by Harper Lin
“Oh, brother.” Becky sighed.
“That was a lovely gift you gave Martha,” the Heathcliff boy said. “Very thoughtful. You are a very thoughtful person, Rebecca Mackenzie. Can I get you another drink?”
I’m so thoughtful I can’t remember your first name, and you just said it one minute ago. “I’d love a drink. Something wet,” Becky replied, waiting for the Heathcliff boy to chuckle, but her silly joke went right over his head.
Fanny had pulled up a chair right next to Martha, squeezing in dangerously close to Teddy while at the same time making goo-goo eyes at Pete.
Martha took the box from Fanny. It was wrapped in elegant paper with a unique paisley print on it. Becky was sure she got it in Paris. She almost blurted that out as she giggled at her own joke but decided not to say a word. Martha tore the paper with reckless abandon, and her eyes bugged.
“It’s pronounced ‘wee-jee board.’ Isn’t that just the most elegant spelling?” Fanny asked as she took the box from Martha. She opened it up and placed the board in front of the guest of honor.
“Now, when I was in Paris, I went and spoke with a bona fide Gypsy fortune teller. She had one of these here boards and said she talked to spirits all the time!” Fanny exclaimed, evidently relishing having all eyes on her. “You lay the board on a flat surface. Then you lay your fingers delicately on this piece called the planchette.”
“Oh, let’s play it now!” Martha squealed, clapping her hands. “Becky! Come sit next to me.”
Just then the Heathcliff boy returned with a mint julep in each hand.
“I hope one of those is for me,” Becky teased.
“Of course it is. I offered to get you a drink. The other one is for myself,” he replied seriously.
Becky shook her head. “You go on, Martha. I’ll catch the next round.” She watched as Fanny quickly took control and grabbed ahold of Teddy, Pete, and another fellow who looked like he had some mischievous ideas in his head. He had a glazed, feverish look in his eyes as he studied Martha and Fanny. Obviously, he just had too much to drink. Or maybe he was up to something.
“Now, I was told by the old Gypsy that I have a very sensitive aura, so I will lead the spirit board. It’s a way to communicate with… the dead. Everyone, place your fingers on the planchette.” The entire group gathered around the table did as Fanny instructed while the rest of the guests around the room watched.
“You don’t believe in all this stuff, do you?” the Heathcliff boy asked.
Becky shrugged. She certainly didn’t believe Fanny could conjure up anything other than a severe case of flatulence. But she watched as Fanny rolled her head and shoulders as everyone kept their fingers on the heart-shaped planchette.
“Spirits hear me,” Fanny called. “If there is anyone on the spectral plane, we are ready to hear you. Talk to me. Can you hear me?”
Nothing happened.
“I am reaching out to the realm of spirits. Can you hear me? Anyone wanting to communicate with us still in this earthly realm, we seek your knowledge. Can you hear me?”
Still nothing.
“Spirits, do not be afraid. We seek answers to the afterlife. Can you hear me?”
“I think I know some spirits that will answer a heck of a lot quicker,” the glassy-eyed man said. “Hey, Hank. Pour me another drink and crank up that Victrola.”
The entire room roared with laughter. For a split second, Becky felt bad for Fanny, who looked deflated that her psychic ability wasn’t strong enough to keep the audience interested. But before she felt too sorry for her, Becky observed Fanny grab Teddy’s hand and yank him to the dance floor in the parlor, leaving Martha just sitting there.
“Uh, er… honey, be a dear and go get Martha one of those delicious mint juleps,” Becky said to the Heathcliff boy. “I’m going to help her cut the cake.”
The Heathcliff boy smiled and tittered at being called “honey” and headed toward the bar in the parlor.
“Did you see that?” Martha asked Becky. “I haven’t even danced with Teddy yet. I always get a dance with Teddy.”
“I did. It was your decision to invite her. I could have told you she’d have her mitts on just about every single fella here. Makes me glad you didn’t invite Adam White.”
“Don’t say that too loud, or the Heathcliff boy might overhear you.”
“What a wet blanket. The only one Fanny didn’t make doe eyes at,” Becky grumbled. “I’ll bet my mother told her to back off the Heathcliff boy. He’s the only caller coming to the house.”
“He comes from a very good family. Do you think it would be so horrible to consider…”
“Martha, bite your tongue.” Becky looked around. “Where is the Heathcliff boy? I swear I just told him to go and get you a drink.”
Just then, some glass broke, and a huge roar of laughter echoed through the house. “Good heavens, someone let in some barnyard animals. Wait here, Beck. I’ll be right back, and you and I can try this game.”
Martha slipped from behind the table and went into the other room. Becky looked down at the board. The letters of the alphabet were written on it as well as the words “yes” and “no.” With her lips pouted as though she were thinking, Becky reached out, and without her hand touching anything, the planchette slid beneath her fingers.
The first thought that came to her was about Adam White. Before she could ask anything, she envisioned his handsome face and broad shoulders and the dimples in his cheeks. Did he have feelings for her? Were they real feelings or the kind that came with too much drinking and dancing? Would her parents ever approve of her seeing a Yankee?
Before she could ask a question, she heard a scream. Not a party scream. Not the kind of scream a woman would let out when she was having fun. But a terrified scream that went on and on until it became pitiful gasps.
Becky bolted out of the dining room and hurried in the direction of all the commotion. There she found Fanny, as white as a ghost. Her entire body shook as she stared at the floor. At her feet was the body of Lawrence Hoolihan with a knife sticking out of his back. The knife still had birthday cake frosting smeared on it.
Chapter Nine
“I can’t believe it,” Judge said as he drove Becky and Fanny home. Teddy insisted on staying with Martha, much to Fanny’s dismay. Whether someone was murdered or not, she had expected him to escort her back to the Mackenzie Plantation.
“Poor Lawrence Hoolihan. Poor Martha.” Kitty shook her head. “It’s going to be all over town, if it isn’t already. What are people going to think?”
“Some are going to think she throws one hell of a party,” Becky chortled.
“Bite your tongue, young lady.” Kitty turned and looked over her shoulder at her daughter in the back seat. “I don’t know the Hoolihans, but I’m sure they’ll be just torn to pieces.”
“Lawrence Hoolihan was known at quite a few speakeasies. He was a good dancer when his hands stayed put.” Becky watched her mother clutch her pearls.
“I just can’t believe I was telling that man all about Paris just a few short minutes prior to the whole horrible event,” Fanny blubbered. “He seemed so interested. Such a gentleman.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Becky harrumphed.
“Rebecca, that is a cruel thing to say. The poor man is dead.” Fanny fanned her face with her hand.
“I knew that gentleman. I’m not saying he deserved to die. I’m just saying what he said and what he did were two very different things.” Becky looked at Fanny. “You just might be singing a different tune had he continued to drink and got you alone.”
“Becky, that’s quite enough,” her father grumbled.
“Not everyone is a saint when they die, Daddy.”
“Oh, I’ve heard enough.” Kitty shifted in her seat. “I don’t want to hear another word about this horrible incident.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if those two scoundrels dressed like Gypsies had a hand in all this tragedy,” Fanny insisted, ignoring Kitt
y’s desire to change the subject. “They were shifty.”
“They were the entertainment hired to do parlor tricks,” Becky said, wanting to defend the strangers. As much as she didn’t like it, she couldn’t help but hear Madame Cecelia’s words echoing in her head. Kindred spirits.
“They were strangers who looked desperate and dirty,” Fanny insisted.
“That isn’t true. What did your fortune-tellers in Paris look like? Probably not a whole lot different. Just because something has a French accent doesn’t automatically make it highbrow.”
Fanny pinched her lips together and glared at Becky. “Rebecca, I don’t expect you to understand since you’ve never left Savannah, but the world has all kinds of people in it. You learn to recognize the bad apples when you travel.”
“I don’t need to travel to know a bad apple when I see one.” Becky glared until her mother cleared her throat and inserted herself in the conflict.
“Oh, this terrible night has taken its toll on all of us,” Kitty said, reaching back and patting Fanny’s knee while giving her daughter a stern look. “We don’t need to argue with each other. It is a matter for the police now. Poor Martha. Her birthday will be forever marked by this gruesome event. She’s the one we should be thinking about.”
Becky had to agree with her mother. Poor Martha. She would be the topic of conversation all over Savannah and Pooler. But as Fanny and Kitty droned on about helping the Bourdeauxs with some homemade chicken soup and corn bread, Becky went through the long list of characters who were at the party. There was a murderer among them.
The next day, Becky woke up early despite the slight pounding in her head. She blamed Aunt Rue for that. Whatever that woman had been drinking could probably have started a fleet of bi-wings and enabled them to cross the Pacific.
After drinking the glass of water on her nightstand, Becky shook the cotton out of her head and quietly got cleaned up and dressed. She wanted to get back to Martha’s house without anyone suggesting she drag Fanny with her.
“Drastic times call for drastic measures,” she muttered as she tiptoed out onto the balcony.
The sun was up, and the only noise came from the kitchen, where Moxley and Lucretia bustled about, preparing breakfast. The smell of coffee was too much for Becky to resist. While hiking her dress up dangerously high, she swung her leg over the railing and hooked her foot in the trellis, which was covered with ivy. Slowly, she made her way down. When her feet finally hit the ground, she realized she’d torn her nylons. They sagged and made her legs look droopy.
“I’ll get another pair from Martha,” she muttered as she stepped into the kitchen from the outside.
“Miss Becky,” Lucretia whispered through clenched teeth. “Are you just getting in? Your mama will skin you alive if she finds out that—”
“No. I wish I had that much fun last night,” Becky said as she took a seat at the small kitchen table. “I’m going back to Miss Martha’s. She had an awful time last night, and I just want to check with her. I was hoping I might get a cup of coffee for the journey.”
Lucretia watched as Becky batted her eyelashes, frowning slightly like the poor soul hadn’t a friend in the world. After rolling her eyes, Lucretia placed a delicate cup in front of Becky with the strong, black, steaming liquid inside. Becky sighed after the first sip.
“That’ll cure what ails you.” She leaned back in her chair and touched the snag in her stockings.
“You’re not going to wait for Miss Fanny to wake up?” Lucretia asked, looking sideways at Becky.
“Well, if I wanted to wait for half the day to pass, I would. That heifer sleeps until noon. No. I’m going to see Martha on my own, and I’ll probably be back just before she wakes up.” Becky took another sip.
“You aren’t planning on walking all the way to Pooler, are you?” Moxley asked. “It’s going to be powerful hot out there.”
“Nope. I’m walking all the way to Teddy’s and letting him drive me.”
Becky watched Lucretia pull a flat pan of corn bread out of the oven. It smelled so good it made her stomach grumble. Before she could ask Lucretia to sneak her a slice, the woman set the pan down, gouged out a steaming hot square, slipped it into a tea towel with little flowers stitched on it, and handed it to Becky.
“You’d best get going. Your father will be up now that the cornbread is done.” Lucretia snickered and turned her back to continue cutting the squares of cornbread.
Becky took the golden bread gratefully and, on tiptoe, kissed Lucretia on the cheek.
“You’re a swell egg, Lulu,” she said as she headed toward the door. Moxley smiled and waved as she stepped outside, careful not to let the screen door bang.
“Hey, Miss Becky!” Teeter called from his seat on the porch. His mama didn’t allow him underfoot in the kitchen when she was cooking breakfast.
“Hey, Teeter.” She walked over and broke off a couple of crumbs and handed them to the boy. Within seconds, they were gone.
“Bye, Miss Becky!”
Becky waved and hurried along the well-worn path that led to the Rockdale property. And just like Teeter, she ate the rest of the cornbread, then she licked her fingers clean before wiping them on the tea towel. It was a splendid time of morning. The birds chirped wildly, and the air was warm but hadn’t yet decided to become oppressive and weighty and pull all the desire to have fun right out of a person. The wet strands of tall grass tickled across her calves as she ventured off the path to snag a couple of yellow wildflowers growing along the way. The stems were still wet with dew. The grass smelled strong and clean.
Off in the distance, she could already see the Rockdale home. It was a grand place that had been in the Rockdales’ family just as long as the Mackenzie plantation had been in her family. If a cross word ever transpired between the two families, it was dead and buried with the folks who did the speaking, because they’d been like kin for so long.
When Becky came into view, Teddy’s father, who wore a seersucker suit and a straw hat, was busy telling one of his hired hands what was wrong with one of his tractors.
“I’m convinced it’s the belt. You know how my machines purr when they run.” Mr. Rockdale pointed deep inside the belly of the red machine. “You’ll have to get deep in there, Lionel. But mark my words, it’s the belt.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Rockdale,” Lionel replied without a pinch of hesitation.
“Why, good morning, Becky.” Mr. Rockdale beamed. “I heard you all had quite a bit of excitement at the Bourdeaux place last night.”
“You heard right,” Becky said as she gave the round man a peck on the cheek. “I was hoping Teddy was home. He did make it back, didn’t he?”
“I’ll say. And I had quite a few words for him leaving you and that pretty Fanny to find another way home. I didn’t raise that boy to be such a knave.”
Becky chuckled at how Mr. Rockdale’s sentence came out. “It was all right, Mr. Rockdale. My parents were there. We got home just as safe as you please. Besides, I think Teddy wanted to stay to comfort Martha. That is what a gentleman would do.”
“Oh.” Mr. Rockdale pulled his lips down at the corners and nodded. “I didn’t realize. Well, the old boy is up having his coffee on the back porch. You know the way.” Mr. Rockdale waved and went back to studying his tractor’s guts. “I’m telling you, Lionel. Just check the belt.”
Sure enough, Teddy was exactly where his father said he would be. Sounds came from his house, but then again, with all the children and constant flow of family and friends visiting, Becky couldn’t remember a time when the house wasn’t noisy.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Teddy said, squinting while shielding his eyes as he looked in Becky’s direction.
“You look awful,” Becky said. “Good thing Fanny isn’t here, or she might find you too distasteful for her tales of French adventures.”
“Very funny.”
“Come on. Get that coffee down your gullet and come with me to Martha�
��s house.” Becky stood with her hand on her hip.
“Those are some nice stockings. Is that a new style?”
“I had to climb down the side of the house to get here without waking up the house,” Becky said as if she were saying nothing more than what a beautiful morning it was.
Teddy screwed up his face.
“To put it the way your daddy did, I didn’t want to drag a pretty Fanny along with me.” She shrugged, and Teddy chuckled.
“I’m sorry, Becky. I can’t go to Martha’s like this. I stayed with her until almost three in the morning.” Teddy yawned. “I’d be absolutely worthless to her and you, and my head is pounding.”
“But Teddy, how am I going to get there? You know my parents won’t let me take the car after… that incident.” Becky flushed red.
“You mean to tell me your parents haven’t forgiven you yet for—”
“No, they haven’t, and I don’t want to talk about it.” What Becky had done or failed to do with her father’s car was a topic Becky refused to entertain. Only Teddy and Martha knew what she’d done, and they were sworn to secrecy.
“Well, I’m not thinking straight this morning. My brains are trying to escape from my skull. So, here.” He pulled his car keys from his pocket. “You can use my car. Just do me a favor and bring it back—”
“In one piece. I get it.” Becky grumbled as she snatched the keys from his hand. “Thanks.” Reluctantly, she kissed Teddy on the top of the head, making him wince but also smile. Within minutes, she was driving down the long dirt road off the Rockdale property, heading toward Pooler and her dearest friend.
Chapter Ten
“I didn’t sleep a wink,” Martha said as she took a seat on the porch swing next to Becky. They’d done that since they were little girls. How many secrets and stories of theirs that the swing had eavesdropped on was a mystery. “Mother is beside herself. The police only just left when the sun was coming up. We had to give them the name and address and physical description of every one of my relatives. Do you know how long that took?”