by Harper Lin
Love and Murder in Savannah
The Southern Sleuth Book 1
Harper Lin
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
LOVE AND MURDER IN SAVANNAH Copyright © 2019 by Harper Lin.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
About the Author
A Note From Harper
Excerpt from “Cappuccinos, Cupcakes, and a Corpse”
Prologue
Savannah, Georgia, 1922
Becky Mackenzie, at twenty-two, felt it was a good time to be alive. Her family owned one of the most successful tobacco plantations in the glorious South, and her life consisted of attending parties, dancing, and mortifying her poor mother by refusing to settle for any of the beaus Kitty Mackenzie was trying to saddle her with. Becky took to her father, Judge Mackenzie, not in looks but in speech. That was also a thorn in her mother’s side.
“You are two peas in a pod,” Kitty scolded Judge once, although it wasn’t the first time.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Judge replied with a sly smirk. “She has plenty of your traits, Kitty. That’s why no matter how ornery the girl can be, the boys will always come calling. You don’t think that concerns me as her father? You don’t think I know what they’re thinking about our baby girl?”
Becky had heard her mother’s lecture on buckling up to land a husband a thousand times. Some of the ladies in the Auxiliary or down at the beauty salon or at any of the parties her parents attended would often ask when Becky would get married. None of them knew the meaning of minding their own potatoes.
Settling down when there was always a pair of strong arms to dance with or a wise-cracker to joke with or a handsome Northerner to get dizzy over was something only a jingle-brain would do. And Becky was no jingle-brain. She was a smart dame with a funny bone and no shortage of dance partners. Around her friends, she was said to be the bee’s knees. And as if that wasn’t enough, she had the uncanny ability to speak to the dead.
Yup, Becky Mackenzie was the cat’s meow to the swingers and spirits alike. It wasn’t until she touched a Ouija board at a birthday party that she realized flesh-and-blood people and dead-as-doorknob spirits had a lot more in common than not. They could be kind, or they could be deadly.
Chapter One
Kitty Mackenzie stood at the front door, looking out onto the long, winding driveway and shaking her head. She nervously patted the finger waves in her hair as if they could possibly come out of place. It was said by the ladies in town that buckshot could easily ricochet off her head because of the layers of setting lotion she used. But still, when she was nervous, Kitty patted her curls in place.
“Kitty, will you stop pacing the floor. The Heathcliff boy is long gone, and Becky missed him. Ain’t no use fretting. I’m not all that fond of that boy anyway.”
“Judge, that Heathcliff boy is a charming fellow, and he said that Becky told him to meet her here,” Kitty replied to her husband. She turned around and glared at him sitting in the parlor with a book in his lap and a smoldering cigar in the ashtray next to him. “What will people think? She invites a suitor and then doesn’t show up. It’s poor manners.”
Judge Mackenzie looked at his wife over round spectacles and furrowed his bushy eyebrows. More hair was on his face than on his head. He closed the book and folded his hands.
“Kitty, why are you so interested in marrying off our only daughter to anything in long trousers?” He picked up his cigar and took a puff. The smoke swirled around his head like a halo.
“That is not true, Judge. I just want her to start thinking seriously of her place in society. If she continues to act like she can climb trees and swim in the creek at her age without people talking about it, she’s going to doom herself to the life of a spinster.” Kitty wrung her hands and looked out the front door.
“You have a beautiful, intelligent daughter,” Judge said as he set his book aside and then pushed himself up from his plush chair. “If you think you can pick her husband, I’m afraid you are going to doom yourself to a life without your daughter in it.” He placed his hand gently on his wife’s shoulder. “Besides, not all women want a milquetoast like that Heathcliff boy. Some ladies prefer a man with a little more fire in him.” Judge’s hand drifted down Kitty’s back before he pinched her ample rump.
“Judge!” Kitty squealed, trying not to laugh. “You behave yourself! Talk about acting your age!”
“Excuse me, Miss Kitty. Mr. Judge. Dinner is ready.” The deep voice came from behind them. When the Mackenzies turned around they saw the face of their butler, Moxley. He stood there in his white jacket buttoned all the way up to his neck and his black trousers pressed impeccably without a single stray hair or speck of dust.
“Thank you, Moxley,” Judge replied.
“We should have invited the Heathcliff boy to stay for dinner.” Kitty gasped as if she forgot to extinguish a candle in one of the barns where the dry tobacco was stored. “That girl’s got my nerves so shot I’m no politer than a field hen.”
“The last thing I want to see is that boy eating my food. He’s so thin I’d see every bite slide down his spindly neck.” Judge stepped aside to let his wife walk ahead of him. As she led the way to the dining room, she took his hand in hers as much out of affection as to prevent him from goosing her again.
“He’s got a very nervous stomach. At least that is what his mama told me. She says on account of him being born during a thunderstorm, he manages his stress differently.” Kitty defended the poor Heathcliff boy as if he were kin. “But he is highly intelligent. I do believe if that daughter of ours would just give him a chance, she’d find him to be an excellent conversationalist.”
“Because that is what all fathers want for their daughters. To find a man they can talk to,” Judge replied as he held out his wife’s chair for her.
“Oh, you are impossible.” Kitty scooted in behind the table and looked at all the food on the table. “This looks lovely. I didn’t realize it, but I am absolutely starved. All that worrying made my appetite blossom. Should we wait for—”
“No. Our daughter knows what time supper is. She can eat by herself in the kitchen if she can’t arrive on time. I don’t plan on letting Lucretia’s fine fried chicken get a degree cooler.” Judge folded his hands in front of him and bowed his head. Kitty did the same.
“Lord, thank you for this food and for all the blessings you’ve bestowed on the Mackenzie house. Amen.”
For the first few moments in the dining room, the sound of clanking di
shes and the scraping of forks was all that could be heard. With their plates filled, Kitty started talking first.
“Really, Judge. Do you think it would be wise to let our daughter just run wild? Look at what is happening here. She knows what time it is, and yet we are eating without her. She’ll be in the kitchen like a servant, eating alone with cold food and no conversation.”
“Serves her right.”
“Oh, Judge.”
“What do you want me to say, Kitty? On one hand, you want her to be adult enough to agree to the suitor of your choice, and on the other, you are worried she’ll be eating a cold dinner alone in the kitchen,” Judge said, smacking his lips before dragging a white linen napkin across his face. “Here’s an idea, Kitty. Let her be.”
Moxley chuckled but quickly coughed then cleared his throat.
“Fine,” Kitty said. “I can see that you are more interested in contradicting me than coming to some sort of plan for our only child.”
She took a sip of water.
“Now, you just calm down, Kitty. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. There ain’t nothing for you to be fretting about,” Judge said. “Now, can you let this man eat his meal in peace?”
“If we’d been proper hosts and asked that Heathcliff boy to join us, I’m sure there’d be plenty to talk about,” Kitty said defiantly.
“Do you think elaborating on his stomach problems constitutes proper talk for the supper table?” Judge snapped with a smirk. “I heard him going into great detail about the effect the Savannah River had on his delicate intestinal condition. You enjoyed that conversation?”
“I had asked him how he’d been. So, he told me.”
Just then came a commotion in the kitchen.
“I done told you, Miss Becky, you can’t come through the kitchen at suppertime!” Pots and pans clattered, making it sound like an army was charging through to the dining room. Within seconds, a smiling face appeared from the kitchen.
“Hi, Mama.” A redheaded girl with skin as smooth as a Georgia peach and eyes as brown as dried tobacco strolled into the dining room from the kitchen. Her yellow afternoon dress was muddied around the knees, and her T-strap shoes were scuffed.
“My heavens, child, what have you been doing? Your dress is ruined.” Kitty’s daughter gave her a peck on the cheek, and then Kitty stared at her and gasped.
“It’s not ruined, Mama.” Becky Mackenzie smiled as she slipped behind her father and kissed him on top of his head. “It’ll just need a few extra scrubs on the washboard. Oh my, this looks delicious.”
Kitty folded her arms across her chest and pinched her lips. “You had a visitor today.”
Becky pulled out her chair and took a seat as Moxley poured her some ice water. She smiled up at the butler, who gave her a quick wink. Within seconds her plate was filled with fried chicken, green beans, and biscuits the size of a pie tin. Within a few more seconds half of that plate was empty.
“That Heathcliff boy came calling. He said you told him to meet you here. You can imagine my embarrassment when you were nowhere to be found. Do you mind telling me where you’ve been all afternoon?” Kitty took a long drink of water.
“Are you sure you want to know, Mama?” Becky asked, her mouth full.
“Swallow your food before you speak. What were you, born in a barn?” Kitty said.
“Our Lord was born in a barn,” Becky replied, dabbing the corners of her lips with her napkin.
“Don’t you blaspheme, and don’t look to your father for approval of such comments. You are not too big to get soap in your mouth, young lady.” Kitty huffed and took another sip of water.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Becky replied with a grin. “I was at the Old Brick Cemetery. Can you believe I found a stone from 1802? The rubbing came off beautifully. Would you like to see it?”
“Absolutely not!” Kitty gasped. In frustration she looked at Judge, who shrugged while he reached for the pecan pie that Moxley had just placed on the table. “Do you really mean to have me believe you’d rather spend time in that dirty old cemetery than with a gentleman caller?”
“If a gentleman came calling, I might have come home. But it was that Heathcliff boy. I’m surprised his mama’s apron strings stretched so far.” Becky turned to see her father choking as he attempted to stifle a laugh, causing the pecans to rush down the wrong pipe.
“Becky Madeline Mackenzie, I just don’t know what to do with you.” Kitty shook her head and pinched her lips together until they were white.
Watching her mother in such a state made Becky feel a twinge of remorse. She loved her parents dearly, and if they knew how hard she wished to make them happy, there would never be conversations like this one. But no matter how sincere her actions were, Becky always seemed to miss the mark.
Like today, she had every intention of coming home early. She’d been sent a rather juicy book from her best friend, Martha Bourdeaux of the Pooler Bourdeauxs, and was waiting for the right day to start it. A cloudy day with the chance of a storm would have been perfect reading weather. However, it turned out to be another warm sunny day that begged for a trip to the Old Brick Cemetery. It was peaceful there.
“Now I’ll have to make reparations with Mrs. Heathcliff and apologize for my wild and ornery daughter,” Kitty interrupted Becky’s thoughts.
“No, Mama. I’ll apologize myself. To be completely honest, I didn’t know the Heathcliff boy was serious when he said he was going to pay a visit. He talks so crazy at times, like he just wants to hear himself make noise.” Becky wiped the corners of her mouth and took a sip of water.
The Heathcliff boy had probably already forgotten that he’d even been at the Mackenzie plantation. The poor boy could be distracted faster than a cat, but if it would make her mother happy, Becky would make things right. Nothing was worse for a Southern mother than to have other Southern mothers discussing her children’s manners. She might as well have sewn a scarlet A on her chest. The scandal could be no less shocking.
If Becky had told her mother the truth that she had intentionally lost track of time to avoid Mr. Neville Heathcliff, her mother would have fainted from the scandal. It was a well-known fact among Becky’s intimate circle of friends that the Heathcliff boy had a crush on her. At first, Becky had tried to be polite. She’d talk with him whenever he approached at the many parties they attended. She’d asked if he’d dance with her on more than one occasion but he had some constant condition that prevented him from cutting the rug. Of course, that wasn’t enough to make Becky be downright rude to the fellow. She was sure he just didn’t know how to dance and was too embarrassed to say so. But her aversion to him was something else.
One night, Becky had left a party. A friend of a friend of a friend who had a small shack on the edge of the city was celebrating…something. Things had started to get wild at about one in the morning, but before police could be called, Becky and a girl by the name of Susanna Something-or-other decided to scram. As they were walking home, their arms linked and they were still singing some of the songs they had danced to in the house. The moon peeked out from a stray patch of clouds. Had that not happened Becky was sure she would have never seen the Heathcliff boy—who was following them.
He hadn’t spoken a word to Becky the entire night. She’d said hello and waved a few times but he responded with a blank stare. Another well-known fact was that the Heathcliff boy’s mother had diagnosed him with several ailments that may or may not have been real. Mrs. Heathcliff told the women in town that her son often slipped into intense thought sessions where he’d just stare and stare. One ailment the Heathcliff boy confided in Becky was that she was the only woman he knew that didn’t cause his nose to run or his throat to start to itch. When she laughed thinking this was a cute way to say he liked her, he intentionally knocked a glass to the ground. Then, he lapsed into one of those staring fits. Except he didn’t stare straight ahead, he stared at her. His eyes followed her everywhere.
So after leaving
the party, Becky and Susanna were shocked to see the Heathcliff boy since neither one had seen him slip out with them nor did they hear any footsteps.
“Getting out before the authorities show up? That’s a smart move Mr. Heathcliff.” Susanna had said to him.
“Mr. Heathcliff, are you feeling all right?” Becky had asked hoping her voice didn’t betray her nerves. Not to mention she hated the fact his first name never stuck in her memory.
“I’m going to…I’m…Oh no…” He clutched his stomach and darted down an alley.
“That poor boy is so smitten with you it makes him sick,” Susanna said. She burst out laughing.
Becky snickered but her instinct told her to quicken her pace. It seemed like the streetlamps suddenly dimmed and everything became tomb quiet. She pulled Susanna by the crook of her arm, hurrying her down the sidewalk until they came to a busy street and caught a streetcar. All the while Becky kept looking over her shoulder. She didn’t know what she expected to see. But something was coming up on her, she was sure of that. That odd feeling never left her whenever she saw Neville Heathcliff.
And now she had to see him. At least she’d be at home with her mother close by.
“I’ll send for him tomorrow. I’ll make sweet tea and cream cheese pound cake.” Becky smiled, lifting her chin slightly as she searched her mother’s face for approval.
“Girl, you don’t know how to cook,” Kitty needled.
“No. But Lucretia does. And I most certainly can mix up a batch of sweet tea as good as anyone in Savannah.” She puffed her chest and watched her mother try not to smile. “Please tell me you forgive me, Mama. I’ll make things right, and not only will you not have to endure the scathing stares of Mrs. Heathcliff, but you’ll soon tire of telling her and the other mother hens out there that your daughter refuses to share her special recipe for sweet tea.”