by Duffy Brown
“Somebody already got the message,” KiKi said in a sharp whisper. “I saw a flashlight moving around on the floor inside.”
“Maybe it’s a reflection off the streetlight.”
I got the get your behind over here auntie scowl.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” I crept over to the window. “Boone?”
“He’d never chance it, too risky. Whoever it is, they’re up to no good or they’d have the lights lit like a normal person. I got an idea.” And before I could stop her KiKi cleared her throat and said in a loud voice, “Now that we found our doggie all safe and sound, we should be going home and have some nice hot chocolate.” KiKi stomped down the steps, motioning for me to follow her.
“Hot chocolate?” I said in a low voice as I trailed behind. “Where’d that come from?”
“Seemed to go with finding a lost dog.” When we got to the bottom we continued on down Charlton.
“What are we doing now, oh great cocoa lover?” I asked KiKi as we moseyed along.
“We’ll pretend we’re leaving all nice and peaceful-like, then we’ll sneak around to the back alley. With someone in the house I’m betting the door is already unlocked. Since Boone got his gun stolen and it was used to frame him, maybe it’s the same person planning more trouble.”
“Do you really think there’s a need for more? And think about this: If it is the killer, he knows how to use a gun.”
KiKi gave a wicked little laugh and patted her Prada purse as she hitched it up on her shoulder. “Oh, honey, he’s not the only one you can count on for that.”
Chapter Four
THE three of us—Auntie KiKi, BW, and I—turned for the alley. Keeping to the shadows, we doubled back to Boone’s house and slunk up to the rear door, and KiKi turned the knob. It opened with a little click and KiKi gave me an I told you so look. Inside the only sound was BW panting and pawing and my heart pounding at the thought of KiKi packing God knows what in her purse.
I pulled my flashlight from Old Yeller; the beam landed on the stove, refrigerator, and Formica table and matching vinyl chairs. In another house they could pass for vintage chic décor, but I knew Boone. These were hand-me-downs from Pillsbury or Big Joey. I followed KiKi into the hallway and past the dining room as my light picked out what had to be the ugliest table east of the Mississippi.
“Previous owners left it,” I whispered to KiKi.
“Good idea.”
The only things in the living room were Boone’s chair and desk piled with papers, a leather couch worn to comfortable, and a small TV sitting on a bar stool. KiKi faced me, palms out in an I don’t know where our burglar went gesture.
The floor creaked behind us and before I could turn around KiKi got shoved hard into me. I stumbled backward, tripped over the desk chair, and fell on my butt, with KiKi landing on top of me. Old Yeller skittered across the floor in one direction and the flashlight in the other, outlining a pair of terrific purple heels running off, their clack-clack-clack fading down the hallway toward the back door. Any woman who could run in heels like that deserved my undying respect. BW in his wonderful watchdog way lay down beside us and licked KiKi’s face.
“BW!” I screeched. “Bad guy. Get him . . . her.” Yeah, like that was going to happen.
KiKi rolled off to the side and pointed to the hall. “Go.”
I scrambled to my feet and tore for the back door till I tripped over BW running beside me. In the world of dog, all was play and games and is it dinnertime yet. I landed flat out like a squashed bug, and BW yelped and added a puppy whine for good measure because I probably stepped on his paw.
“Oh my stars and garters, this is terrible, are you okay?” KiKi wailed. With flashlight in hand she darted right by me, stopping at BW. She knelt down, raised his adorable little puppy paw, and patted his head. “Oh, you poor little sweetie. Did you get a boo-boo?”
“What about poor niece?” I whimpered in a burst of self-pity, my hands and elbows skinned and raw.
“If you’re bleeding, try not to stain Walker’s hardwood floors, dear,” KiKi said, still looking at BW’s paw. “I think they’re original pine.”
“God forbid I stain the floors! Did you happen to see who pushed you?” I levered myself to a sitting position, rubbing my knees.
“Maybe we should get BW to the vet and get him checked out. He’s holding his leg up and looking downright pitiful. You went and broke your poor doggie’s foot, of all things.”
I limped over to KiKi and BW. He jumped up on me, paws to shoulders, and licked my face. He looked back to KiKi, dropped back on all fours, and held up his paw and whined. “I think we’re being conned.” I caved and gave BW the other hot dog that he knew I had, and then we all trooped back to the living room.
“I wonder what our burglar was after? This place isn’t exactly the Telfair Museum.”
I retrieved Old Yeller by the couch, and KiKi stood in a patch of moonbeams slicing through the front windows. “Well, there’s sure not much to burgle here, I can tell you that,” she said, gazing around the room. “The TV might bring five bucks on a good day, and the desk might be an antique but it would take two men and a crane and not a woman in heels to get the thing out of here. We were standing right by the desk when we got pushed,” KiKi said, coming my way. “See if there’s anything worth stealing there.”
I flipped on the desk light and we both stopped dead, staring at Boone’s business card impaled on a white satin stiletto. “The man sure does lead an interesting life,” KiKi said with a laugh.
“Looks like a wedding shoe. I wonder what Boone did to deserve this?” I rifled through the papers in a folder on top, and KiKi pulled open the side drawer.
“Boone’s got a dentist appointment on Friday,” I added. “His water bill is due and his gym membership is due but they’ll give him a discount if he renews by his birthday next month. I didn’t know Boone belonged to the gym.” And I didn’t know his birthday till now.
“Honey, a man doesn’t get a body like that pushing a pencil across a legal pad, and I say we pay the bill on behalf of every female in the city who . . .” KiKi stopped midsentence and held up a photo. “And what do we have here?”
“It’s a young guy in jeans and wearing one of those monogram sweaters in style back in the day,” I said. “The girl’s around maybe nineteen. I’m guessing they’re a family since she has a baby in her arms.”
KiKi pointed to the gazebo in the background. “This is Wright Square and there’s a ‘CA’ on the sweater. Conway?” KiKi and I exchanged looks. “I think it’s Conway with more hair and less muffin top. He was darn good-looking.” KiKi flipped over the photo and we both sucked in a quick breath as we read, Conway, MaryEllen, and baby Walker.
“Lord have mercy,” KiKi said in a hushed voice. “It’s Walker’s mamma and daddy. Oh, honey, if Walker had this here photo he knew all along that Conway was his dad.”
KiKi plopped down hard in the desk chair. “This is terrible bad news. I wish we’d never found it. It goes to motive of Walker coercing Conway into changing his will and leaving him the Old Harbor Inn, then killing him before he could change it back. It’s just as Tucker said.”
“First of all, I wouldn’t believe anything Tucker Adkins said if he swore to it on a stack of Bibles.” I snapped up the picture, my brain racing. “And I’m sure Boone didn’t know Conway was his dad till last night when I came to warn him that the cops were on their way to arrest him. He was a total mess trying to make sense of the idea. No way he knew before that.”
KiKi waved the photo in the air. “But he’s got this picture right here. We knew right off this guy was Conway, so Walker had to know, too. It’s not just some random picture.”
“That’s just it, I don’t think he did have the picture. I doubt if he’s ever seen it. I think someone left it in the desk to make Boone look guilty. Bridezilla with the sat
in shoe didn’t have any trouble getting in here, and neither did we. These old houses aren’t exactly Fort Knox. The picture wasn’t buried under any papers or stashed out of the way, it was right here on top and easy to find. Someone left it.”
“Bridezilla?”
“She’s ticked off that she didn’t walk down the aisle. This picture is personal against Boone, wanting to frame him for murder. The cops haven’t been here to look around yet or they’d have that yellow crime tape across the door, but it stands to reason they’ll come snooping soon, and someone wanted to make sure they find this picture.”
“I’m guessing Conway had it in his house and whoever killed him went through his things and found it to plant here and, and . . . oh, Lordy, Reagan, honey, we got ourselves another little problem.”
“We should put that on T-shirts,” I said, searching the desk in case there were more pictures.
“The cops are here.”
My head snapped up to strobing lights bouncing off the interior walls. “That’s why no yellow crime tape on the doors. Create a false sense of security? The cops were hoping Boone would show up. How dumb do they think he is?”
“They’re desperate to find him, is all. You should hide and take the picture with you.” KiKi shoved it into my hand along with the shoe. She snagged BW’s leash.
“What about you?” I asked.
“I’m not the TV celebrity wanting to get even with Boone. The cops will think you’re here stealing stuff. Besides, I’ve got my trump card to play. Go hide in the pantry.”
“What pantry?”
“Old house, big kitchen, there’s a pantry.” KiKi clipped her tiara in my hair, and I snagged the flashlight and scurried down the hall. I said a quick prayer to anyone listening and pulled on the first door I found.
“Police!” came the muffled voice from the living room. “Hands up and stay where you are.”
Boone clamped one hand over my mouth and yanked me inside to what was obviously the pantry. Carefully he closed the door and turned off the flashlight, casting the crunched space of shelves and food products into total darkness. “You’re stepping on my toe,” I whispered. “You smell like peanut butter.”
“You’re stepping on my toe and I’m hungry.” Boone shimmied one way as I did the same, our legs now twining together. My chest was now fused to his, my hand on his arm, his on my butt. My heart did the slow heavy thud, my mouth went totally dry, and I could hardly breathe. It had nothing to do with the cramped space of the pantry and everything to do with Boone being in it. I should have taken my chances with the cops.
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you, officer,” KiKi said in the lovely exaggerated Georgia lilt she brought out for special occasions as the conversation drifted in from the living room. “I do believe I’m about to have myself a little spell right here on the spot.”
Boone shifted again to get more room, with my forehead now pressed to his scruffed chin and his arm sandwiched between my boobs. My heart kicked up a notch; actually it kicked up three notches, and my insides were on fire. Think of something else besides Boone, I ordered myself.
“What are you doing here?” the officer said. I recognized that voice, and it didn’t conjure up happy memories. Deckard! It was the cop who pulled me over when I was driving Boone’s car. See, I could think of something else besides Boone . . . until he scooted left and I realized I wasn’t the only one affected by our present close situation.
“I’m rescuing my poor little puppy here,” KiKi said. “We were walking along like we do every night about this time, and lo and behold if he didn’t pull away from me, the little rascal.”
Holy cow. If KiKi said the back door was open, Deckard and his merry men would search the house and find Boone and me and the peanut butter crackers. Think, KiKi, think, I sent out in mental telepathy.
“He pushed on the back door and he ran in,” KiKi said. “Mr. Boone lives here, you see, and gives my dear doggie treats, and now that the poor man is on the run, I figure puppy just misses him something terrible and came in anyway.” KiKi’s voice warbled and she added some sniffing for good measure. Auntie KiKi, the queen of bull.
“The dog pushed on the door?” Deckard asked in a not-convinced tone.
“He’s a strong pup, and I’m betting the back door was ajar all along. You know how nothing fits quite right in these old houses,” KiKi said. My guess was she was gearing up to play her trump card that could get her out of any and all sticky situations, especially with the fifty-somethings born and raised on Savannah cuisine.
“Well, I best be going now,” KiKi added. “I’ve got to get back home to my wonderful dear husband. Maybe you know him? Dr. Vanderpool, but we all call him Putter.”
“Doc Putter? The cardiologist? Yes, indeed, I sure do know the man,” Deckard said, his voice now sweet as Auntie KiKi’s peach cobbler. “He carries that putter with him everywhere. Fact is, he did a triple bypass on my mamma last year. She’s better than new, I tell you. Lord be praised and alleluia. You go on home, Mrs. Vanderpool, and the boys and I will lock up. Tell the doc that Deckard sends his best now, you hear? Sure is a cute little puppy you have here.”
There was a scurrying of footsteps that drowned out the rest of the talk, followed by doors closing, and then more doors closing, and then dead silence. It was best to wait to make sure no one was in the house and that no one came back, but I’d been divorced for two years and not had the pleasure of male companionship for longer than that, and here I was front to front with Walker Boone, hands down the most handsome guy in Savannah, who had kissed me senseless one day ago.
I opened the pantry door and jumped out with Boone right behind me. I took one look at him, moonlight in his hair, broad shouldered, narrow hipped, and silhouetted in the patch of white. A girl could stand just so much temptation. I threw my arms around his neck and dove in for a kiss till Boone took my arms and set me back.
“Did you read the note I sent over with Chantilly?” he asked. “What happened to stay out of my house? Have you been eating in the car?”
“All you can think about is your car?” I pointed the heel of the satin shoe at myself. “What about me?” I twitched my hips, jutted my boobs, and held out my arms. “What about this? I got pretty good this, you know.”
Boone swallowed and looked pained. “You ate chocolate in the car, didn’t you?”
“Maybe a little, and it was before I got the note.” I took a step toward him, and he took a step back and ate another cracker. “We can’t do this, Reagan,” he said in a ragged voice.
“Oh yes we can,” I said, my voice equally ragged. I felt devil horns sprouting on my head. “It’ll be fun. I’m a little rusty, but I’m thinking it’s like riding a bike and it’ll come back to me really quick and—”
“No hanky-panky.” Boone took another step back.
I stepped toward him. “I’ll settle for the hanky.”
“And then you’ll get that dopey look on your face worse than ever, and the cops and everyone else will know that we’ve been together. Listen, someone wants me out of the picture and if they have to go through you to get to me, they’ll do it and not think twice. I don’t want you involved in this mess; stay out of it. That’s why I wrote the note.”
“Hey, you’re not the only one with something to lose, you know.”
“Lord save me, it’s the furniture speech.”
“I’m a businesswoman with a dog to support.”
“Unless you want to be buried in that furniture, forget about it.”
I parked my hands on my hips. “So why the heck are you here?”
“A friend of a friend saw lights inside and I got the message. I figured someone was up to no good. I should have known it was you causing mayhem. Go home and run your shop and butt out, period, blondie.”
“You know, you say that every time things get a little crazy because you�
�re afraid something will happen to me.”
“Something always does happen to you.”
I pulled the picture from my pocket and held the flashlight to it. “KiKi and I weren’t the only ones in here tonight. We were out with BW and we saw the lights too and thought you were being burgled. Then we found this on your desk.” I held up the shoe. “And we found this in your desk.” I pulled out the picture. “We figure a really pissed-off bride left the shoe and the killer planted the picture. I’d say it’s another piece of the let’s frame Walker for murder puzzle.”
Boone stared at the picture for a long moment, not moving, barely breathing. “The happy family,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“You know, at this particular time it probably was. Then Conway married for money and your mamma took off and left you with Grandma Hilly.”
“It could be worse,” Boone said, still looking at the picture.
Truth be told, I wasn’t sure how it could be much worse, since Boone’s Grandma Hilly died when he was around fifteen and he took to living on the streets.
“I could be Tucker, a wealthy boozed-up wart on society’s backside,” Boone added, the twinkle back in his eyes. “I’d say the killer’s someone who has it in for me and for Conway and wanted to get rid of us both.”
“And the shoe?” I held it up. “Tick anyone off lately?”
“She wanted me to sue her ex-fiancé and I graciously declined.”
“Not graciously enough.”
Boone shoved the picture in his jean pockets. They were baggy, torn denim, life-in-the-projects quality. His black hoodie was ripped and frayed at the neck. “We got to get out of here,” he said. “The cops are going to keep an eye on this place from here on out. There’s a loose board in the back fence that the kids use to cut through the alleys. Give it a yank and slide through. Stay off the streets for a few blocks in case the cops are on patrol.”
He opened the fridge and stuffed two apples in his pocket and a half loaf of bread under his sweatshirt along with the jar of peanut butter and the crackers. For sure Boone knew people who would hide him, but he was staying away from friends so they wouldn’t get caught up in his ordeal. I couldn’t even imagine the hovel he was holed up in. I grabbed all the cash I had from Old Yeller, two tens and a five, and shoved them at Boone. “Take it, it’s rent for the car.”