Love and Murder in Savannah

by Harper Lin

  “Of course, he isn’t a real person,” Becky said to herself often. But this time, she looked at the bedroom door and was sure that Fanny probably had her ear pressed against it.

  Grabbing her sketchbook and pencils along with a flashlight she kept in the bottom drawer of her bureau, Becky decided she wanted some air. Quietly, she changed into an old worn-out pair of dungarees she wore when she helped in the fields. Her mother hated her pants because they were wide and came so high up on her waist that they needed to be tied with a twine. Becky loved them, and had it been proper, she would have worn them in the middle of Main Street with a toothpick in her mouth and a bottle of bathtub gin in her hand. But alas, that was not to be.

  The police were still there on the porch with Judge, chatting quietly about the murder. Judge, who managed to keep his emotions out of the equation, told the two officers that he’d only seen one fellow in the parlor who he didn’t know. As it turned out, Judge saw Diggs.

  “But please understand that current laws prevent me from telling you what I was doing at the time I witnessed the stranger.” Judge chuckled. All the policemen knew there was liquor at the party. Mr. Bourdeaux had paid the proper channels to ensure a good time was had by all. That included the local coppers. “Have you spoken to the Heathcliff boy? I know he was watching the poker game. He didn’t play, as far as I saw. But perhaps he saw something.”

  “Yeah, Judge. We asked him and half the young people in town. It is a doggone mystery if ever there was one. No one seems to know anything,” Officer Hamilton said.

  “Well, good luck, boys. I’m sure you’ll settle this in due time,” Judge said, shaking their hands. Then they got back into their cherry topper and drove off.

  Carefully, Becky shimmied down the trellis. Once her feet were on solid ground, Becky took off into the darkness toward the Old Brick Cemetery. Just going out there after Fanny had made such an issue out of it made Becky feel better.

  She’d really tried to be nice to Fanny when they first met. But Fanny was one of those girls who thrived on drama. Everyone was jealous of her not because she was so beautiful but because her beauty allowed her to get away with being full of horsefeathers. That was what was so intolerable.

  But Becky wasn’t interested in the inner workings of Fanny Doshoffer at the moment. She snapped on the flashlight, even though she knew the trail to the cemetery by heart, and enjoyed the feeling of complete freedom of being in the dark, alone and no one knowing where she was. At least, she had assumed no one knew where she was. However, upon reaching the crumbling gate and wall of the entrance, she saw a familiar face, one she was strangely very glad to see.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I knew something was going to happen when the spirits led me here,” Madame Cecelia said. “I don’t have a lot of time. This is a warning.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” Becky asked as she approached. “No hi, fancy meeting you here or I love what you’ve done with the place?” Becky joked, but Madame Cecelia looked around nervously.

  “You’re in danger.”

  “Not here,” Becky replied, sweeping her arm around her. “I’m as safe as a kitten in this place. People are so skittish and superstitious about boneyards that I could probably walk the grounds naked and no one would ever take notice. Not that they would even if I did it in the center of town.” Becky shrugged and frowned playfully.

  “I’m not kidding, Rebecca. It came to me in a dream. You are in terrible danger. Are you wearing the bracelet I gave you?” She rushed toward Becky and took her hold of her hands. “You must wear it. Until I request it back.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to risk losing it out here. And it didn’t quite go with my outfit,” Becky joked.

  “This is no laughing matter. Rebecca, please. There is a sinister force that is quickly approaching. I’m not sure where it’s come from, since Savannah, Georgia, is hardly the sleepy town city slickers like to make it. If only they could see what I see. What we see. Then they’d realize the truly mystical beauty that is in this city.” Madame Cecelia looked around as if she were expecting an ambush at any moment.

  “I’ll tell you what brought that foul wind.” Becky chuckled. “My cousin Fanny Doshoffer. If something offensive has blown in, you can bet she brought it with her. All the way from Paris.”

  “Rebecca, have you seen that man again? The one you showed me the picture of? He’s close by, isn’t he?” Madame Cecelia asked.

  Becky wasn’t sure what to say. She could lie and say, “No, haven’t seen the bugger since that day after Willie’s speakeasy at the police station.” All she’d wanted was a little quiet to smell the goldenrod and feel the cool breeze as the crickets chirped. The moon was just a fingernail in the sky, and the stars twinkled happily. It was a beautiful night to be out. It was a horrible night to get warnings and riddles.

  “Yeah,” Becky replied slowly, shining her flashlight on the ground around Madame Cecelia’s feet.

  “He’s managed to find a way into your house, hasn’t he?”

  “What do you mean? He’s just a spook. One of these spirits that’s hanging around.” Becky was really trying to convince herself that was all the little man was. She’d seen ghosts outside of the cemetery before. Why, Teeter’s grandfather used to amuse him in his bassinette shortly after he was born and would be out with Lucretia when she hung laundry. Gerty Feebles had her brother, who was killed in the Great War—World War I, that is, not the Civil War—follow behind her every time she went shopping with her mother and when Gerty would meet Brian Tucker for a soda. Becky could see them, down to the tiniest freckle or the slightest facial tick. They were around, and they were real, and they never so much as said boo to her. That old hobo was no different.

  “He’s not. And you know this.” Madame Cecelia squinted as she studied Becky’s face in the dim light from the flashlight. “He has more to do with the death of that boy in the Bourdeauxs’ house than you know.”

  “Well, what’s his name? Can you tell me that? Did you see it in some tea leaves or something? I’ll go to the police with it, and maybe things can get back to normal around here,” Becky snapped.

  “You know it doesn’t work that way, Rebecca. You of all people know.” Cecelia sounded annoyed.

  “Say I believe you.” Becky cleared her throat. “You are standing here in my cemetery. I don’t think you would have traveled all this way on a goose chase. It is obvious you are determined that I accept this fact that the dirty little man who whispers in people’s ears is more than a spook. What can I do about it? I can’t stop him any more than I can stop Mr. Wilcox from coming to visit, or the lady from the Civil War who makes fun of my clothes, or the little girl who likes to see my drawings. Even if I could somehow get them to go, I don’t think I would. The same goes for the bum.”

  “He’s not just a spook! He’s much more dangerous than that. He’s—”

  “Look, Madame Cecelia, I came out here to get a little quiet. Now it feels like Count Basie’s Orchestra is pounding away in my head,” Becky whined.

  “You silly little girl! I’m trying to help you! That little hobo is unlike anything you’ve ever dealt with, and if you don’t protect yourself, he’s going to worm his way into your house and your head, and then your gift… it’ll become his!” Madame Cecelia shouted. Some of the nearby crickets halted their serenade.

  Becky didn’t take kindly to being shouted at. In all her years here on Earth, she could count on one hand how many people had raised their voice to her, and in each instance, those people were related to her by blood. No one else dared. After growing up seeing ghosts, there wasn’t a whole lot Becky Mackenzie feared. And that included Madame Cecelia.

  “Rebecca, please. I’ve come to warn you about…”

  “I don’t want to hear any more,” Becky replied calmly.

  “Ever since you touched that Ouija board, it’s like you lit a torch, letting them, letting him know where you are. He doesn’t like that you can see
him, and he’s going to use any means necessary to hurt you. Maybe even kill you.” Madame Cecelia folded and unfolded her hands nervously.

  “If he wants my gift, what good would I be dead?” Becky smirked. She thought she’d caught Madame Cecelia in a trick.

  “Your gift would be gone. He’d inherit it only to use it for wickedness. These spooks you talk to, the little girl who enjoys your drawings, she’d come to him. Judging by what you know and feel about him now, what do you think he’d do to that little spirit? Do you really think he’d sit and show her pictures and talk to her? Of course you don’t. You might be stubborn, but you are not stupid.”

  “And what would you have me do about it?” Becky asked through clenched teeth.

  “I think I have a spell that might get him to leave. But it will cost—”

  “Oh! Oh, now I get it!” Becky let out a bitter chuckle, rolled her eyes, and took a few steps away from the fortune-teller. “It is some kind of flimflam. This is how you make your money. Find someone dumb Dora gullible enough to believe your phonus-bolonus and then sink them for every nickel you can, selling cheap charms and magic powders. Well, sorry, toots, but I know my onions, and you aren’t going to make a chump out of me.”

  “No. You’re wrong.”

  “Save it for your Aunt Tilly,” Becky spat as she turned and started walking back to the house. Madame Cecelia called after her once, but Becky didn’t look back. She thought back to her visits to the apothecary and Ophelia’s home. She’d probably just gotten a whiff of some weird incense that made her woozy that first time. Gypsies like them couldn’t be trusted. Becky learned her lesson the hard way.

  But they gave you that bracelet. Why would they give you something so pretty for free and then expect you to pay for their dried dandelions and tobacco from a ciggy like it was some kind of magic mixture? Becky’s mind fought to find a reasonable answer. Either she believed Madame Cecelia was really trying to help, or she didn’t. As she shimmied up the trellis back to her room, she decided she didn’t believe the woman. However, everything she’d said stayed with her, gnawing at her brain and keeping her up well past midnight.

  Finally, sleep overcame Becky. But it wasn’t the peaceful, dark sleep that enveloped her most nights. It was a sketchy, exhausting sleep that woke her up over and over again with vivid dreams that repeated Madame Cecelia’s words like a record skipping. When Becky finally woke up the next day, even Lucretia’s strong black coffee didn’t clear her head.

  And so it went for several nights. Becky volunteered for chores around the house. She accompanied Moxley to town, making sure to steer clear of Madame Cecelia’s apothecary but happy to run from one end of the shopping district to the other for her mother and even Fanny. She went to the cemetery, where she roamed listlessly. Since the murder at Martha’s place, the opportunity to visit any of the swinging clubs had died down for Becky. Of course, she didn’t expect to go out every night of the week, but it had been almost ten days, and no one had offered any invitations. Becky was getting so desperate that she considered joining her mother for one of her Ladies Auxiliary meetings. Fortunately, a visit from Mr. Wilcox in the cemetery had given her a chance to vent and get things off her chest. But before Mr. Wilcox could give her any sage advice, Becky was summoned by a voice she could hardly resist.

  “Miss Becky!” Teeter hollered from the cemetery gate. “Miss Becky? You in there?”

  “Hey, Teeter,” Becky called back and waved as she walked to the little boy. “What you doin’ a-howlin’ like an old coon hound?”

  “Miss Becky, there’s a man come calling for you,” Teeter said before he looked over his shoulder.

  “A man? What’s he look like?” Becky briefly wondered if it was Adam. She hadn’t seen him in a dog’s age, and she wanted to talk to him. After the police station, she was sure he thought she was dizzy. But she thought he always knew that. Wasn’t that one of the things he liked about her?

  “He’s tall and skinny, and his eyes go like this.” Teeter bugged his eyes wide open and stared up at the trees, then down at the ground, and finally at Becky, who clapped her hand over her mouth and laughed.

  “Oh no. That’s the Heathcliff boy.” Becky groaned. “Teeter, I’ll give you a nickel if you promise not to tell Mama you found me. Can you keep it a secret?”

  “I sure can, Miss Becky. I know lots of secrets. I won’t tell a soul.” Teeter crossed his heart.

  “Besides, Miss Fanny can have him. I’m sure he’d just love to chew her ear off about his delicate stomach while she boasted about the escargot she ate in Paris.” Becky laughed again. “Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Miss Becky. But if you say so,” Teeter replied, looking carefully around the entrance of the graveyard.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come in here and sit a spell with me?” Becky asked. “It’s mighty hot, and the shade of these big trees is very nice.”

  “No, ma’am.” Teeter shook his head.

  “All right. Then why don’t you take me to meet Herman and his family down by the creek?” Becky said. “We better do it lickety-split.”

  “That sounds like a great idea. But why do we have to do it so fast, Miss Becky?” Teeter asked, taking her hand once she left the cemetery grounds.

  “Well, I want to meet all of them before they croak,” Becky said, winking.

  Teeter howled. “You are funny, Miss Becky!”

  When they finally came wandering back to the house, Kitty was once again fit to be tied.

  “Rebecca Madeline Mackenzie, where have you been?” her mother scolded.

  Before she could say another word, Becky hurried Teeter into the kitchen to Lucretia. Becky knew the little gent would lie for her, but she didn’t want him to. If anyone had to lie, she’d do it.

  “I took Teeter down to the creek. You know he found that big frog, Herman, and I asked him to show me where. We looked for more, thinking maybe we could have frog legs for dinner as long as they weren’t Herman’s kin.” Becky smiled.

  “The Heathcliff boy paid a visit, looking for you.” Kitty huffed.

  “I had no idea he was coming. Why, I haven’t seen him in ages. I’m sure Fanny kept him entertained,” Becky said, flipping her bobbed hair over her shoulder.

  “Fanny had a headache. She went to lie down,” Kitty said then pinched her lips together. “You know, if you just gave him a chance, I’ll bet he’s just as nice as that Northern boy you keep crooning over.”

  Becky looked down at her feet and then clasped her hands in front of her. “I’m not sure you’ve got anything to worry about with that Yankee, Mama.” She felt a sting in her eyes but blinked the tears back quickly.

  Before Kitty could ask her daughter anything more, Teddy came shuffling over from next door.

  “Well, what a vision. Kitty, you do get prettier every time I stop by,” he said, schmoozing. “Becky, just the dame I was looking for.”

  “Why, Theodore, does your mother know you’re addressing the fine ladies of Savannah that way?” Becky teased.

  Kitty left them on the porch, and Becky began to bounce on her heels.

  “Please tell me there is something going on tonight. I’m going batty in this house. I thought after Willie’s and the police station that you guys were fed up with me,” Becky said.

  “Becky, we all know you’re an odd duck. That’s part of your charm,” Teddy replied, clicking his tongue and winking. “And there is something going on, doll. A party to end all parties.”

  “I thought that was Martha’s birthday party,” Becky whispered.

  “Why, Rebecca, you scamp,” Teddy said out of the side of his mouth. “I’ll pick you up at nine. And bring that dish of a cousin of yours.”

  “Oh, Teddy, do I have to?”

  “Trust me. This party will be jumping so high she won’t have time to bug you. I’ve got a buddy just back from Biloxi who is just her type.” Teddy patted Becky’s shoulder.

  �
�Male? Brilliant, Sherlock.” Becky shook her head and planted her hands on her hips.

  “Trust me, Becky. Just be ready to scram at nine. I’ll have the motor running.” Teddy’s eyebrows bounced.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Becky had decided she wouldn’t spend any more time worrying about the dirty little hobo or Madame Cecelia or Adam or poor Lawrence Hoolihan. Instead, she slipped into her most daring dress, which was dark blue with purple beads. Even though she’d decided Madame Cecelia was off her rocker, she couldn’t help but like the bracelet she’d given her.

  “I’ll just wear it this one last time and then bring it back,” Becky muttered as she slipped it on. “I can’t keep it. And if they are so interested in money, they can get a pretty penny for it.” The bauble immediately snagged on her glove, but Becky carefully adjusted it and then admired her reflection in the mirror. Unless Cousin Fanny was wearing nothing at all, there was no way Becky was going to be concealed by her shadow tonight.

  It was almost nine o’clock when Becky came downstairs and heard her parents in the parlor. They weren’t arguing, but firm and precise words were being thrown around.

  “We can let them both go out this evening, but tomorrow we’ll have to talk to them,” Judge said. “I’m as upset about this as you, but canceling their fun tonight would be unfair.”

  “Judge, do you really think the man responsible for the killing at the Bourdeauxs is hiding in Savannah? Maybe the police are wrong,” Kitty fretted. Becky inched closer to the door and held her breath as she listened.

  “That’s what I heard from the boys at the barber shop this evening.” Judge had gone into town, as he liked to do on occasion. He’d have a shave and a haircut then perhaps a quick snort of some bathtub gin from the back room before he sat down to hear the town gossip. He referred to what he’d gathered from the fellas.