Love and Murder in Savannah

by Harper Lin

  “Becky helped you clean up?” Fanny asked.

  “She’s such a dear. Of course she came by to help. I don’t think there has ever been a party at the Bourdeaux household where Becky didn’t come back the following day to help clean up. Of course, a lot of the times, we’d clean up the remaining hooch, but today it was a sober event.” Martha frowned again.

  “No. She’s here. She was just in front of us a second ago.” Teddy slipped out of Fanny’s grip and circled around to Martha. She looked up into his eyes, and he put his finger under her chin, raising it to him. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m doing just fine. Just need a little hair of the dog that bit me. But I swear I don’t think I’ll ever be able taste a piece of birthday cake again without vomiting,” Martha joked as she pulled out a seat for Teddy next to her.

  “Teddy, are you going to get us some drinks?” Fanny asked as the man on the other side of Martha stood and offered her his seat.

  “Absolutely. I’m the Sahara Desert. What can I get you?” Teddy clicked his tongue and winked.

  “I think I’d like one of those gin rockies,” Fanny replied.

  “You mean a gin rickey?” Teddy corrected her.

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” Fanny batted her eyelashes and smiled.

  “And for you? Your regular?” Teddy asked Martha.

  “You’re reading my mind.” She giggled. “So stop it! You’ll read something you shouldn’t have.”

  “I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Teddy sashayed through the crowd toward the bar.

  “He’ll be back in an hour,” Martha joked. She had already had a few drinks and was feeling calm and content.

  Just then, Becky and a gent named Norman nearly collided into the table, laughing and sweating.

  “This band is swinging!” Becky said. “I was on my way over here to see you, and Norm just scooped me up. And you know I’m a sucker for a handsome face.”

  “How about it, Becky? Cash or check?” Norman asked, leaning closer for a kiss. He had hair as red as Becky’s and a swarm of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

  “Sorry, Norm. The bank is closed.”

  “I’ll bet it won’t be if Adam White shows up.” Norm playfully nudged Becky in the ribs.

  “Norman, I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about. Adam White and I are friends. Is there anything wrong with that?”

  “He’s a lucky duck,” Norman replied. “I’m going to go iron my shoelaces. Dance with me later?”

  “Just say when.” Becky picked up a paper napkin and dabbed her forehead with it as Norm hustled away toward the men’s room. “He’s a good egg.”

  “He is. I am surprised he doesn’t have a steady girl,” Martha said just before she threw back the last gulp in her glass.

  Suddenly, another man snuck up behind Becky and put his hands around her eyes before leaning close to her ear. “Guess who.”

  “Why, President Harding. How did you ever find me here?” Becky replied. When the young man removed his hands and Becky turned around, she squealed with surprise. “Sam Lustyk. You devil. I heard you had left for Charlotte, North Carolina.”

  “I did. But I heard you were going to be here and travelled all those miles just to ask you to take a spin around the dance floor.” Sam was tall, as thin as a reed, and a great dancer.

  “What are we waiting for?” Becky took a quick gulp from someone’s glass on the table before letting Sam pull her close for a foxtrot.

  Martha looked sideways at Fanny. She recorded the look on the woman’s face so that when she talked to Becky alone she could recall every tiny detail. It would make Becky’s day.

  “She’s a lot different when she’s not at home,” Martha said with a smile.

  “I’ll say.” Fanny shifted in her seat. “I had no idea.”

  “She loves to dance, and she’s really good at it. When she and I first started hitting the speakeasies, I was a shy, awkward mess. I worried if I had the steps right and how I looked. Becky didn’t care one bit. She danced with anyone and got better and better every time. That’s why the fellas chase her down.” Martha picked up one glass then another. Then she clicked her tongue in disgust. “Look at all these dead soldiers. Where is Teddy?”

  “Did I hear someone say my name?” Teddy carefully set down three tall drinks then took a seat next to Martha. Within just a few minutes, Becky came back, sweating and smiling until she realized something was missing.

  She frowned. “Hey, where’s my drink?”

  Teddy rolled his eyes, stood up, and went back to the bar. Becky took his seat. “When are you going to get out there, Martha?” Becky asked.

  “Oh, it’s early, and I haven’t had nearly enough to drink.”

  “What about you, Fanny?” Becky said. “I don’t have to tell you that there are a couple of gents sizing you up as we speak. Give them a wink and go take a twirl.”

  “Oh, I’m not feeling like it just yet. Besides, in Paris, things were done a little differently. A lady didn’t just jump into things with both feet. I guess I’m just a little used to taking my time.”

  Becky shrugged then put her elbow on the table to hold her chin in her hand. “So, how are Mr. and Mrs. Bourdeaux doing now that all the excitement has died down?”

  “Mother insists we need to have Father Bartholomew come bless the house again. She’s also sorely disappointed in her twenty-one-year-old daughter who can go out dancing after such a traumatic event.” Martha sipped her drink.

  “You think you’ve got it bad? Kitty knows about Adam White,” Becky grumbled.

  “What? What happened? How? Did he come calling? Oh, tell me what he was wearing. I’ll bet he looked dapper.” Martha swooned.

  “No. Nothing so proper. In fact, it was a downright indecent display, right, Fanny?” Becky looked over at the blonde, who sneered. “I was spotted in the front seat of Adam’s jalopy driving down Main Street.”

  “So who ratted you out?” Martha turned to Fanny. “Good Lord, you didn’t.”

  “I had nothing to do with it,” Fanny replied with her chin raised.

  “Helen-Lyn Merryweather. She spied me through the window of the beauty parlor. I wonder if she arrived with curlers in her hair or if she waited for the stylist to finish before she hightailed it to Mama’s house.”

  Martha had to hold her hand over her mouth to prevent herself from spitting up her drink. “Oh, that would be a sight. Watching her with half her hair pinned while she waddled at full speed down the front walk.” Martha laughed. “My goodness, the woman is as wide as she is tall.”

  “Now, Martha, I do hope you’ll talk some sense into your friend here,” Fanny interrupted. “Her mother has every right to be upset. I hear Adam White—that is his name, right? I hear he’s a Yankee and he works at the newspaper. That’s hardly the kind of career a man should have if he’s serious about a woman.”

  “Fanny…?” Martha started.

  “Aunt Kitty just wants the best for Rebecca,” Fanny continued. “And being seen with a man of an ill reputation is not what’s best. When I was in Paris, only the men of the highest caliber approached me. Granny Louise made sure of that.”

  Finally, Teddy returned with Becky’s drink. She stood to give him back his seat. She’d had enough talk about Kitty and Adam and certainly didn’t want to listen to anything else that Fanny might have had to say.

  “Where are you going?” Teddy asked.

  “My ice isn’t cold enough.” She shook her drink and headed off into the crowd at the bar. As much as she loved being at Willie’s—and it was her favorite speakeasy—she was not herself this evening. She blamed her mother. Becky was sure that when she was born, the old girl put a hex on her so that any time Kitty did something to upset her, it would be her that felt the guilt. She strolled until she found an empty seat at the bar. She pulled a cigarette from her clutch and was searching for a match when a flame flickered right in front of her face. She took hold of the male hand, held the match to
her cigarette, and looked up to see none other than the Heathcliff boy.

  “Hey, Becky. Long time no see,” he said with a silly grin on his face.

  “Oh, hello. Fancy meeting you here,” Becky replied, still unable to remember his first name.

  “That was some excitement last night. Everyone is talking about it,” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Martha never showed her face again.”

  “Martha is right over there with Teddy and Fanny and heaven knows who else. Why don’t you go say hello?” Becky said encouragingly, but the Heathcliff boy didn’t pick up on it.

  “That Fanny sure is pretty,” he said, looking in the direction Becky had pointed. “You don’t like her because she’s always trying to upstage you.”

  “That’s about right,” Becky replied before taking a drink and then a puff on her cigarette.

  “I don’t think she holds a candle to you, Becky.” The Heathcliff boy kept talking, but he didn’t look away from where Fanny, Martha, and Teddy were sitting. “Having a girl like that would be nothing but trouble. She’s the kind of girl that can’t be trusted. She talks too much.”

  “That’s for sure. If I hear the word Paris again, I think I’ll upchuck.” Becky laughed. But she was alone in her amusement. The Heathcliff boy looked at her. He didn’t look like a guy out to have a good time. He looked like he’d just discovered he would have to take a test and anyone who failed it would be doomed to live in mud for the rest of their lives.

  “You don’t talk too much,” he continued. “In fact, I bet you know how to be very discreet.” Becky blinked as she watched the Heathcliff boy’s face. Was he joking? Was he trying to be funny and completely missing the mark? He smiled down at her and gave her a playful tap on the arm. “Can I get you another drink?”

  “Uh, no. I have to go powder my nose.” She slipped off the stool and started to walk toward the ladies’ room.

  “I’ll save your seat.”

  “You do that,” Becky said as she made her way in the direction of the ladies’ room. But suddenly, she had a terrible thought. What if the Heathcliff boy was waiting outside the ladies’ room when she came out? She didn’t want to talk to him anymore. He was giving her the heebie-jeebies.

  Just then, Hank appeared. “Hey, doll. You lost?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Hank. Thank goodness. I’m trying to give this guy the slip. Can you help me out?” She folded her hands in front of her. “Pretty please?”

  “Sure. Come with me.” He took Becky’s hand in his, and it completely disappeared within the folds of his palm. “Now you can look around, but these guys like it quiet, so just try and behave.”

  “I’ll do my best.” She squeezed his hand. They went around one corner and then another until they came to a set of swinging doors to a kitchen that was closed for the night.

  The burners were cold. The pots and pans had been scrubbed and were hanging from hooks. Dishes, cups, and saucers were neatly stacked in towers. And in the middle of everything were two card tables with serious-looking men sitting there and piles of money in the middle of them all.

  A few pretty girls milled around, chatting with one another quietly. Becky couldn’t help but notice that some of them had some serious ice on their fingers or around their necks or dangling from their wrists.

  “Everything okay back here, boys?” Hank asked.

  The men nodded or grunted their replies. There was a guy behind a small bar just beyond the tables.

  “She’s with me. Red, say hello to the fellas.”

  Becky smiled, lifted her chin, and gave a wink and a wave. She knew a couple of these fellas were probably packing heat. They weren’t the kind of characters she would care to run into in a dark alley. But here, they were much more interested in the cards in their hands than in her.

  “Go get yourself a drink, doll. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Hank said.

  “Thanks,” she replied and flounced over to the bar. After taking a seat and ordering herself a gin rickey from the bartender, who looked like he’d only just started wearing long pants, Becky turned to the game at the table closest to her.

  “So, how come a pretty girl like you is hiding out here?” the bartender asked.

  “I’m trying to lose a real flat tire,” she said and took a sip of her drink. “How about giving me the skinny on what’s going on here?”

  “Sure. Well, you see…” The bartender started with his voice just above a whisper. He went on to tell Becky who was winning, who was losing, and how much was in the kitty. But he never mentioned any of their names, which was probably for the best. Becky studied their faces. She imagined Martha’s parlor the prior night with the men at the poker table. She was sure that dealer was at Martha’s.

  “They’re here every night?” Becky asked.

  “Rooney!” one of the men shouted in their direction and waved his empty glass. The bartender nodded before giving Becky a wink and turning his back to mix the man another round. Then Becky saw another fellow come in. Actually, he just sort of appeared from the shadows.

  He looked like one of the hobos she’d seen hopping off the boxcars in the middle of Savannah sometimes. His clothes were old and out of style, dirty and worn. His back was stooped, and wild whiskers grew on his face. His hair was a nest of gray, unkempt strands that stood on end. His hands were what captivated her. They had long, elegant fingers, like those of someone who might have played the piano or even the harp. At the ends of each finger were long nails, thick and yellow.

  Becky continued to watch as he shuffled up to the table of card players. No one seemed to pay him any mind. It was as if they couldn’t see him. Without hesitating, the bum took his place behind the man who was shuffling the deck. Everyone else in the room was going about as if the fellow wasn’t even there. Then it hit Becky that maybe he was there but no one else could see him. As if the thought had caught his attention, the hobo looked up and grinned at Becky. He exposed two rows of yellow teeth that were jumbled up in his mouth. There were black spaces where some had rotted out. Still others were partially consumed by cavities yet clung to the gray gums.

  As he stared, he pulled a cigar from the inside pocket of his coat, stuffed it in his mouth, and with one wooden matchstick dragged across his whiskered cheek, lit the cigar. With each puff, the smoke swirled around his head and fell in translucent layers over the table. Still, the men showed no indication that they noticed the guy.

  With that sinister smile still on his face, the old hobo leaned close to the dealer, whispering something to him. How could he be doing that? Those other men should be crying foul.

  Suddenly, a shiver ran over her. The air grew cold, and the sound of the music from the main room that was thumping through the walls became even more muffled. As she watched the men talk and banter with one another, their voices sounded hushed, like she was listening to them from underneath a heavy blanket.

  The experience reminded her of the time she had had one too many sips of moonshine that one of her neighbors had brought to a party down by the river.

  “Hey, is it getting darker in here?” She tried to speak, but her voice came out like a squeak. She tried and tried to shout, but it was like she was screaming into water. Panic seized her, and she looked at the bum, who stared right at her as he continued to whisper in the dealer’s ear. Then, as if that weren’t bad enough, he extended his arm and pointed at her. One long bony finger extended, the thick yellow nail curving slightly at the end.

  The dealer looked up and saw Becky staring at him.

  Her heart pounded in her chest. She didn’t know what she was afraid of, but she was terrified. Never in her life had she felt such icy-cold fingers slithering through her gut. She snapped her eyes away from the shabby old man and looked directly at the dealer. He blinked, looked down at his cards, and began the game.

  Becky swallowed hard. Just as quickly as the silence had settled over the room, everything popped back to life again, making Becky lose her ba
lance and fall off her stool.

  “Good heavens!” One of the ladies who had been deep in conversation quickly rushed over. She had hair so blond it was almost white. “Are you all right? I thought you were starting to look a little green around the gills, honey.”

  “I don’t know what happened,” Becky said as she got to her feet. “I just lost my balance or something.” She looked over at the poker table. One of the gents was standing, ready to come to her aid, but she waved him off. The hobo was nowhere to be seen.

  “Rooney, give her a snort,” the blonde said.

  Becky took the shot, tossed it back, and then smoothed out her skirt. “Feel better?”

  “I do. I think I better get back to my friends.” She pointed at the swinging doors. Just then, she noticed the dealer staring at her. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Becky swallowed hard and carefully looked behind her to see if he really was looking at her. Part of her expected to see the grimy hobo standing behind her, but he wasn’t there. When she looked back at the table, she saw the face of the yellow-eyed devil staring back at her. That face was on the deck of cards, just like the one she’d found at Martha’s house. Suddenly, her energy came rushing back. She watched as the dealer took his cards and excused himself. One of the guys from the other table quickly took his place.

  “Do you know that guy?” Becky asked the blonde.

  “Nope. This is the first time I’ve seen him,” she said, watching him leave.

  “Hey, thanks a million for your help. I’m feeling much better,” Becky said and took a few steps toward the swinging door.

  “Don’t mention it, honey.” The blonde waved as if this were an everyday occurrence and nothing out of the ordinary. “Poor kid can’t hold her liquor,” Becky heard her say. Little did she know that Becky was more than capable of holding her liquor, but this was not a case of being lit. Something else was going on, and those devil cards were part of it.

  As Becky followed the guy from the kitchen down the hallway and back to the dance hall, she tried to remember if he was at Martha’s party. He wasn’t a very striking man. He didn’t dress particularly nicely, nor was his face easy to peg. He stopped at the coat check, and Becky watched him give the check girl a five-dollar bill. The girl giggled as he said a few things to her, and then out the door he went. Quickly, Becky made her move.