by Duffy Brown
We cut through the Olde Harbor Inn to get from the street side to the water side. The hallways were done in a ship motif with whitewashed planking, vintage brass lanterns. and pictures of square-riggers that once docked right outside. The man at the reception desk nodded to Joey as we exited onto River Street, a big cargo tanker chugging down the Savannah toward open sea.
Throngs of tourists clogged the sidewalks, wandering in and out of shops, restaurants, and bars. Some ate pralines from Savannah Sweets, others ice cream from Leopold’s. A horse and carriage clip-clopped by and the paddle wheel of the Savannah River Queen turned, splashing water skyward, droplets sparkling in the sun. Smiling vacationers lined the railings, waving to those onshore, the boat giving out one long horn blast to signal departure.
“There’s our man,” I said, pointing to Russell at the dock. “Guess he really does like water.”
“Boone,” Russell sneered when he spotted me. “Change your position on the Tybee Island thea—” Russell stopped dead and swallowed the rest of the word when Big Joey pulled up next to me. Big Joey had that kind of effect of people.
“Hear you want the Olde Harbor,” I said, nodding to the inn behind me.
“Crossed my mind.” Russell’s voice was even but a flicker in his eyes said he wasn’t used to dealing with the Big Joey’s of this world. “It has a special charm,” Russell added.
“You don’t strike me as a charming kind of guy.”
“Some people like the stock market, I like real estate. Savannah’s a nice city, not too big, not too small, good tourist traffic, thriving businesses, corporations, close to Hilton Head. And it’s on the water.”
“Conway Adkins wouldn’t sell,” I said. “Mighty convenient for you that he’s no longer around.”
“I’d be real careful who I crossed, Boone,” Russell said, a threatening edge to his voice, one eye still on Big Joey.
“I know you can’t tell but I’m shaking in my boots.”
Russell checked his watch. “I have a meeting. Think hard about that theater. Like I said, I’m a man who gets what he wants.”
“Life is full of little surprises.”
Russell gave me a cold stare. “You should know.” He stepped around Big Joey then headed down River Street.
“There be trouble.” Big Joey said as Russell strolled off. “I’ll do some asking, see what pops in Charleston.”
“I’ll look around here.” Why did Russell want specific places like the inn and the theater?”
“Something’s up. Keep it real.” Big Joey gave me a nod then headed off, and I went inside the Olde Harbor. I took the hall past the main sitting area, the blue-and-gray couches and chairs filling with guests. Decanters of brandy and wine circulated, pots of tea and coffee sat on the sideboard, baskets of cakes and cookies and trays of cheese and crackers occupied the top of the small grand piano in the corner, a waiter playing “Moon River.” It was teatime or martini time, depending on your point of view. It was the pause before dinner to relax, meet friends, and talk about the day. It was another Savannah way of doing things.
I had no idea why Russell wanted the inn so I climbed the stairs to the third-floor suites to get another take on the surroundings. At the end of the empty hall, double doors stood open onto a small deserted balcony, letting in the sea breeze. Stepping out I watched the street crowds milling below and the river in front.
The inn was a perfect location, walking distance to everything in the historic district. It was the biggest inn on River Street except for the Hyatt down at the other end. That was a chain hotel, new, not the same as owning a pristine 1800-something inn with tea/martini time.
The view took in the bend in the river, Hutchinson Island, and Talmadge Memorial Bridge, but the inn didn’t back up to the most scenic part of River Street. Down by Tubby’s Tank House, home of the best fried oysters east of the Mississippi, the riverfront was street vendors and shaded park. Up this way were the docks. Not exactly a plus for the inn but Russell did mention the water. What was with that?
I leaned out to get a better look. What was I missing, it was right in front of— I was pushed hard from behind, knocking the wind right out of me as I flipped over the railing. Arms flailing, I grabbed the wrought iron, my fingers still slippery from lunch. I gulped in a lungful of air, tried not to panic, then swung my leg up, hooking it around then collapsing onto the balcony in a heap. Not my most graceful move but better than a splat on the sidewalk.
I’d seen a flash of blue and gray just before I went over. A maid’s uniform? Someone dressed like a maid? Someone paid one of the maids to push me off? There were days I got the bear, other times the bear had me for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and midnight snack. At this rate Tuesdays were getting worse than Mondays.
I made my way back to the office and closed up around eight. Since I’d consumed a week’s worth of fat and carbs for lunch, I grabbed a protein bar for supper from the stock Dinky kept on hand. I lit the blue lamp with yellow flowers and birds that I kept in the front window to give the place a lived-in look. Sore from my encounter with the SUV and the railing, I took the steps to the street a little slower than usual then headed for Steffy Lou’s house a few blocks away.
It wasn’t far and finding a place to park would take longer than the walk. Shops were dark and locked, rush hour traffic over, the restaurant crowd claiming the streets, sweet jazz drifting out onto the sidewalk. The sun sank below the church steeples and live oaks, streetlights blinking on across Price Street as Mercedes pulled to the curb in her pink Caddy convertible.
“Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t Walker Boone doing the same, Lord be praised for that. Nice to see you’re still kicking and not a slick spot under a car tire.”
Mercedes had on a big flowery hat that matched her ride, a long green scarf draped around her neck, and gold hoop earrings that caught the lamplight overhead.
“You look lovely tonight.”
“Honey, I always look lovely.” She gave me a sassy grin and a wink.
I took shotgun and Mercedes added, “Hear tell you socialized with Anna and Bella and outran a car and lived to tell the tales.”
“I just met with the octogenarian boys and it took me an hour to convince them that I was not now or would I ever be interested in their wives. Then I sort of suggested they add a codicil to their wills where their wives got inheritance in proportion to the number of years married.”
Mercedes stopped for a light, her eyes huge. “Sweet Jesus in heaven, you did what?”
“Hey, the boys said Conway Adkins told them the same thing.” I couldn’t believe I was quoting Conway. “It’s sound advice.”
“And look what up and happened to Mr. C. Maybe we can put that sound advice piece of malarkey on his gravestone, I’m sure that will make him feel better. In case you missed the memo, the Gold Diggers do not play nice. If they made a pass at you earlier and you didn’t pass back they could be the ones who ran you down and if they catch wind of your advice to their husbands you are in a world of hurt, boy. You best keep an eye out for those two.”
“I’ll add them to my list.”
“You got a list?” Mercedes’s eyes got bigger still. “What in the world have you been up to?”
“Been asking myself that very question all day. Mason Dixon over at the Plantation Club hates my guts and some guy from Charleston wants to buy the Tybee Island theater and Steffy Lou Adkins and I are in his way.” I nodded to the curb in front of Steffy Lou’s house. “You can drop me here, I need to tell her what’s going on.”
“Like the poor girl doesn’t have enough on her plate as it is. When it rains it pours.” Mercedes took my hand. “This is my fault, Walker Boone, and I’m right sorry, I truly am. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved. I went and left a slice of my peach-and-blueberry pie on your kitchen table. I know how you fancy it and might make up just a tad for all this her
e mess.”
I shook my head. “This has to do with Conway not you.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I don’t either but every time I turn around it’s got something to do with Conway Adkins.”
Mercedes drove off and I checked the windows of Hampton Lillibridge House for ghosts hanging around as they usually were in this place. Not that I minded them being there—heck, they were in this city long before I showed up. I just felt better knowing if they were on the prowl.
I raised the brass pineapple door knocker and let it fall; a tired looking maid in a wilted uniform answered. “I hate to bother you,” I said, and really meant it. “But I need to see Mrs. Adkins for just a minute if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Well, now, she’s in the library at the end of the hall. Lordy, this sure has been some day.”
The house was Savannah perfect with cherry tables, brass candlesticks, oil paintings, antiques of the museum variety, and matching everything. I thought of my house on Madison Square. It was a great house, the kind you dream about when you don’t have two dimes to rub together. It deserved better than one leather couch, a dining room table left by the previous owners because it cost more to move than it was worth, and the kitchen table that Big Joey gave to me when he upgraded. But hey, I had a bed from Ikea, a desk to work from home, and a TV on a bar stool to watch the games.
“Walker, I’m so glad to see you.” Steffy Lou managed a weak smile. “All the guests have gone, thank the Lord, and Tucker’s out getting plastered, least I hope so. He’s in a foul mood if ever there was one. I’m having tea. Can I pour you some?”
I took one of the club chairs by the hearth and Steffy Lou handed me a cup of Earl Grey. “There’s a man,” I said to Steffy Lou. “Grayden Russell from Charleston, and he wants to buy Tybee Island theater outright.”
Steffy Lou sloshed her tea, her face pale. “Well, he can’t have it now, can he? I have plans. It’s my theater, our theater.”
“He thinks if he gets rid of me the others on the committee will understand the message and you all will give up the fight to save the theater and it’ll be sold.”
“Over my dead body.”
“And that’s what we have to avoid.”
Steffy Lou looked at me for a long moment, stood, her eyes cold and focused. “I do believe this here Russell person has no idea who he’s dealing with.” She stomped her foot, her fists clenching at her sides. “This is Savannah, we do not threaten easily. My great-great-granddaddy Colonel Francis Stebbins Bartow commanded the Oglethorpe Light Infantry and helped preserve this fine city and I look just like him, minus the facial hair. Charleston might be bigger but we are most definitely better, just ask anyone who lives here. That scallywag has got to go, Walker. Of all the nerve.”
“You have to be careful, okay? He could come after you. You’re the one heading up the theater project and he knows it. He’s even joining the Plantation Club to get friendly.”
“And he thinks that’s going to work? I do not socialize with skunks.”
“Keep Tucker with you when you go out or call me.” Not that my present track record of an accident-free existence was all that great. “This guy’s not playing around and he’s probably not acting alone.”
Steffy Lou sat down, little worry lines at her eyes. “The whole world’s crazy as a room full of waltzing pigs. Conway’s gone, someone’s out to get our theater. Do you think the two are connected?” She sat up a little straighter. “Do you think Mr. Russell had something to do with killing Conway? Seems mighty strange that this is all happening at one time.”
“Russell’s got his eye on the Olde Harbor Inn, and Conway wouldn’t sell and we both know Tucker will. Conway gone works to Russell’s benefit. He’s definitely up to no good.”
“Well, well, well,” Tucker Adkins slurred from the doorway. “Look what the cat dragged in. Now if we just had ourselves a cat.”
Tucker was short, tan, with bleached hair from sailing and a beautician’s expertise. He had Conway’s blue eyes and, from what I heard, his personality. I only knew him by sight; our paths never crossed. That we didn’t travel in the same social circles was the understatement of the year.
I got up. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said to Tucker, then turned to Steffy Lou. “If you have any problems, any at all, call me.”
“Problems? Oh that is rich to be sure.” Tucker went to the bar and took out a bottle of Double Oaked. He poured himself a stiff drink, neat. “Walker Boone is the answer to everyone’s problem, just ask Conway. Oh wait, Conway’s dead as a mackerel so we can’t ask him, but we already know the answer, don’t we? Walker Boone knows how to fix everything. He’s the best. No one else can measure up; I know I never did.”
Tucker held up his glass to me. “Got a problem? Walker Boone can fix it. He’s Savannah’s wonder boy.”
“I should go.”
Tucker blocked my path. “And leave the family at this dire time? Now why do a thing like that?”
“For heaven’s sake, Tucker,” Steffy Lou said, going over to him. “Have you lost your ever-lovin’ mind? Let Walker here leave. He wants to go home and you need to go to bed.”
“I just came to tell Steffy Lou about some trouble at the theater that couldn’t wait. I’m sorry to have intruded on your time.”
Tucker didn’t budge, his bloodshot eyes like little road maps imbedded in his pudgy face. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
“I get that you’re hammered.”
“I think you’re putting on an act. That’s got to be it. How can I know and not you?”
“Know what, Tucker?” I was tired and fed up with Tucker the Sloshed. “That the earth is round? Stars are in the sky?” You’re a jackass?
“How can you be so stupid?”
“I work at it, especially today.” I shoved past Tucker. He took a swing at me, missed, and stumbled against the wall.
“Tucker!” Steffy Lou helped him up. “What is wrong with you?”
“Him!” Tucker jabbed his finger at me as he staggered to his feet. “For years now it’s been him. I never kept pace, was never as good. Walker’s a self-made man, Walker can handle himself, Walker gets respect, Walker can leap tall buildings in a single bound.”
“We don’t even know each other, Tucker.” I opened the door.
“Oh but we do. Brothers always know.”
“Trust me, you are not Seventeenth Street material.”
“Look at me.” Tucker grabbed the back of my shirt, yanking me around, his hot whiskey breath on my face, his eyes hating me. “Conway’s your father.”
“Yeah, this is what happens when you drink and watch Star Wars and start identifying with Darth Vader. You’re wasted and don’t know what you’re saying. Conway Adkins is not my father. Conway is your father. You lived in the big house, you went to private schools, you had clothes, a bed, you had food, you’re the one with parents, and you didn’t watch your grandmother die in some roach-infested room at fifteen and not know what to do.”
Shaking I grabbed the front of his shirt. “Go sleep it off, Tucker Adkins, and stay the hell out of my life.”
Chapter Seven
I got the bucket, sponges, and soap out of the trunk. I turned on the hose and pulled it around the corner of the house to the street. I dipped the sponge and swiped suds across the red hood of the Chevy, the porch light not really enough to see what I was doing, not that it mattered. I’d washed this car in front of my house every three days like a religion for as long as I’d had it. I knew every strip of chrome, every curve. I’d only washed it two days ago but I needed something I knew was real, something I knew was mine.
I swiped again, watching the white suds skate across the shiny red, another swipe of suds now from Big Joey on the other side. I handed him the hose, then he passed it back, the suds dripping into the street. We kept it up,
washing and hosing in perfect unison like we’d done for everything all these years.
We packed up the gear then sat on the steps. I got out my wallet fished around in the back and pulled out a mangled, half smoked cigarette, and lit up. “Did you know?” I asked Big Joey as I handed him the remains of a bad habit we both worked so hard to break.
“Suspected. The man went out of his way to mess with you. Had to be a reason. You both drink doubled oaked and have a thing for peach-and-blueberry pie.” Big Joey took a drag off the cigarette and handed it back. “And there’d been talk for years how Conway got it on with your mamma then married Lady Got-Rocks. He paid your mamma off—”
“And she left me with Grandma Hilly and took off for Vegas never to be seen again. Do I know how to pick parents or what?”
“You gonna make it?” Big Joey asked in a low, even voice.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Got this far, didn’t we.” I handed Joey back the cigarette as Reagan pulled up next to the Chevy on a pink moped—least I thought it was Reagan. I wasn’t sure till she pulled off her helmet and shook out her blonde hair, and that was definitely the best thing to happen to me all day.
She snagged the cigarette out of my fingers, took a puff, coughed enough to bring up a lung, her face red, eyes watering, bent over at the waist.
“What are you doing?” I stood up and pounded her on the back, hoping she’d survive, the last of the cigarette now in the street with the suds. Well, dang.
“You and Big Joey were having a moment and I felt left out,” she wheezed. “I hate feeling left out.” She swiped at her eyes. “I always wanted to be part of your gang.”
And just when I was sure nothing would ever be normal again, it rode in on a pink scooter. Joey laughed, tears rolling down his cheeks as I said, “It’s never going to happen, Blondie.”
“Don’t call me Blondie.” She looked at me, her blue eyes dead serious. “Are you okay?