he’d planted. He left a Snickers wrapper at Simon’s place to point the finger at GracieAnn being there and again at Suellen’s along with one of her cupcake pencils.”

  GracieAnn sank to the floor, her legs sprawled out like a dropped ragdoll. “I don’t even know where Suellen lives,” she wailed. “I’ve never even been to Simon’s in my whole life. How could this happen to me? I’m innocent. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  I said to GracieAnn, “I figured you were the one who locked my auntie KiKi in a closet to get me to back off the case, but all the while it was Tipper. What I don’t get is how he used the bakery truck to knock me into the swamp and Delta not wonder how the truck got all banged up?”

  “Because Delta did know,” Tipper said from behind me, my heart dropping to my toes. I turned to face him, gun in his hand, every hair on my body standing straight up in flat-out terror.

  “I drove the truck,” he said, that evil look still in his eyes. “Chantilly came in here for a doughnut and said you had her truck out at Waverly Farms making deliveries for her. I wanted to scare you away from poking around but in the end it turned into another way to implicate our little GracieAnn here.”

  I looked from Delta to Tipper and GracieAnn on the floor. GracieAnn started to cry. All things considered that wasn’t a half-bad idea. “You and Delta? Together?” she whined. “You hate each other. You’re divorced. All you do is argue and make a scene.”

  Tipper kissed Delta on the cheek. “That’s what we wanted everyone to believe, especially you, especially Simon and Suellen. Delta here just sent me a text from Suellen’s phone, that’s how I knew there was a problem and came right back. For the final installment to our plan GracieAnn will realize you’re onto her as the murderer and she’ll kill you. You’ll be her third victim. GracieAnn knows where we keep the gun at the bakery. Delta will be distraught over the situation, tie GracieAnn up with an apron, then call the police. All the evidence for the other two murders is right there in GracieAnn’s purse so when the police come that’s what they’ll find, plus you dead of course.”

  Delta took off her apron and handed it to Tipper. GracieAnn sobbed louder. Feeling weak, I stumbled back, my hand knocking over a sack of flour and two boxes of Snickers cookies. “What is all this about? Why would the two of you want Simon and Suellen dead?”

  Delta let out a deep sigh. “It was me being stupid.”

  “We were both stupid,” Tipper cut in, hugging Delta close to his side. “Simon was young and handsome and made a play for Delta here. Suellen did the same with me over at the Pirate House when the boys and I would come in for a beer or two. Simon convinced Delta to sign over the bakery to keep it out of the divorce settlement and said he’d give it back. They were to be married after all. He’d proposed and she’d accepted all on the QT of course so I wouldn’t know she was trying to walk away with the bakery when she divorced me.”

  “He swindled me.” Delta said, a tear trailing down her face. “He sweet-talked me and nobody did sweet talk better than Simon Ambrose, the lying bastard, I can tell you that much. Tipper and I weren’t getting along and Simon and Suellen played right into that.”

  “They were in it together, Suellen making a play for me so I’d be all starry-eyed and get a quickie divorce from Delta no matter what and Simon making a play for Delta to keep the bakery. Those two played us against each other,” Tipper said. “Simon wouldn’t give back the bakery, his plan was to make Delta buy it back. Delta came to m
e and we suspected what was going on. Then we saw Simon and Suellen meet up behind the Pirate House. Delta and I pooled our money. Took all our savings to get back our own business and we swore to get even. Killing Simon was easy and we knew if I kept Suellen hanging on that sooner or later we’d get the chance to kill her, too. They both deserved it.”

  “You could have gone to the police.”

  “What they did was legal and we’d just look like two old foolish people who got swindled. Plus if we didn’t buy the bakery, we’d never get it back.”

  “And you paying Simon is how he got the seed money for his loan-shark operation,” I said, pieces falling into place. “You realized Simon had other enemies and killing him at his own wedding made for a lot of suspects all of them right there. The bridesmaid dress on the floor made for a nice cover.”

  “How do women stand those crinolines things? They itch something terrible.” Tipper made a sour face and scratched his legs.

  “But that meant they’d be looking for a woman and not a man or a man with a woman’s help and you fit neither scenario,” I added, seeing this all from a new angle. “You got Suellen to Simon’s place and killed her, then texted Chantilly from Suellen’s phone to have her standing over the body when Ross showed up, except we got out the back. Delta stole the notebook from me because it had the information on paying Simon for the Cakery Bakery. That would make her a prime suspect.”

  “In the beginning all the evidence was stacked against Chantilly nice and neat, even down to me stashing the dress in the UPS van,” Tipper said, he and Delta hauling the sobbing GracieAnn off the floor. “But you just had to keep on digging around. Good thing we had GracieAnn here at the wedding so everything we did could also fit with her. We manufactured a few other details, threw in the bracelet, and got you to go to the cops for us.”

  “You used me, and I fell for it.”

  “We learned from Simon and Suellen how it’s done. If you hadn’t come snooping around tonight, Chantilly would have wound up free as a bird. That’ll still happen, but now you’ll wind up dead.”

  “I don’t want to die,” GracieAnn blubbered.

  “You’re not going to die,” I said, stalling for time, trying to figure out what to do. GracieAnn was a loose cannon. I needed a fuse. “You’ll go to prison for a while, Percy will lose your appeal, and then you’ll die. It’ll just take a while.”

  GracieAnn’s face got all red and blotchy, her eyes little slits. “First Simon treats me bad! Then Percy! Now you!” She glared at Tipper. “Men! I hate you all!” She kicked Tipper in the shins.

  “Ouch!” he yelped, grabbing his leg. I snagged the sack of flour, closed my eyes, and flung it at Tipper and Delta, great white clouds billowing everywhere. “I can’t see!” Tipper scratched at his face and I tackled him to the floor. If the gun went off, I’d die quick. If I had a sprinkle doughnut in my hand instead of Tipper’s soldier hat, I’d die happy. Instead Boone grabbed the gun out of Tipper’s hand, then flipped him over on his stomach like an egg in the skillet.

  “Let me go!”

  “Apron?” Boone grunted, pointing to the floor, holding on to a struggling Tipper.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Apron?”

  “Where’d you come from?”

  “Blondie, the apron if you please. The guy’s little but he’s scrappy.”

  I handed over the apron. “Suddenly you show up out of nowhere?”

  Boone hogtied Tipper, then dusted the flour from his hands. He gave me one of those half smiles. “I’m a sucker for Snickers cookies, smelled them all the way out on the sidewalk as I was passing by. What can I say, I’m a fan.”

  Sirens sounded a few blocks away. Boone stood and flicked off more flour. “I think they’re playing our song.”

  “Sweet Jesus in heaven! Delta!” I said, scrambling to my feet. “We need to get her.”

  Boone snagged a towel and walked over to the oven as if he owned the place. “Not to worry. GracieAnn tore out after her like greased lightning. I think the girl’s downright pissed. I feel right bad for Delta.”

  He slid out a tray of cookies and set it on the counter. He plucked two, juggled them in the air to cool, then tossed one to me. “So did you and Hunky enjoy the pizza?”

  Cruisers screeched to a stop in front of the bakery, Detective Ross dressed in workout clothes and three uniforms hustled in the back door. Ross surveyed the room blanketed in white and Tipper on the floor. She looked from me to Boone, then back to me and snarled, “I was in the middle of my elliptical routine.”

  “Tipper and Delta killed Simon Ambrose at the wedding,” I said. “Then they killed Suellen because she and Simon swindled them out of the bakery. They tried to pin the murders on Chantilly and when that didn’t work they planted evidence in GracieAnn’s purse to make it look like she was the killer.” I pointed to GracieAnn’s purse on the counter. “Then they wanted to kill me.”

  “I know the feeling.” Ross looked at Boone. “And how do you figure into all this?”

  “Me? I just stopped in for cookies.”

  • • •

  “You couldn’t wait for us to go together to see Ross, could you,” Auntie KiKi grumbled the next morning as I sat at her kitchen table drinking coffee, telling all. I knew KiKi would have my head on a platter if she got the news of Tipper/Delta and the great bakery caper via Twitter. As it was, she just pitched a fit.

  “If I’d waited and not gone in the bakery last night, I wouldn’t have caught Tipper in the act of planting the evidence in GracieAnn’s purse. It was meant to be.”

  “Phooey!” KiKi folded her arms and tapped her foot.

  “Chantilly’s out of jail.”

  “You could have been killed, you know.”

  I considered countering with her near-death balancing act on the fire escape, but when KiKi was on a tirade it was best not to egg her on. “I could be killed crossing the street,” I soothed. “Besides, Boone was there.”

  KiKi stopped her foot tapping. “Now how did he wind up at the bakery on a nearly deserted street at midnight?” KiKi snatched the coffee cup out of my hand. “Never mind. It’s nearly nine. The Silver Spoon Girls will be here any minute now. They’re all geared up for another belly-dancing class this morning and looking forward to seeing Walker Boone. Any idea how you’re going to get him there?”

  “Knock him over the head and strap him to the hood of the Batmobile is the best I came up with, but it never happened.”

  “The girls will not be amused.”

  And they weren’t. But it did get me to thinking about what KiKi said as I cranked up the volume on Gypsy Fire and started the belly-dancing warm-up routine. What was Boone doing on Broughton at midnight? City Market and River Street and Bay Street were all about nightlife but that end of Broughton was small shops and daytime eateries.

  And why did he suddenly show up at Suellen’s when I was there looking around? Then there was Pillsbury suddenly behind me without an ounce of perspiration and wanting to jog with me? Why was he over here in the middle of the Victorian district when he lived on the west side? And what about that crack of Doc Hunky and enjoying the pizza!

  I told the girls to keep dancing for a minute and ran into the kitchen. I picked up Old Yeller and handed it to KiKi. “Take this for a drive over to Forsyth Park.”

  “Why on earth would I take a purse for a drive?”

  “You’ll see and when you do tell him he better get his fanny back here right now and not make me come after him.” KiKi gave me a quick once-over. “Fanny, huh. This should be interesting.” She grabbed the purse and hoofed it out the door.

  Belly dancing is always passionate but when I tossed in ticked off, mad as a hornet, riled up, and genuinely ready to strangle someone with my bare hands, passionate took on a life all its own.

  “There he is,” one of the Silver Spoon gals sang out as the last song wound to an end. She nodded to the back of the room, all eyes following. The women filed pas
t Boone with sultry hellos and how are you doing this fine morning and it’s mighty nice to see you again.

  When the last of the class paraded out the door Boone ambled over to me, Old Yeller balanced on the tip of his fingers. “You rang?”

  “Blast you, Walker Boone!” I grabbed Old Yeller and dumped the contents on the floor, empty wallet, brush, flashlight, flip-flops, phone, dog collar, dog treats, dog doo-doo bags, gum, water bottle, all piled in a big heap. “Okay, where is it?”

  Boone folded his arms and stared, humor brightening his usually dark eyes. I punched his arm. “You held my purse when we were at Simon’s and I was under the bookcase.”

  “I rescued you from under the bookcase.”

  “I could have crawled out. Did you put it in then?”

  “Put what in?”

  I rummaged through the pile and picked up the phone. “Pillsbury and you together! That’s how he knew where I was jogging. You bugged me.”

  “You always bug me. Seemed fair.”

  I faced him nose to chin . . . unshaved chin at that. “You had Pillsbury give me the phone so you would know where I was all the time and if I was someplace questionable, one of you would show up. Right?”

  “Why would we do that?”

  “Because you think I can’t take care of myself, and I can, usually. Sometimes I just need a little assistance.”

  “Sometimes?”

  “I’m going to get you for this.”

  The superior smirk was firmly in place. “This should be interesting.”

  “See all those lovely women who just paraded out of here gaping at you like a piece of raw meat. You just invited them for dinner. I’m sending a text message from the phone you so graciously gave me with time, date, and directions. Twenty women will be camped on your porch Saturday night at seven.”