Lethal in Old Lace

by Duffy Brown

  “Who … what…” Dexter turned white as the satin inside the coffin. He sat down hard in the club chair.

  “Are you okay?” I asked him.

  “Asthma. Stress triggers it. People jump out of cakes, not coffins.” Dexter pulled an inhaler from his suit pocket and took a puff.

  “I … I … I was trying it out for my dear auntie.” I pushed back my hair, then pointed to the JFK. “I wanted to see if it was a comfy coffin.”

  “Eternal rest dwelling,” Dexter muttered, his eyes still wobbling round in their sockets.

  “You’re KiKi Vanderpool’s niece,” Mrs. Jones-Brown muttered, pushing herself to a sitting position. She straightened her pink flowered hat and smoothed her dress over her knees. “I heard KiKi was over there at Sleepy Pines with a sprained ankle. If you’re here looking at caskets, she must be in mighty terrible shape. I need to go visit her before it’s too late.”

  “She’s getting better; I’m just taking precautions.” I took Mrs. Jones-Brown’s arm and helped her into the other chair, then turned for the hall. “I’ll have someone bring you water.”

  “So how was it?” Mrs. Jones-Brown asked.

  I stopped and turned back. “How’s what?”

  She nodded at the JFK. “My Wesley’s making eyes at the cashier at the Piggly Wiggly again, so I’m doing a little early reconnaissance in case the situation doesn’t reverse itself right quick.”

  “Overpriced. Put him in a cheapie from the next room and take the rest of the money and go on a cruise.”

  I hustled down the hall, elbowed my way past two incoming Bingo mourners, and ran out onto the porch. This was one of those best-of-times, worst-of-times moments. Best in that JFK and I weren’t bonded together for all eternity and worst in that Dexter would have no problem figuring out who I was. He didn’t seem like a stupid guy, so my trying-out-the-casket-for-auntie spiel wouldn’t fly. I’d been in his office to snoop around, and he knew it. Maybe not right now after being so taken by surprise, but it would dawn on him sooner or later.

  The question was, what would he do about it? I inhaled the beautiful spring early-evening air, then redialed Boone.

  “A coffin?” Boone said when he picked up.

  “Eternal resting chamber. I was helping Mrs. Jones-Brown plan her philandering husband’s demise.”

  “Glad you’re having a productive day. My meeting’s taking longer than I expected; we’ve hit a few snags. I’m grabbing a bite at Wall’s, so do dinner without me and look at the blueprints I left on the counter and see what you think.”

  “I think I miss you.”

  “Right back at you.” Boone disconnected and I made a beeline for the scooter. Savannah was always Slow-vannah, part of the city’s charm, but when the schools let out or when there was rush hour traffic, it was more crawl than rushing anywhere. I gave up on Broad Street, which looked more like a parking lot, and zoomed across State Street till I got to Green Square, where things came to another standstill. The twenty-three city squares were lovely mini-parks draped in history and Spanish moss, and traffic flowed—or didn’t flow—around them as if they were cobblestone rotaries.

  I got trapped behind a horse-drawn carriage, resigned myself to a clip-clop pace, and was that Uncle Putter’s black Beemer parked at the curb? But he was playing golf, and Auntie KiKi hadn’t said he was coming back early.

  I couldn’t see the telltale license plate TEE4ME, but there was a hospital decal in the window and the little scratch on the hood. Of course, there had to be more than one black Beemer at St. Joseph’s Hospital and more than one with a scratch from Auntie KiKi’s misplaced martini glass at the Happy Halloween Country Club Dance, right? The carriage turned onto Houston and I spotted an opening in the crawl, aced out a Honda Civic, and zipped onto Price, passing the heavenly aroma of Walls barbecue as I zoomed by.

  “Well, there you are,” Elsie said as I hustled into the Fox. “It’s been a whirlwind day, though it doesn’t look like it now with no one here.” She gave me a big wave when I came in the door, BW running up, whining and smiling as if I’d been gone a month. That’s one of the great things about dogs—you’re always tops on their list.

  “You’re here just in time to close the place up,” Annie Fritz added.

  “Not before I shop,” Aldeen Ross wheezed, running in behind me. She leaned heavily on the counter, catching her breath. “I jogged all the way here from Forsythe Park; that’s a whole two blocks and I’m just betting I lost another few pounds, and I aim to celebrate by buying something sexy. Do you know how hard it is to impress a coroner? If you’re not prone on the floor and not breathing, they have no interest in you.”

  Annie Fritz reached for a pink blouse with a ruffled collar from the pile of just-brought-in clothes lying on the counter. “Those running shorts you got on,” Annie Fritz said to Aldeen, “and your sweating like a cold beer on a hot day are enough to make me forget you’re the one who put that ugly yellow tape around our garden and impounded our Caddy and put us in jail.”

  “Not for long, and I was just doing my job.” Aldeen took a swig of water from her bottle.

  “What I want to know is where you were when that snake Willie Fishbine swindled Sister and me in that Spring Chicken vitamin scheme. I sure didn’t see any crime scene tape then, did I? That scum-sucking Willie sure got what he deserved, all right, no thanks to you. Glad to be rid of him.”

  Annie Fritz stared at Elsie and me, all of us open-mouthed. This was a bad slipup and we all knew it. The last thing we needed were the sisters connected to another dead person, especially with the word swindle tossed in.

  “Right now I’m just like any other well-rounded woman,” Aldeen panted. “I’m trying to lose a little of the rounded part and not die along the way. I think I’m going to pass out right here on the floor.” Aldeen wobbled and I got a chair from the dining room that had once actually been used for dining.

  She crumpled into the chair. The good part was that Aldeen didn’t collapse on the floor; the really good part was that she was so worn out that the Willie connection didn’t seem to have sunk in.

  “That’s better.” Aldeen gulped more water. “You know, Willie’s grandson’s been down at the police station all hours, night and day, insisting his granddad was murdered.” She faced Annie Fritz. “So, tell me about Willie and this Spring Chicken scam.”

  Holy cow! So much for not sinking in. “I am so glad you’re feeling better!” I scooped my arm under Aldeen’s, yanking her to her feet. “I got in the cutest floral sundress that I bet is just your size, and I guarantee it will get that handsome coroner you’re after more interested in you than something dead on the floor.”

  Ten minutes of talking nonstop plus giving Aldeen the deal-of-all-deals on the adorable dress to keep her mind on shopping and not on Willie and murder and the sisters got Aldeen out the door without her asking more questions. I flattened myself against the door after I closed it and sucked in a deep breath.

  “That was close,” I said to the sisters. “I think, between the jogging, the coroner, and the new dress, she’ll forget about Willie and the Spring Chicken scam and you connected to all of it. It was a fast conversation, just a few words, so there’s really not much to remember.”

  “I just sort of got running off at the mouth,” Annie Fritz whined. “I was making conversation, you know how I do, and everything just spilled out all at once and I couldn’t stop it.”

  She nodded to a Snickers sitting beside the Godiva cash box. “And you know how Aldeen said Willie’s grandson goes to the police station and gives them grief? Well, he was here and left this. He said you’d know what it meant and that the clock was ticking. I told him we didn’t have any clocks here at the Fox at the moment, ticking or otherwise, and he should stop back in a few days in case one came in.”

  “Was he smiling?”

  “Snarky, like he knew something I didn’t, the little punk. Walker called to give us your new phone number, and your mamma stopped by and said
she’d pick you up at ten sharp to try on wedding dresses. We’ll be glad to cover for you, but right now we’ve got to go.”

  Elsie fluttered her eyelashes. “All this here publicity does have its perks. We’re meeting with Sassy Savannah Canasta Club over at Sweet Potatoes and having peach-glazed chicken. We’re sort of celebrities around town and suddenly in high demand; who knew such a thing could happen? We thought we’d be the bane of society, but being this close to a murder is like being a rock star. Bunch of ghoulish folks out there, I tell you. We just got to remember not to say anything that would link us to the murders for real.” Elsie gave Annie Fritz the big-sister stare. “But now, before we go, we want to see that there phone Walker was talking about. I can’t believe you finally have one.”

  I pulled the flip out of my back pocket. “Ta-da!”

  Elsie and Annie Fritz exchanged looks, burst out laughing, gave me big sympathy hugs, then strolled out the door arm in arm.

  I wrote up two sales and kept the Fox open, hoping to catch the evening shoppers while I straightened the place up. I ran the vac, dusted, added a cream blouse to a linen jacket, and wrote up three more sales. I would have written up more, but when shoppers realized the sisters weren’t around to gossip and talk about Bonnie Sue getting planted in the garden, they lost interest and left. Elsie had been right about the ghoulish part.

  I counted out cash, put it in an envelope to pay the sisters, and stashed the rest of the money in the Rocky Road container. I ladled out a cup of cottage cheese, a cup of tuna, and added a tomato for me, then spooned out kibble for BW. “Don’t give me that ‘I’m starving’ look. I’m on a diet, so you’re on a diet. You don’t want people to be calling you Chubbers the ring bearer, do you?”

  I day-dreamed of Oreo cookies and ate the cottage cheese instead. I tried, I really did, to make sense of lines drawn on blue paper, failing miserably to distinguish windows from doors and closets. I rerolled the papers, leaving it up to Boone, then headed upstairs to change into a hoodie and yoga pants left over from a time when I’d actually tried yoga. I’d toppled over on downward dog, broken the instructor’s arm, and been banned from the yoga studio forevermore. Now the pants were relegated to evening walks with BW, and so far, I hadn’t broken anyone else’s appendage.

  Knowing the sisters wouldn’t take pay for helping me out at the Fox, I slid the envelope through their back kitchen window that didn’t latch tight, then BW and I headed up Lincoln. The sky was ablaze with pinks and blues rapidly fading into dusk, streetlights blinking on, making Savannah oh-so-romantic and always a little mysterious.

  We cut up Abercorn, and I spotted Dex and Arnett coming out of Cuoco Pazzo’s, the best Italian in the city, with a take-home bag in hand. So that’s why Dex had told Eugenia he hated Italian food; he took Arnett there! Using every ounce of willpower I possessed, I refrained from tackling Dex to the sidewalk, running off with the delicious bag, and being done with dieting. Instead, I slowed down so he and Arnett wouldn’t see me. I didn’t need to have Dex thinking I was spying on him twice in the same day. Once was more than enough, even if it was from inside a coffin.

  BW and I rounded Lafayette Square with the lovely lit fountain, one of the obligatory spots for all Savannah wedding photos. Would Boone be up for that? I didn’t want to dictate our wedding day; I really wanted it to be our wedding day, and I still had no idea what to get the man to mark the occasion. Having a skywriter script out “Yippee” in white smoke was a possibility, but I wanted something more lasting.

  We headed down Charlton, the massive live oaks forming a canopy of leaves, and started across Madison Square. As much as I loved this walk, tonight it wasn’t a random choice. I’d had a niggling feeling ever since I’d seen Uncle Putter’s Beemer, or what I thought was his Beemer, earlier in the day near Wall’s Barbecue where Boone was having dinner. If there was one thing I’d learned from my dead-body affliction of late, it was that coincidences didn’t exist.

  Lights were on in Boone’s house that was now his office, the Bugmobile parked at the curb. Right behind it sat Uncle Putter’s Beemer, this time the TEE4ME license plate in full view. I stopped dead right in the middle of Madison Square, two tourists bumping into me. I muttered an apology but couldn’t take my eyes off the Beemer.

  “Yo, girl and dog,” came Big Joey’s voice right beside me. “What’s up?”

  “I’m supposed to be home reading blueprints, and Boone’s in there.” I pointed across the street. “And my uncle’s in there and he’s supposed to be playing golf and he’s not playing golf and my aunt thinks he is and instead he’s here talking to a lawyer, my lawyer. Nothing good comes from talking to a lawyer, even it is Boone.”

  “You getting married; bet it’s that. Some big surprise headed your way.”

  “But why wouldn’t my aunt know that her own husband is in town?”

  Big Joey took my hand, his big dark one engulfing my much smaller one. He led me to a wood bench, the old iron park lights casting a golden glow around us with BW lying at our feet. “’Cause,” Big Joey said to me. “Auntie and you like this.” He held up two crossed fingers. “If she knows the 411, she tells you what’s happening; then no surprise.”

  “She’d blab.”

  “It’s in the gene pool, babe. You got to trust the husband.”

  “I do trust him, but…” I sucked in a deep breath. “But what if that’s not it? What if it’s something bad and Putter’s had enough of Auntie KiKi’s shenanigans and sneaking around doing crazy things? That’s in the gene pool too and not always easy to live with. She’s over at Sleepy Pines right now with a fake sprained ankle, snooping after a killer. And then there are all the other times, like when we swam with the alligators and she jumped off a fire escape and Boone caught her, and the time we nearly got burned alive out at that lumber yard fire, and then switching Clif bars for Snickers, and—”

  “Snickers?”

  “The gene pool again, and we’ve done more break-ins than you can imagine or the cops need to know about, and Uncle Putter’s smart and I just bet he knows some of this stuff has gone on. Maybe he’s had enough of Auntie KiKi sneaking out at nights and hunting killers.”

  “Or maybe he’s changing his will, selling property, anything that needs a legal eagle.”

  “KiKi would be around for those things.”

  Big Joey put his finger across my lips. “Doc Putter’s a righteous dude; fixed Granny’s ticker pro bono before the Seventeenth Street Gang arranged for health insurance. KiKi’s a handful, but she cool.”

  I jumped up. “I need to see what’s going on.”

  Big Joey shook his head. “Bad idea. Gotta trust.”

  “I have to be ready to help KiKi if something bad’s happening, and I know Boone can’t tell me anything because of lawyer/client privilege.”

  “Walker sees you, he won’t be happy.”

  “I won’t get caught.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I handed Big Joey the leash, crossed Charleston, rounded Boone’s house, and cut down the narrow walkway separating Boone’s house from the one next to it. The dim light shining out the kitchen window guided me along as I stepped around the garbage cans, praying that nothing slithered out. I crept up the back wooden stoop and felt over the back door for the hidden key. Bingo, it was still there.

  I turned the lock and entered the kitchen with original porcelain sink, scarred countertops, and red retro Formica table and chairs that any fashion-crazy millennial would kill for. I slunk down the hall, voices drifting my way, and stopped by the dining room that had once housed the ugly dining room furniture but was now being converted into Boone’s office.

  There were no doors yet, but two polished oak ones leaned against the hall wall ready for installation. I side-stepped the doors and peeked in at Boone and Uncle Putter staring at papers scattered across the cherry desk, two half-filled glasses and a bottle of Johnny Walker Red between them. No smiles in sight, not a one.

  Voices were hushed. I caugh
t pieces of conversation saying that KiKi not being a Vanderpool would kill her, that Uncle Putter didn’t want to hurt her like this but they’d get through it if it came to that and Boone promising to help any way he could.

  Freaking hell! This was no fun wedding surprise package! This was a horrible divorce package! I backed out of the house the way I’d come in, replaced the key, and joined Big Joey, BW sitting on the bench beside him.

  “Give it.”

  “My uncle is definitely divorcing my aunt. Uncle Putter’s from a distinguished family, I think he’s had it with thirty-nine years of crazy and recently a lot of this is totally my fault. I talked Auntie KiKi into this latest scheme to find out who killed Willie and Bonnie Sue so the Abbott sisters don’t get sent to the gallows.”

  “Gallows?”

  “And now KiKi’s headed for divorce court. I was the final straw. I need to get KiKi out of Sleepy Pines right now and … and turn her into the perfect wife. If she’s president of the Garden Club and sings in the church choir on Sundays and volunteers at the hospital every day maybe Uncle Putter will change his mind. She’d be lost without him. And … she can’t have anything more to do with me. I’m a bad influence.”

  Big Joey put his arm on my shoulders surrounding me in hug of comfort.

  “I mean it.” I stifled a sob. “No more me and Auntie KiKi. It’s cold turkey. You know I thought it would be hard for Boone to put up with my dead-body affliction and the stuff I get sucked into, but it’s tough for me not knowing what he’s working on and realizing he can’t say anything about it no matter who or what.”

  “All about trust, babe. You and Walker, meant to be.”

  Big Joey and I sat together for a few minutes, Big Joey being the hero and me being a total mess. I finally managed, “You roaming the streets tonight looking for a damsel to rescue?”