Love and Murder in Savannah

by Harper Lin

She sat down at her vanity and began to get undressed. The stockings Madame Cecelia’s mother had given her held up nicely but not so nicely that she was willing to go back and visit. As she peeled off her dress and slip, the card with the devil face on it fell to the floor. Becky picked it up and studied it. If what Adam had said about Lawrence was correct, there was a good chance the murderer was at that small card table.

  She was sitting there looking at the card when something tapped on her window. When she emerged outside and looked over the balcony railing, she saw Teddy.

  “Fanny gave me the lowdown.” He attempted to keep his voice at a raspy shout. “I’ll pick you up at nine?”

  “That sounds ducky. You are the bee’s knees, Teddy. See you at nine.” Becky waved before Teddy skipped off toward the well-worn path she had just come down minutes before.

  Her problem now would be finding out who sat down at that poker table while Lawrence Hoolihan was there. That shouldn’t be hard. There was only Coxy’s Army at Martha’s party.

  Supper was quiet except for Fanny, who had a tale from Paris for every bite of food, every slight movement by Moxley, for everything. It was nerve-wracking. But Becky managed to swallow several mouthfuls.

  “I am assuming you will be going out this evening.” Kitty looked at Becky. “I fixed the zipper in your black dress if you wanted to wear it.”

  It was an olive branch, but Becky wasn’t interested. Not yet. She loved her mother, and it hurt her heart not just emotionally but physically to be in a fight with her. She wouldn’t have cared whether her mother approved of Adam or not. Time would win her over, and Becky knew that. But the comparison to Fanny was just one step too far. Becky might have overlooked that, had Fanny not been creeping just on the other side of the threshold like a spider. She heard Kitty. Becky didn’t feel she deserved that humiliation, so she was going to stew.

  “Thank you. May I be excused?” Becky could have eaten a few more bites of Lucretia’s fried okra, but her desire to be alone was too strong.

  “You barely ate anything,” Judge said as he looked at his daughter. He had no idea what had transpired this afternoon, but as his eyes flitted from Becky to Kitty and back again to Becky, he was obviously figuring it out.

  “I’m fine, Daddy. Just a slight headache is all.” Becky stood from her chair. “I might soak in the tub for a spell.”

  “Would you like me to set your dress out for you?” Kitty asked.

  “When I was in Paris, Granny Louise had a servant set my dresses out for that evening’s events. The poor thing had absolutely no sense of style. I literally had to sit her down and tell her that pearls were for after eight,” Fanny tittered, apparently oblivious that no one was listening to her. “Why, I had to just pull the clothes out of the closet for myself if I wanted to be out of the house on time. The poor thing wasn’t from Paris. I believe Granny Louise said she was from… oh, I don’t know. One of those countries where they don’t pay much attention to how they look.”

  “No. I can tend to myself,” Becky said plainly before leaving the room. She could have pulled the same stunt as Fanny and lingered just out of view from the dining room and listened to what was said. But regardless of her mother’s wish, Becky was determined to never be like Fanny. That girl might have had the wool pulled over everyone else’s eyes, but Becky was wise to her.

  Lucretia and Moxley had been with the Mackenzie family as far back as Becky’s first memory. But throughout the years they had had a slow turn of different housekeepers. Beatrice had been with them the longest, for almost twenty years, but was then consumed by pneumonia after an unnatural cold had gripped the South a decade ago. Then, after much searching, they found Theresa Mae. Becky liked her a lot. She was a pretty woman with the smoothest black skin Becky had ever seen. As a little girl she’d often ask to touch her cheek, and Theresa would laugh and oblige her. She was a good maid. But she was married, and her husband was a fine man who had dreams of moving to Chicago to start his own business. After working for the Mackenzies for almost seven years, Theresa announced she was quitting and leaving for the Midwest. Of course, the family wished her luck and set about finding her replacement. That was when they found Dolores.

  “Did I hear you saying you’d be wanting to take a bath, Miss Becky?” Dolores rarely spoke above a whisper. She was full figured, and anyone who saw her coming might expect a big, booming voice with an attitude to match. But there was no gentler soul than Dolores.

  “I did, Dolores. Would you mind running the bath water for me?”

  “Of course not. Let me put these here linens up, and I’ll be right with you.” Her voice was so high that she sounded like a little girl. She was not married and lived in a tiny room no bigger than a closet just off the kitchen.

  As gentle as a lamb but as reliable as an ox, Dolores had become a valued employee of the Mackenzie family and a trusted confidant to Becky.

  With the tub almost full of hot water, she added a few drops of lavender oil and put out three thick heavy towels.

  “I know your mama doesn’t like for more than one towel to be used per bath, but I won’t tell if you won’t,” Dolores said more than once to Becky, who she knew loved to wrap one towel around her body and one around her shoulders and use the last to dry her feet.

  “You’re a good egg, Dolores. I have some chocolate in my room in the third drawer of my nightstand. Why don’t you help yourself to a couple of pieces,” Becky said as she proceeded to remove her jewelry.

  “Miss Becky, can I tell you something?”

  “Of course, Dolores.” Becky turned from the tub and looked at the maid.

  “I heard what your mama said this afternoon.” She swallowed hard. “You know she didn’t mean that. I’ve heard her with the ladies from the Christian Ladies League, and she brags on you something fierce.”

  Becky felt tears stinging her eyes.

  “She’s not like you. What people think means something to her. She ain’t broke of those chains like you are. Don’t begrudge her that.” Dolores smiled. “She only fuss over Fanny because she like a new doll. She’ll be tired of her soon enough. But Miss Kitty ain’t never goin’ to tire of you.”

  “What would I do without you, Dolores?” Becky said as she walked across the bathroom and kissed the woman’s plump cheek.

  “You’d be dryin’ with just one pitiful towel.” Dolores giggled as she backed out of the bathroom and shut the door.

  Becky undressed and slipped into the hot, fragrant water. With a deep sigh, she let her body relax. In just a few hours she would climb out her window again and meet Teddy to head out to anywhere but here. This time, she’d take her stockings with her and put them on in the car instead of risking their getting shredded on the way down the trellis again.

  Mama’s going to want you to take Fanny. The thought interrupted her plan like a slap across the face. Well, if it had to be that way, fine. Becky could take the high road if she had to. She didn’t like it, but she’d do it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I don’t see why you had to climb down the side of the building,” Fanny huffed as Becky climbed into the rumble seat of Teddy’s car and proceeded to put on her silk stockings.

  “I didn’t want to run into Mama.” Becky thought the tone of her voice was enough to indicate she didn’t want to continue this topic of conversation. But like with everything, Fanny had to present her two cents’ worth.

  “Rebecca, I think you are being too hard on your dear mama.”

  “Do you?” Becky snapped as she carefully rolled one stocking and slipped it over her toes.

  “She’s not completely wrong. If people see you gamboling with the wrong kind of man, you aren’t just ruining your reputation but theirs too.” Fanny batted her long false eyelashes.

  “If I were gamboling with the wrong kind of man, I could agree with you. But Adam White is not the wrong kind of man. Mama is wrong. She’s my mother. I should know,” Becky replied without looking up from snapping her gart
er to her stocking.

  Teddy let out a whistle that made Becky roll her eyes and shake her head. She was glad he did it and cut the tension from the car ride.

  “You better keep your eyes on the road. Where are we headed?” Becky asked as she adjusted the skirt of the black dress her mother had fixed the zipper on.

  “How about Willie’s?” Teddy looked back at Becky.

  “You were reading my mind!” She clapped.

  “What’s Willie’s?” Fanny asked innocently. As Teddy told her about the place and its huge dance floor, great music, and strong drinks, Becky couldn’t help but think that back in Paris, Fanny probably gave quite a few gents an education. This babe-in-the-woods act wasn’t fooling her.

  “That sounds just ducky. You will stick close to me, I hope.” Becky watched Fanny put her hand on Teddy’s shoulder.

  “The whole gang will be there. You’ll fit right in,” he chirped.

  “Everyone but Lawrence Hoolihan,” Becky said. “Teddy, do you happen to know who he was playing poker with last night?”

  “I haven’t a clue. Why?”

  “Well, I was just theorizing that maybe he’d gotten into a bit of trouble with another gent at the poker table and it ended badly. You know Martha didn’t know everyone who showed up.” Becky smoothed her hair out of her face. “Some of them were friends of friends of friends and obviously not the kind of people who took their poker lightly.”

  “I think it was those Gypsies,” Fanny said, lifting her chin. “It was obvious they were shady characters. I don’t know what would make Martha think it was a good idea to allow them in the house.”

  “They stood out like sore thumbs. It wasn’t them,” Becky said as she recalled how she was treated at Madame Cecelia’s apartment.

  “Of course it was. People like that drift through towns stealing all the time,” Fanny insisted. “If this Lawrence fellow was playing poker, I’ll bet that Count Ernesto saw he was winning and decided to get him alone. Lawrence probably put up a fight, leaving the man with no choice but to kill him. They are dirty people.”

  “I’m telling you it wasn’t them.” Becky felt herself getting flustered with Fanny. She wanted to tell the woman to just shut up about things she didn’t know but instead tried to be reasonable. She knew she was coming across like a spoiled brat, just what Fanny would enjoy. “That Count Ernesto was entertaining quite a few of the ladies. They were fawning all over him. I think the last thing on his mind was a poker game. And I was with Madame Cecelia just before you started screaming.”

  “Becky, I know Martha is your friend. You can’t bring yourself to attribute any blame for what happened on her.” Fanny looked down her nose as she turned to Becky. “But trust me, I know. My world is much bigger than Savannah. I know things about people that you would just have no way of knowing because you’ve lived such a sheltered life.”

  “Horsefeathers!” Becky snapped. Then she bit her tongue. There was no use ruining the evening. With a few more twists and turns, they’d be at Willie’s, and she could have a nice strong drink and stay on the dance floor, as far away from Fanny as possible.

  “Frankly, I don’t think either one of you dames is correct. Out of all three of us, I knew Lawrence Hoolihan the best, and I barely knew the guy,” Teddy interrupted.

  “So, Sherlock, what is your theory?” Becky asked, happy he had jumped into the conversation.

  “I think he did it to himself.” Teddy said with a confident smirk. Fanny gasped as if the concept had escaped her normally razor-sharp brain. Becky burst out laughing.

  “I’m serious,” Teddy whined. “He went to get some cake, slipped after having too much to drink, and fell on the knife.”

  “Teddy, you do know the man was stabbed in the back. Right square in the middle of his back,” Becky said in between chuckles.

  Fanny put one hand to her mouth and the other over her stomach.

  “It could happen.” Teddy defended his position. “You do remember when Mortimer Riley was kicked by that mule.”

  Becky began to laugh even harder. “What does that have to do with Lawrence Hoolihan getting stabbed?”

  “That mule got him right square between the eyes. The horseshoe print was dead center on his forehead. You couldn’t have placed it there intentionally if he were tied to a chair and ossified.” Now Teddy started to laugh. “Remember, he had a bruise in that shape on his face for weeks. And it didn’t kill him. How’s that for an example of the impossible being possible?”

  By this time, Becky had begun wiping the corners of her eyes as she laughed even harder. Fanny sat stone-faced in the passenger seat. “I don’t think this is the kind of topic people should be laughing at.” She shifted in her seat.

  Of course, that was all it took for Becky and Teddy to laugh even more.

  “You two don’t know how devastating, how horrifying it was to be the one to discover that man. He practically fell right on top of me,” Fanny said with wide eyes. “I’m convinced it was the Gypsies. I know Martha’s family, and they would never have anything to do with that kind of riffraff even if they were there to do parlor tricks. They probably live on skid row, and after this incident they probably packed up their belongings in bed sheets tied to a stick and headed off for the next town. That was all Martha’s idea to have them. I can promise you that.”

  “I don’t know. I saw that Ernesto guy pull a foot and a half of rope with a silver doodad at the end of it from Pete’s ear,” Teddy added. “If they were a couple of shucksters, they were talented.”

  The mention of Ernesto made Becky realize he was not at the apartment when she went to visit Madame Cecelia. For some reason, she assumed they resided together, but perhaps he had his own place.

  “Well, they were nothing like the fortune-teller that I saw in Paris,” Fanny insisted.

  “What was the difference?” Becky asked, hating herself for having any interest in what Fanny Doshoffer had to say.

  “Well, there is a world of difference between how things are done in France and how they are done here.” Fanny lifted her chin again as she spoke. “It isn’t necessarily better, but they just have that quality to them that elevates them. Every person we encountered thought I was from Paris. That’s how easily I fit in.”

  Becky let Fanny ramble on. She obviously wouldn’t answer her question. Even if she did, she’d probably say something that made Becky even more annoyed, so it was probably best that she let things go. For now.

  Finally, they reached Willie’s. Becky was happy to stretch her legs as she climbed out of the rumble seat and vowed to call shotgun on the way home. The parking lot was filled with cars.

  “My, we’ll be lucky to get a seat,” Fanny said as she slipped her arm through Teddy’s and pulled closer to him.

  “I don’t plan on sitting for a second,” Becky said as she hurried ahead. “Wait a minute! Is that Delilah and Zachary?”

  Making as big a scene as possible, Becky stopped and pointed at a couple who had been enjoying a romantic moment alone in an adorable two-seat speedster.

  “It is! You two devils! Come up for some air!” Becky teased.

  “Hi, Becky!” Delilah said, waving.

  “Perfect timing, Becky!” Zachary chuckled.

  Having already forgotten about Fanny and her French philosophy, Becky hurried to the entrance, which consisted of a single door under a cool blue light down a few concrete steps from sidewalk level. Her skirt shimmied, and her red hair bounced with every step. She stood on her tiptoes as she knocked on the door. A small window opened, and a deep voice boomed from inside.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite redhead.” The little window shut, and the door opened. It was like stepping into heaven. The smell of cigarettes filled Becky’s nose. The music was loud, and whoever was on the drums beat that snare so hard she could feel it in her chest.

  “Hiya, Hank. How’s tricks?” Hank was the doorman at Willie’s. If Hank said you weren’t coming in, you weren’t coming in. The
tuxedo he wore made him look even bigger than the six feet four that he actually was. His shoulders were so wide that he had to go through almost every door sideways, and his mitts were the size of porterhouse steaks.

  “No complaints. No one will listen.”

  “Teddy and some dame are bringing up the rear.” Becky winked as she jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “There they are.”

  “Who’s the tomato?” Hank asked. He was no different from any other man around. The only way a fellow wouldn’t notice Fanny was if he were blind or dead. And even then, Becky had her doubts.

  “Oh, that’s Miss Trouble with capital T.”

  “I like that kind of trouble,” Hank replied as he looked Fanny up and down.

  “Well, some people like spinach,” Becky said again, standing on her tiptoes to adjust Hank’s bow tie before clapping him on the cheek.

  “Teddy, keep an eye on her,” Hank said, looking down at Becky as Teddy and Fanny slipped through the door. “She’s on a roll.”

  “Will do.” Teddy saluted the big man and slipped past him with Fanny in tow.

  As they made their way through the tables, Becky couldn’t advance a foot without someone waving or calling her name. Pretty ladies in expensive dresses came and gave her a hug or offered her a sip of their drinks. Some fellows politely kissed her hand, while others who were more brazen kissed her cheek. She never swatted a single one away and smiled instead, nodding to the promise of a trip around the dance floor.

  “I didn’t realize so many people knew Becky,” Fanny said with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

  “Becky is the bee’s knees. If you don’t like Becky, there is something wrong with you,” Teddy said casually as he scanned the faces in the crowd. “Aha! There they are!”

  He frantically started to wave and pull Fanny through the crowd to where three tables of four were pushed together. Martha waved wildly as Teddy and Fanny approached.

  “Don’t tell me Becky didn’t come.” She frowned. “Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have had her help clean up today.”