Lethal in Old Lace

by Duffy Brown

  “Miss Frances will be with you in a few minutes,” the blue-smocked lady behind the counter said to us. “You’re welcome to peruse our sample dresses and get a feel for your own personal wedding style. Do you want a train, no train, pearls, beads, sequins, floor-length veil, tiara, a hundred butterflies released when you say ‘I do’?”

  “I already know my style.” I held up the crinkled dress picture. “Something like this, short and sensible for fall and a second wedding.”

  The smocked woman blinked a few times. “Short?”

  “Coral would be nice.”

  “Miss Frances will not be pleased.”

  “Miss Frances can go—”

  “Can maybe have another color in mind?” Mamma interjected before I said something I shouldn’t and got us thrown out of the BleuBelle.

  Smock lady pointed a stiff finger toward the back. “A bridesmaid dress might work. We keep a few on hand. The bridesmaid dresses are in the far corner by the restrooms. This must be one of those arranged marriages,” she added under her breath.

  “It is not an arr—”

  Mamma hooked her arm through mine and yanked me toward the back. “Just breathe, honey. We’ll find … something.”

  We passed lovely cupboards, doors wide open, adorned with sculpted flowers and bows and bursting with wedding gowns from white to off white to cream to blush to taupe to—

  “Eugenia?” I gasped. Mamma, KiKi, and I stopped in front of a platform showcasing Eugenia in a white dress that looked as if it were painted on except for the flair of organza puffed out at the bottom. She sort of looked like one of those white bottle cleaner brushes you buy at the grocery store.

  “Don’t you just adore this dress?” Eugenia smoothed her hands down her sides. “It’s the modern look. Dex will love it. It’s expensive, but I want the best because Dex says I’m the best.”

  “He proposed?”

  Eugenia jutted her chin. “Soon, and this is the dress for our wedding. I have to order it in my size, of course; Miss Frances is writing up the sale now, and it will take extra long to make it as it’s a specialty dress. I think one of the Kardashians wore this dress, and I simply must have it!”

  Eugenia’s face pulled a frown. “Miss Frances likes this one.” Eugenia snagged a dress draped over a chair and tossed it, the yards of tulle billowing out, covering me, Mamma, and Auntie KiKi. “It’s a closeout, so last year; who would wear a last-year-model wedding dress, of all things? It’s a cupcake dress and it’s blush.” Eugenia made a gagging sound. “Everyone knows it’s white for wedding … white, white, white, no matter how many times you walk down the aisle, we all deserve white.”

  Miss Frances came up to Eugenia and whispered, “Your card won’t go through, dear. It was declined.”

  Eugenia jabbed her hands on her hips and tossed her head. “Your machine is broken or there’s a mistake at the bank. Unzip me now so I can straighten this out and you can order my dress today. I simply must have this dress!”

  Eugenia tiny-stepped her way to the changing room since there was no room in the dress for her legs to move normally. Mamma, KiKi, and I fought our way from under flounces of material. I got the hanger off the floor, hung up the gown, stepped up on the platform to put the dress away, and stopped dead when I looked in the mirror.

  “Come on,” Mamma said, she and Auntie KiKi trudging to the back of the shop. “Time’s a wastin’.”

  I held up the dress to my front, the shimmering blush tulle floating around me like a soft cloud. I tucked a narrow strap over my left shoulder, then did the same with the right. I straightened the bodice that fit snug in the middle with a slight plunge that enhanced the bustline and accentuated a narrow waist. I had a plunge and a waist. Who knew! “This is it.”

  “This is what, dear?” Mamma turned back to me, KiKi nearly colliding right into her.

  “This is the dress.”

  “Honey, it had you at cupcake. It’s diet transference; you’re sugar-deprived and a little delusional.”

  “Boone would love this dress.”

  “I don’t think it comes in his size,” Mamma sighed. “It’s beyond lovely and you would look lovely in it, but it’s long and you don’t want long, probably had the tulle manufacturer working nights, and there’s even—God forbid—a touch of lace at the bodice.”

  “It makes me look … pretty.” I spun around, the dress swooshing and gliding with me. “What do you think?”

  Mamma and KiKi glanced at each other and KiKi asked, “What happened to the little coral dress?”

  I looked at myself in the mirror again. “What little coral dress?”

  It took two minutes for me to fall in love with Sabrina (I decided a gown this lovely must be named) and way more time to pin the alterations and configure the bustle (what century was this?) with Mamma and KiKi fussing over who would pay for the dress we all loved that was on sale and marked down as it was last year’s model. Normally the bride just ordered the dress in her size, but this was the one and only one left on the planet, or so Miss Frances said.

  The clock in Mamma’s car flashed twelve when we pulled into the Pines parking lot. We helped KiKi rewrap her arm and adjust the sling to make her look pathetic. The bruised eye was pathetic enough without any enhancement. “It’s showtime,” KiKi said, leaning heavily on her cane as we headed toward the back door.

  “With you it’s always showtime,” Mamma quipped, then opened the door to Mr. Jim heading down the hall. “Could we have a word?” Mamma asked, heading Mr. Jim off.

  “As long as none of those words are duel or I’m going to blow your head clean off.” Mr. Jim spread his arms wide. “Welcome to the nuthouse. You hear all that ruckus from the living room?” He hitched his chin in the direction of the yelling. “It’s now official. Emmitt challenged Foley to a duel on Friday at noon at Washington Square.”

  “Official as in glove smacked across the face?” Mamma gasped.

  “Official as in Atlanta Braves cap smacked across the butt, and I’m guessing the effect is the same, especially since Great-Granddaddy’s dueling pistols are now missing from over the fireplace and no one seems to know where they are, or at least they aren’t telling me about it. I can’t exactly rifle through everyone’s room doing a search, now, can I? There’s a pool on who’s going to win; odds are two to one in favor of dead-eye Foley over sharpshooter Emmitt.”

  “Don’t worry,” Mamma soothed. “They’re old guns; they’re probably useless.”

  “Old guns still have a lot of killin’ in ’em, and Emmitt and Foley were part of the reenactment company for years. They know about old firearms and how they work. I’ve shot the pistols myself a few times, kind of a family tradition on New Year’s. Believe me, they work just fine.”

  Mamma patted Mr. Jim’s hand. “I’m so sorry. Sounds like you got your hands full. Is it okay if I stay a few days with KiKi? She’ll have a hard time getting dressed and cutting her food with her arm the way it is.”

  “And holding her martini glass, no doubt.” Mr. Jim swiped a bead of perspiration from his forehead. “Judge, you can stay as long as you like. I just wish I could leave.” Mr. Jim glanced up. “And to add to the joy of the day, here comes my daughter looking like a thundercloud in pink heels. Sweet mother, now what does she want?”

  “Daddy!” Eugenia elbowed past me and Mama, getting right in her daddy’s face. “We need to talk.”

  “Later, sweetheart. It’s been a day and I have a lot going and—”

  “Now, daddy dearest.”

  Daddy dearest was pretty much like bless your heart; sounded good, meant bad. Mamma, Auntie KiKi, and I watched Eugenia march Mr. Jim toward his office, then all trooped down the hall toward Auntie KiKi’s room. I glanced back at the office—door closing, Eugenia bellowing—and doubled back, leaving Mamma and KiKi to settle in. Eugenia might not be the killer, but she was keeping company with the biggest suspect on my list and I wanted to know exactly what Dex was up to and just how he was playing Eugen
ia.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I had gotten closer to Mr. Jim’s closed office door, trying not to be conspicuous about eavesdropping, when I looked up to—

  “Hi, sweet thing. How’d wedding dress shopping go?”

  I patted BW, standing at Boone’s side, then threw my arms around him. “Kiss me.”

  “I like this dress already.” Boone started to backtrack to the outside patio where there was more privacy, but I held him in place.

  “This spot is good and you’ll hear why in a second.”

  “Ah, eavesdropping again, are we?”

  “I think you’ll like this time better than the last.” Boone’s oh-so-fine lips met mine as Eugenia’s muffled yelling seeped out into the hall.

  “We keep having this same conversation, Daddy,” she said. “I need money, and we never have enough. I want a wedding dress; I already have it picked out. I want to get married at the Sugar Bell House and need a down payment. I need new clothes if I’m going to marry Dex, and I am going to marry him!”

  “Has he proposed?” came Mr. Jim’s voice, Boone’s eyes widening at the conversation.

  “Why does everyone keep harping on that?” Eugenia yelped, making Boone’s lips smile against mine.

  “Because—” Mr. Jim started till Eugenia cut him off.

  “I’m tired of waiting on old people, Daddy. I’m tired of picking up prescriptions and running their errands and handing them this and that and getting stuff for them and waiting on them hand and foot. I’m tired of this house. I want something new and fresh. I want Dex. People are dying all the time around here and it’s happening a lot lately, in case you hadn’t noticed, and the Pines is getting a bad reputation. I think it’s a sign to sell. Your friends are here now, but pretty soon you won’t get anything for this place. Sell the Pines now, sell it to Dex and we’ll have money; finally, we’ll have money.”

  “Honey, if Dexter truly loves you,” Mr. Jim consoled as one of the residents ambled by Boone and me grumbling something about getting a room, “let him put a ring on your finger and he’ll marry you no matter what.”

  “I want to prove to him just how much I love him, that I want to be part of his life. I do volunteer work, he’s a smart businessman; we’re the perfect Savannah couple. I want to show him I can make him happy and be an asset to his work.”

  “By selling him our home?”

  “He got the Slumber, and the Pines would be a great addition. He worked for a company in Atlanta that invested in funeral homes and retirement homes and now he wants to do the same thing here in Savannah. He has big ideas, and he wants me to be part of them. If you sell the Pines, you could pay the place off and have money left over for retirement, and Dex would see that I have his back and we’re a good team, and, for crying in a bucket, he’d marry me!”

  “Dexter can find another retirement center to buy.”

  “He wants the Pines. He has his heart set on it. It’s the right price range and a good location and has room to expand. He’s got it all worked out. He loves this place.”

  “So do I, Eugenia, so do I.”

  “You’re impossible, Daddy. Totally impossible,” Eugenia sobbed. Footsteps inside approached the door. Boone broke our delicious kissing session, then hustled BW and me out onto the patio. We ducked behind a yellow hibiscus bush and heard Eugenia stomping down the hall in the other direction.

  Boone craned his neck to see if anyone was listening, then whispered, “Eugenia’s right about one thing. Dex really does have this all figured out; he’s playing her and using Arnett and that other gal I saw him with. You got to hand it to the guy; he’s got major cojones.”

  “Do you think his major cojones included knocking off Willie and Bonnie Sue to drive down the price? Hanging around Eugenia and being at the Pines, it would be easy enough for him to pick up on Willie having money and know that Arnett would inherit and that Willie had a peanut allergy and asthma. And Dex would know something about asthma, since he has it. I found out when casing out caskets for Mrs. Jones-Brown. But why knock off Bonnie Sue? The link between Bonnie Sue and Willie has always been a problem.”

  “Maybe she was on to Dex? And it would be easy enough to frame the sisters with their Caddy always being at the Pines. What we need is evidence.”

  “Maybe I can talk to Hollis. He’s in with Dexter, and I bet he knows something.”

  “Maybe you can poke yourself in the eye with a sharp stick. It would be less painful, and you know that Hollis won’t tell you anything if it puts his real estate deal in jeopardy.”

  “He might let something slip. At least I might get a feel for just how ruthless Dexter is and maybe find out other sleazy stuff he’s done and then take it to Ross.” I placed my hands on Boone’s chest, his amazing heart that loved me beating strong and steady. “About the wedding dress. Her name is Sabrina and she’s very pretty.”

  A cute grin tipped the corner of Boone’s mouth. I was getting to know this grin as the fun grin, the one he saved just for me. “You named your wedding dress?”

  “Special things deserve a name.” I patted Old Yeller hanging off my arm. “So, what brings you and BW to the Pines?”

  “I have business with Anna and Bella. I’ve been their husbands’ attorney for years. Everyone at the Pines loves BW, so I brought him along. Our pup is turning into a bit of an attention whore.”

  “I know better than to ask about the business, but I’m guessing it has something to do with a flashy red Mustang I saw them with, and don’t let BW’s fan club feed him a bunch of treats. We don’t need him waddling down the aisle. You’ll probably run into Auntie Kiki and Mamma; she’s moving in for a few days, and when you see KiKi you’ll know why. Can you tell them I’m walking home?”

  Boone tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Be careful, sweet stuff. I don’t think Hollis is dangerous in that he’d hit you over the head with a club, but if you ask questions, it’s bound to get back to Dexter and he could be a killer. That man’s all about money and nothing and no one is standing in his way, including you.” Boone held up the leash. “Wanna take BW for protection?”

  “Hollis isn’t much of a dog person, and since I’m going for information I don’t want to ruffle feathers. I’ll need to be discreet.”

  Boone laughed.

  “I can always play the I’m-thinking-about-selling-Cherry-House card. Hollis has wanted to list my house—our house—forever.”

  Hollis’s real estate office was over on East Wayne, and I hadn’t visited the place in years. As always, it had great curb appeal, with pink and white petunias overflowing the window boxes, a trimmed walkway, and perfect grass where no weed would dare to grow. When Hollis and I had first been married, I’d helped him out at the office. Even had my own desk—but then so had Janelle. I got a computer on my desk; Janelle got Hollis.

  “You’re not the last person I expected to see in here today but pretty darn close,” Hollis said as I came in the door. “What do you want now?”

  Hollis, the ever-charming man-about-town. “No receptionist today?”

  “Out to lunch.” Hollis gave me a curious look. “You’re finally selling Cherry House and came to list it? ’Bout time you got rid of that piece of crap.”

  I wouldn’t list Cherry House with you if you were the last realtor on earth was not the way to get info, so I went with, “I met your fiancée and thought I’d stop by to say congrats.”

  “She said you were a first-rate pain in the rump with no taste, but then what else is new?”

  “And…” Having been married to Hollis, I knew his one soft spot besides his gut. Flattery! “I hear business is booming and you’re a real … up-and-comer.” I forced a congenial smile. “Word has it you’re going to be named Mr. Realtor this year. Way to go.”

  Hollis sat up straighter. “I’m doing okay.” He leaned a little closer as I took a chair on the other side of his desk. “Did you really hear the Mr. Realtor thing or are you just yanking my chain?”

 
“Hey, you’ve had some great sales lately, everyone’s talking, and with clients like Dexter Thomas you’re a shoe-in. I hear he’s a wheeler-dealer first-class and will do anything to drive down the price … anything.”

  “You really are thinking of selling Cherry House?”

  Time to reel in the fish. “Is he interested in buying it?”

  “If the price is right. You do realize that Cherry House needs a lot of work done to it, and that has to be reflected in the price.”

  “I heard Dexter has his eye on buying Sleepy Pines. With all the bad publicity lately, he could get that for a song as well. He’s racking up some nice properties around town and, with you as his realtor, it’s a feather in your cap.”

  Hollis preened. “We met at the Pines. He’s dating Mr. Jim’s daughter, and I visit Uncle Foley from time to time. Dexter Thomas has got his eye on a lot of properties and he likes that I know the area. Last week we were in the Beaufort/St. George area driving around, looking at sites for a retirement village, a whole community. Some farms are going bust and he can swoop in and get them for cheap. The man has deep pockets.”

  As long as they’re someone else’s pockets … but … but … This time I sat up straight. “Last week you and Dexter were gone? As in, you both got back seven days ago?”

  “Four days ago. We got back on Tuesday, and why do you care?”

  “Dexter was with you the whole time?”

  “It was business, good business. The man can drink like a fish, especially on my dime, and you’re looking weird. Are you having an aneurysm or something? Well, do it outside so you don’t mess up the office, I don’t want the paramedics in here shoving things around, and I just had this carpet cleaned.”

  I jumped up and headed for the door. “I wish you and Lula Bell every happiness, and I mean that. Thanks for the help.”

  “Her name’s Lou Ella.”