Love and Murder in Savannah

by Harper Lin

  “Get back in the car, and I’ll show you,” he said.

  Becky was in the passenger’s seat just as Adam threw the car into gear and hit the gas. They swerved wildly around the body in the road and sped to the police station.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Slow down. Now tell me again what happened,” Officer Fouts said as he looked skeptically at Becky and Adam before letting his eyes linger a little longer on Fanny.

  “A man collapsed in the middle of the street past Woodrow Lane,” Adam said. “We think he was shot.”

  “He was shot,” Becky added. “And I think he is the man responsible for the murder of Lawrence Hoolihan at the Bourdeaux Estate.”

  “Now what do you know about the murder at the Bourdeaux place?” the officer asked, watching Becky carefully.

  “I was there,” Becky started. “You see, I was helping Martha Bourdeaux clean up after the festivities. It was her birthday when the man was killed. She didn’t invite Lawrence. She’d never have a fellow like that in her house, but it was her birthday, and he came along with the other fellows to play poker. See, I found this playing card, and it matched the deck that Diggs… that’s the man in the street… it matched a deck he was using and—”

  “You all been drinking tonight?” Officer Fouts asked. His years of experience showed in his eyes and pockmarked skin as he glared at them from behind a wooden desk covered with stacks of paper. His dark-blue uniform was as serious as his expression. Even the shiny copper buttons looked cold and grave.

  “No. Of course not,” Fanny piped up.

  “Officer, the man was bleeding and in the middle of the street,” Adam said, shifting from one foot to the other.

  “Where you from, boy?” Officer Fouts asked, squinting at Adam.

  Becky cleared her throat. “We had a couple of snorts, yes, but…”

  “But nothing!” Officer Fouts shouted. “Where’d you get the hooch?”

  “Hooch?” Fanny began to knead her hands.

  “Officer, the man in the road killed—”

  “I’m not playing games, missy,” Officer Fouts said. “You three have two choices. You can either tell me where you got the hooch from, or you can get out of my station with your cockamamie story before I arrest you for public intoxication.”

  “But we aren’t drunk. Honest.” Fanny batted her lashes, but Officer Fouts clearly wasn’t falling for it.

  Before Becky could retell her story to Officer Fouts, a mob of drunks poured into the station. Several policemen dove into the group, attempting to pull them off one another. There were flappers who were kicking and screaming, a couple of fellas in suits, and a few more who looked like they’d been working on the docks, all throwing punches and shouting insults in one another’s direction.

  Adam took Becky and Fanny by the hands and dragged them out of the station. Fanny acted on the verge of tears while Becky stared at the commotion, showing her disappointment that they had to leave.

  “I’ve had enough,” Adam said, pulling her toward his car. “I’m taking you home. Get in.”

  Outside were officers still at the paddy wagons, pulling people out. Becky heard shouting and swearing and saw some kicking and a few folks trying to bite the police and each other.

  Fanny casually slid into the front seat instead of the rumble seat and looked at Becky. “Adam is right, Becky.” She patted the seat, motioning for Becky to slip in, which would ensure Fanny was in the middle and quite close to Adam for the ride home.

  “We can’t go home. That man is lying in the street. He’s the killer,” Becky insisted. “We have to go back.”

  “Don’t get sore, Beck. But that guy on the road was whacked for a reason. The dropper could still be out there. If he sees us snooping around, who knows what kind of trouble—”

  “No, Adam. I saw him drive away.” Becky looked around at the commotion, which was starting to die down. She felt as frustrated and out of control as the people being bustled into the police station. The air was heavier than it had been. There was an electric smell, like a lightning storm was on the horizon. And Becky was sure something was causing her to feel jittery deep down in her chest, like standing too close to the tracks when a train was approaching. Before she could say another word to Adam, her eyes locked with the man slithering out of the paddy wagon. It was the same hobo from the poker game and the woods.

  “How can you be sure it was the same guy? Maybe it was just some hack dropping off a fare. It was dark. You can’t be sure what you saw,” Adam said.

  “Rebecca, it’s getting late, and I think you should let Adam take you home,” Fanny said from the car.

  “It’s him,” Becky whispered, narrowing her eyes as she stared. “He was in the woods. When I was there, he was in the woods.”

  “Who?” Adam asked.

  “Him. Over there.” Becky pointed at the open paddy wagon. “Look. He’s slipping away. The police don’t see him. That man had something to do with Diggs. I just know it. Hey! Hey, stop that guy!” Becky shouted as she took a few steps closer to the commotion.

  “What guy? Who are you talking about, Becky?” Adam looked at the back of the police wagon, but he didn’t see anyone. The wagon was empty. The police herded everyone inside.

  “That guy there! Stop…” She stared at the sinister hobo, who smiled and winked at her. “Uh… um…”

  The reality fell on top of her. Adam didn’t see him because he was a spirit. But he wasn’t like the spirits she encountered at the cemetery. They were pleasant. Even the grouchy ones had something endearing about them. This was different. As Becky watched, the bum slipped backward into the shadows, blending into them as if he dissolved into the darkness.

  Becky stopped and felt the heat of embarrassment rise up her body and ignite her cheeks. Why didn’t she realize that the man wasn’t a man at all? What was she doing trying to get everyone to see him when she should have known he was invisible? With a new kind of fear, she looked up at Adam. He was staring at her with such a worried face that Becky wanted to cry. Then she looked at Fanny, who looked like she was envisioning Becky in a straitjacket.

  “Beck, I’m going to take you to the hospital. You must have hit your head harder than you think,” Adam said.

  “No. I’m all right. Maybe someone slipped me a mickey.” Becky rubbed her head. “Just take me home.”

  “That’s the first thing you’ve said that made any sense,” Fanny interrupted. “Adam, please get her in the car. She needs rest.”

  “Someone will find the man, Diggs, on the road.” Adam put his arm around Becky and eased her into the car. Before she could suggest going back to the club, Adam had the car in gear and headed in the direction of her home.

  “I’ll never forget this night,” Fanny said. “I had plenty of exciting evenings when I was in Paris but nothing like this.”

  “You were in Paris?” Adam asked pleasantly.

  What is he doing? Becky’s temper stormed inside her. Why is he goading her? What could he possibly care that she was in Paris?

  “Oh, yes. I took an extensive trip with Granny Louise. It was terribly exciting,” Fanny continued.

  “I’ll bet it was. What was your favorite part?” Adam asked.

  Becky wanted to slap them both. But just as she turned to glare at Adam, they hit a pothole. The entire car lurched, and Fanny whooped, scooting herself even closer to Adam.

  This was not how she had hoped the evening would turn out. After the argument with her mother, Becky debated staying at home. But Kitty had laid out her dress in a gesture of peace. And even though Becky climbed out the window to avoid her mother, she knew Kitty would be happy she wore the dress out. What was she doing fretting over what her mother thought at a time like this? She’d seen a man get shot in the road. That man, she was sure, killed Lawrence Hoolihan, and no one believed her. As she went to run her hand through her hair, she winced as her hand grazed the lump on her forehead. That would be a bear to explain tomorrow.

&n
bsp; After what felt like hours, they reached the dirt road that was the Mackenzie plantation drive leading to the house.

  “You’d better not come up to the house,” Becky blurted. “We’ll get out here.”

  “What?” Adam asked.

  “Oh, no. I can’t walk all that way,” Fanny tittered. “I’ll just ruin my shoes.”

  “Have you forgotten about Kitty and Judge? They wouldn’t take too kindly to a Yankee bringing us home. Old prejudices die hard, Adam. You might not be aware of that, but here in the South, we remember the War of Aggression as if it happened only a decade ago,” Becky spat as she stepped out of the car. Her own shoes were ruined already. She didn’t give a flying fig about Fanny’s.

  “A Yankee?” Adam looked at Becky.

  Her heart ached inside, and all she wanted to do was cry, but her pride wouldn’t let her. “That’s right. Remember, Fanny, you said associating with the wrong man wouldn’t just ruin my reputation but theirs.”

  “Well, uh, that was before I got to know Mr. White.” Fanny looked at Adam and batted her eyelashes. “I do believe she’s upset due to the unsightly knob on her noggin. But I did so enjoy making your acquaintance. I hope to see you again soon.”

  “Yes, you can tell me more about Paris,” Adam said with a smile, but his eyes shifted to Becky’s. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to the door?”

  “Quite.” Becky snapped and started walking up the drive. She didn’t think anything could be harder than leaving Adam sitting there. No kiss goodnight. No longing look into his eyes. But the worst was that she was sure Diggs was responsible for Lawrence’s death. And she was sure she saw him dealing at the poker game when that filthy little man whispered in his ear. And after she fell off the barstool, she followed him into the woods, where a real person shot him with a real gun. But that old filthy hobo was there. He had something to do with it. Yet no one but her could see him.

  Behind her, Becky could hear Fanny whispering and giggling something to Adam but she couldn’t hear his reply. Not until she was several yards ahead did she hear Fanny calling out to her.

  “Becky! Wait for me! I can’t manage in this dirt with these heels. Oh, I got these shoes in Paris. I just know they are going to be ruined,” she tittered and then shouted another good-bye to Adam.

  As Adam’s car drove away, Becky felt her heart get dragged along with it. The feeling prompted her to quicken her pace and reach the house long before Fanny. Instead of going in through the front door, she kicked off her shoes, pulled off her dirty and torn stockings, and scaled the lattice to her open bedroom window.

  Once inside her sanctuary, she wanted to throw herself down on her pillow and cry.

  But she didn’t. Instead, she pulled out the deck of cards and began a game of solitaire. She needed to think. Maybe something would come to her if she shuffled a dead man’s deck of cards.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Several days had passed since the events at Willie’s. Trying to conceal it with a swoop of hair for the past few days had been a real drag. Becky didn’t look like herself or feel like herself. No matter what she tried to do, she couldn’t shake the strange sensation that she had a cobweb brushing across her shoulders every couple of minutes when she was alone. That caused a real problem since Becky wanted to be alone.

  During the day, she avoided just about everyone and took her sketchbook to the cemetery. She doodled her pictures and collected a few tombstone rubbings. But not until she decided to draw the creepy hobo did something in her mind click.

  “Madame Cecelia. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe she’d have some insight.” The idea was a little awkward, since Becky had left that strange apartment with a rather haughty attitude. “I’ll bring a gift.” She snapped her fingers. But just as she was about to turn and go beg Teddy for the use of his car, she froze. Again, her spine tingled with the sensation of being watched.

  Then she saw something more hideous than the dirty old bum who grinned his rotten grin at her.

  “Rebecca, your mama said you’d be back here,” Fanny huffed as she walked through the grass. She was like a tightrope walker at the circus trying not to step on the flat tombstones or let one of the monuments brush up against her. “This is a rather morbid environment, isn’t it?”

  “Is that what you came to tell me, Fanny?”

  “No. I wanted to talk to you.” Fanny looked around after Becky took a seat on the nearest lawn crypt. Fanny’s superstitious nature obviously didn’t immediately permit her to sit on a gravestone like her cousin, but it was her only option.

  “What is so important, Fanny?”

  “Well, your mother and I were having a lovely talk this morning, and we’ve decided that it would be in the best interest of everyone that I stay on here at the Mackenzie plantation for another month.”

  Whether Fanny wanted to admit it or not, Becky was sure that this sudden change in plans had something to do with Adam.

  “Doesn’t Granny Louise have travelling plans for you? Aren’t you just dying to go back to Paris?” Becky held her sketchbook close to her chest like a shield from Fanny’s nastiness.

  “Aunt Kitty thinks that I would be a positive influence on you.” Fanny lifted her chin proudly. “And I can tell you right now, Rebecca, that a young lady who hangs her hat around a saturnine place like this is not the kind of lady any man would care to take seriously. In fact, I do believe that you are sending the wrong message to many of the fellas who I’ve witnessed you with.”

  “What are you talking about? Just because you were a wallflower at Willie’s and I know half the gents there doesn’t mean I’m insinuating anything other than that I like to dance. What did you tell Mama?” Becky glared at her cousin, who began to stutter.

  “I’m just looking out for you, Rebecca.” Fanny folded her arms across her chest.

  “What did you tell her?”

  Fanny looked past Becky for a minute as if something had demanded her attention. She was clearly trying to think of something a little less harsh than the truth. “I told her that it was rather surprising how all the men seemed to know your name. That’s all.”

  Becky’s mouth fell open. “That’s all? Fanny, you know exactly what a vague statement like that is going to sound like to my mother!”

  “There is no need to shout.” Fanny stood. “Perhaps you should think of how it looks to your poor mother. You have to admit that it would explain why no proper men want to come calling. Don’t throw an ing-bing over it.”

  Becky abruptly stood, making Fanny jump and take a step backward. “You think you’ve put me in a real jam, don’t you, Fanny? Boy, you are one slick number.” She started to walk past her cousin but stopped short. “Did you tell Mama who drove us home the other night?”

  Fanny’s face went red.

  “That horrible Yankee that you were snuggling against,” Becky practically growled. “That same horrible beast that you said had a no-good reputation.”

  “I was just being sociable. I have no interest—”

  “Ha! We’ll see about that.” Becky marched off, leaving Fanny to make her way gingerly through the cemetery on her own. When she arrived at the back porch, she saw Lucretia handing Moxley a piece of paper.

  “Don’t forget my molasses like you done last time,” she scolded.

  “Enough, woman. A man makes one mistake, and he pays for the rest of his life,” Moxley replied as he looked in Becky’s direction. “Well, hello, Miss Becky. Did Miss Fanny find you? She was looking high and low for you this morning.”

  “Yes,” Becky grumbled as she jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “She’s back there, bringing up the caboose. Say, Moxley. Are you going into town?”

  “I am. Seems the world will come to an end if’n I don’t get some molasses.” He looked sideways at Lucretia, who replied with a harrumph and stomped back inside.

  “Can I hitch a ride with you?” Becky pleaded, looking over her shoulder only to see Fanny quickly making he
r way past the trees and brush.

  “Of course.” Moxley smiled.

  “Can we go now?” Becky pleaded, putting her hands together as if in prayer.

  “Let’s make tracks,” Moxley said, sweeping his arm ahead of him for Becky to go on. She hurried to the car and hopped in the passenger seat. Within seconds Moxley had it cranked and started jostling down the dirt road in the direction of town.

  “Miss Becky, do you remember when I taught you how to drive?” Moxley asked, sitting as straight as an arrow behind the steering wheel.

  “I do, Moxley.” Becky smiled.

  “So, when you goin’ to ask your father to let you drive again? I know you know how.” Becky had never heard Moxley even so much as raise his voice. That was what made it almost impossible not to do what he asked.

  “Why would I go do a thing like that? Have you seen the tomato plants that your little Teeter planted? They are really growing.” Becky looked straight ahead.

  “Now, Miss Becky, don’t you go changing the subject. You just had a little mishap. They happen. I know if you asked your father, he’d loosen his punishment,” Moxley said.

  “I don’t want to talk about this, Moxley. I’ll talk to Daddy in my good time.” She cleared her throat. “Besides, with Fanny staying on another month, I’m sure I won’t be allowed five minutes in the water closet without her or Mama wanting to know what I’m doing.”

  Moxley chuckled.

  “Ain’t funny, Moxley. Ain’t funny at all. Everyone thinks that Fanny is this prize poodle and I’m just some ugly old bulldog chasing my tail.” These words made Moxley chuckle even more. Becky felt herself smiling and the irritation of her conversation with Fanny starting to melt away.

  “Is that why you were in such a hurry to get away?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, don’t you fret, Miss Becky. Things have a way of workin’ theyself out.” He nodded. “Miss Fanny won’t be plaguing you forever.”

  Becky took a deep breath. “You’re a good egg, Moxley.”