Whiskey and Gunpowder

by Liliana Hart

  “What kind of tape?” she asked. “Duct tape? That stuff holds everything together. You can put a boat back together with it after you saw it in half.”

  “Why would you saw a boat in half?” Rosemarie asked.

  “Why do you want cleavage?” I asked, and then decided I didn’t really want to know the answer. “Don’t use duct tape on your breasts.” As thin as her skin was it would take everything off.

  Scarlet wasn’t done asking questions. “How do you walk in those shoes? Can you show me how to get my hair to do that? I just got these extensions, but they’re a pain in the behind. Feels like I got little cockroaches clicking around on my scalp, and sometimes I’m just doing nothing and my head falls back because they’re so heavy.”

  “Honey, that’s why I always go with a wig,” Suzanne said. “I can have different hair every day, and it’s always beautiful.”

  “Oh,” Scarlet said. “That’s an even better idea. How do you keep it on your head? Say you get in a fight and someone snatches it. I get in the occasional fight from time to time.”

  “I hear ya, sister,” Suzanne said. “Ain’t nothing gonna stop a ho from tearing a wig off your head. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Scarlet said. “Why do hos always go for the hair first?”

  Scarlet, Rosemarie, and I were seated at a little round table in a nook, and Suzanne put five small plates in front of each of us and a glass of ice water.

  “The water is to cleanse your palate between bites,” she said.

  My stomach growled audibly.

  “You guys really lucked out that I had a cancellation,” she said. “I was real upset about it too because I had to make the molds by hand for the groom’s cake. I’m an artist inside and outside the kitchen. But people don’t appreciate that. They think I just whip some batter together and make a cake. I’ve been working on these cake designs for three months.”

  “Wow,” I said. “At this point we’re happy to take whatever you can give us.”

  “Good,” she said. “Because I don’t have time for anything else. I’ve got two weddings and a baby shower Friday night. Y’all go ahead with the tasting and I’ll go back and get the design boards. I can do any flavor you want except the tres leches. It’s too soft for the design.”

  I barely waited for Suzanne to turn her back before I started shoving cake in my mouth. “Ohmigod,” I mumbled. It melted on the tongue. Chocolate, lemon, hummingbird, vanilla, strawberry…every one of them as good as the one before.

  “You think she’d come work on my cruise ship?” Scarlet asked. “People of the sea need this kind of cake.”

  “Everyone needs this kind of cake,” Rosemarie said. She’d forgone the fork and was down to licking the plate.

  Suzanne came back in with two tri-fold boards, and she looked down at all our empty plates.

  “Damn,” she said. “Did you actually taste any of it?”

  “You make very good cakes,” I said, and then hiccuped. “I want them all.”

  “We could do that,” she said, and then opened the tri-fold board to show the bride’s cake. It was five tiers, each cake separated by short columns, and then there were two additional tiers on each side, and an honest to goodness waterfall that was coming out of one of the side tiers.

  “Holy moly,” I said.

  “From what I understand, you’re having a large wedding, and this will be enough to feed everyone. The original owner of this cake was going to do vanilla for all the tiers, but if you want I can do a different flavor for each one, and I’ll make you and your man miniature ones in your favorite flavors so you can take them with you as a snack. The bride and groom never get to eat.”

  “Yes,” I said, more excited about that than I probably should have been. I didn’t care if anyone came to the wedding. All I cared about was that cake. “Please marry us and live with us and make cakes forever.”

  Suzanne threw her head back and laughed, deep and throaty. “You’d be surprised how many offers I get like that, but Suzanne is just too damned expensive. I’m single and I like to mingle, and I’m very picky about my dingles, if you get my drift.”

  “I hear ya, girl,” Scarlet said. “We were just talking about penises on the way over here. I’m going to ask God why he made them when I get to heaven. It just seems like there could’ve been a better design. They’re ugly and they get in the way.”

  “I know mine does,” Suzanne said, and Scarlet’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

  Rosemarie clapped her hand over Scarlet’s mouth before she could ask any more questions and I lost out on a chance for great cake.

  “What about the groom’s cake?” I asked.

  “Whew,” she said. “This one’s been a challenge, but as an artist I’m always looking for ways to learn and grow my talent. What does your husband do for a living?”

  “He’s a cop,” I said.

  Suzanne pursed her lips and her penciled eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. “I dated a cop once. Kinky bastard. They all are. I suppose you’re aware of the divorce rate for cops.”

  “I’m aware,” I said.

  “Is your husband a hunter, by chance?” she asked. “Other than a hunter of people, I mean.”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” I said.

  “Hmm,” Suzanne said, and then opened the tri-fold board to show the groom’s cake.

  “Holy mother…” Scarlet whispered.

  Rosemarie crossed herself.

  My brain hadn’t yet caught up to what my eyes were seeing. I was almost positive it was a bison head, just like a hunter would stick on his wall.

  “I’ve really perfected my technique,” Suzanne said. “I can make the hair look real. You won’t be able to tell the difference between the cake and the real thing by the time I’m through.”

  “That’s what we’re afraid of,” Scarlet said.

  “You think Nick will notice?” Rosemarie asked.

  “Maybe he’ll be so tired from the case that he won’t remember,” I said. “But just in case, let’s make sure he doesn’t see it until after we’re married.”

  “Don’t worry,” Suzanne said. “People are going to love it. There are a lot of hunters in this area. And if you pick red velvet for the cake it’ll look even more authentic when you cut into it.”

  I thought of Nick’s family. “Uh huh,” I said.

  “This is going to go real good with Nina’s overalls,” Scarlet said, her grin a little bit evil. “I might just show up to this wedding after all. It’s going to be a train wreck.”

  Chapter Ten

  We left the cake shop just under an hour after we’d arrived, and Rosemarie had one more thing to check off in her growing binder.

  When we made it back to the alley, I was surprised and relieved to see the van was just where I’d left it. The only difference was that Nick was leaning up against it.

  “I drove by and saw a couple of patrolmen looking it over,” he said. “Said they got calls about a bad odor.”

  “You don’t want to know,” I said, leaning in to kiss him. “We have cakes. How do you feel about bison?”

  He cocked his head to the side, looking at me curiously. “I don’t hate them.”

  “Good,” I said. “Let’s just stick with that.”

  He kissed me again. “Your lips taste really good.” And then he kissed me once more, licking at my bottom lip a bit.

  “It’s the cake. I tried to get her to marry us so she’d make us cakes every day, but she’s single and she likes to mingle.”

  “It’s a shame,” he said. “I’ve always fantasized about having two women, especially one who bakes cakes.”

  “Then the fact she has a penis would probably throw you off your game,” I told him.

  He jerked back at that, the fantasy clearly ruined.

  “Suzanne is a dude, but she makes the best cakes you will ever put in your mouth.”

  He kissed me again, and little harder and l
onger this time, and I melted into him.

  “I’d have to agree with that,” he said, coming up for air, out of breath. “I really miss you.”

  “I miss you, too. What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve got another meeting with the mayor. I might get fired.”

  “That usually means you’re doing something right,” I said. “Give him hell. I’ve got to get back to work. I’ve still got cases to wrap up before we can leave on the honeymoon. I want to make sure I’ve got nothing on my mind for the next two weeks but being naked and warm.”

  “Something we both agree on,” he said. “Stay safe. I’ll call when I can.”

  He kissed me one more time and walked out of the alley, and I turned to see Scarlet and Rosemarie.

  “Glad to see you’re all toasty warm,” Scarlet said. “I’m freezing my bippy off. Open the damned doors.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered, but couldn’t help my grin. Nick sure knew how to kiss.

  “All that cake made me hungry,” Rosemarie said once we got in and I started the car. “Maybe we should drive through somewhere.”

  “I could eat,” I said, and we found the nearest Chick-fi-let, mostly because it was the only drive-thru where I could fit the van under the clearance sign.

  I placed our order and we were in and out with the kind of efficiency that only Chick-fi-let was capable of, and I pulled into a non-metered parking space next to one of the cemeteries so we could eat.

  Now that wedding stuff had been taken care of, I needed to get my head back in the game for work. Most specifically, for Pastor Charles. Something had been bothering me ever since I’d called that number on the reference sheet that morning.

  I looked in the rearview mirror and Scarlet and Rosemarie had pulled the little table down between the two seats so they could eat. They were engrossed in conversation, so I took advantage of the moment and put my earbuds in so I could make the call to the church.

  It rang several times before a woman’s voice answered. “Silver Springs United Methodist Church,” she said. “How can I help you?”

  “May I speak to Tilda Sweeney, please?” I asked.

  “This is Tilda.”

  “My name is Addison Holmes, and I’m calling from Whiskey Bayou, Georgia about Pastor Charles Whidbey.”

  “Oh, of course,” she said. “We heard the news. We miss Pastor Whidbey so much. He was such a kind man.”

  “I’m actually a private investigator working on a case. I was hoping you might be able to help me with my investigation. Do you remember if there were any congregation members who had issues with the pastor, or if there was ever any trouble from non-congregation members? Maybe even some women?”

  “That makes sense,” she said, and then she blew out an audible breath. “Everyone loved the pastor. And I can’t think of a single problem we ever had, or a congregation member who got out of hand. Sure, there were women from time to time who’d want to meet with him privately or they’d stop by his home with home-cooked meals. But he’d never engage. He was young and handsome, after all. He was very firm about always leaving the door open and making sure everything was above board. He was a kind and gentle soul.”

  “If anything comes to mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call. The pastor’s life could be in danger.”

  She was silent for several seconds. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?” she snapped. “It’s not funny.”

  “No,” I said, thoroughly confused. “Pastor Charles has been having problems with a stalker recently, and has received threats. I’m just following up to see if something from his past maybe followed him here.”

  “I don’t know who you think you are, young lady, but Pastor Charles’s body was found last fall. He was a good man who doesn’t deserve whatever sick joke you’re playing.”

  “Wait…” I said, but she’d hung up. I stared at the phone and then dragged out my laptop. “That certainly adds a twist to things.”

  I did a search for death certificates in the database, and sure enough, there was one for Charles Robert Whidbey, dated October second of last year. I read through all the personal information. The DOB and place of birth matched what was in Pastor Charles’s personnel file.

  “Caucasian,” I said. “Six-foot-one and a hundred and sixty pounds. Green eyes and brown hair. No physical markings or characteristics on the body. Mother’s maiden name was O’ Sullivan. That’s very Irish.”

  “Who you talking to, girl?” Aunt Scarlet asked from the back seat.

  “Myself,” I answered back and shoved another fry in my mouth.

  “Crazy as a June bug,” I heard Scarlet say, but I ignored her.

  Nothing was adding up. The real Charles Whidbey was a tall, thin, Irishman. The Charles Whidbey that was sitting in his office at the church in Whiskey Bayou was short, stocky and swarthy.

  Then I scanned the bottom of the page that listed cause of death. Blunt force trauma to the head, multiple broken ribs and other bones. He was beaten to death.

  I called Savage and waited while the phone rang, but it went to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me,” I said. “Can you get me the coroner’s report for the death of Charles Whidbey? I’m looking at his death certificate as we speak, and it looks like my client isn’t exactly who he claims to be. No hurry. I’ll be in the field for a little while.”

  I hung up and then called Beverly at the church, not having a clue what I was going to say.

  “First United Methodist Church of Whiskey Bayou,” she said cheerfully.

  “Man, you guys need to get a shorter greeting,” I said. “That’s a mouthful.”

  “Tell me about it,” she said. “Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I just say hello. Who is this?”

  “Oh, sorry. It’s Addison Holmes. Is Pastor Charles in? He’s not answering his cell and I need to follow up on a couple of things.”

  “I haven’t seen him today,” she said. “His car is parked at the rectory, but he’s not been to his office today. I went to check on him a little while ago to see if everything was okay because he missed a couple of appointments this morning. Sometimes he likes to go on long prayer walks and he’ll lose track of the time.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Would you just have him give me a call whenever he gets back?”

  “Sure thing,” she said.

  “No unusual activity this morning?”

  “Nope, same as usual. Everyone’s real excited about the street party at your wedding. Where did you register? I’ve had several people ask.”

  “Oh,” I said, going blank. I’d completely forgotten about registering. And it’s not like we needed stuff anyway. We had a house and all the stuff that went in it. “Just tell everyone to make a donation to the church instead in lieu of gifts.”

  “Wow,” she said. “That’s very nice of you.”

  I mmhmmmed and said goodbye as quickly as I could. I didn’t tell her they were probably going to need all the help they could get after it was discovered Pastor Charles was an imposter and he might have killed a man to take over his identity. Whatever the outcome, it was going to be a scandal for the church.

  After we were finished eating I pulled out my file for Zoe Willis.

  “I don’t know about you guys,” Scarlet said. “But I could use a nap. They must put that turkey tryptophan in their chicken. I have a little of that stuff and I’m out like a light. I can barely make it through the meal before falling asleep in my gravy.”

  “Or it could be that you ate five pieces of cake, a chocolate shake, chicken nuggets and a large fries,” Rosemarie said. “Anyone would want a nap after that.”

  “That’s why I always wear stretchy pants,” she said. “Goes back to my days as a spy. You never know when you’re going to have to scale the side of a building or make room for a little extra dessert. They’re all-purpose pants.”

  “I don’t wear anything else,” Rosemarie said. “Nobody ain’t got time for buttons anymore. It’s a health hazard if you ask me. I sa
t down once and had a button pop right off. My pop had to wear an eyepatch for the rest of his life.”

  “Y’all put yourself together,” I said. “We’re about to go shopping.”

  “What for?” Scarlet asked. “I didn’t bring my shopping shoes. I’ve got to dress for comfort when I go shopping. I can’t be wearing my fancy duds. They make my feet hurt.”

  I looked down at her sensible white sneakers and wondered what her shopping shoes looked like.

  “This is a different kind of shopping,” I said. “We’re shopping for a criminal.”

  “I’m good at shopping for those,” Scarlet said. “Who are we killing today?”

  I pinched my lips together and shook my head. “No one,” I said. “It’s not our job to kill.”

  “Ridiculous,” Scarlet said. “Some people need killing. You can’t deny that.”

  “Maybe so, but today we’re just trying to catch a thief. Zoe Willis is the daughter of Gerard Willis.”

  “The actor?” Rosemarie asked.

  “That’s the one,” I said.

  “He’s so hot. I wouldn’t kick him out of my bed.”

  “Which one is he?” Scarlet asked.

  “Looks great in a tuxedo,” I said. “Doesn’t shy away from the nude scenes. Little dimple in his chin.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Scarlet said. “I’ve seen him. He’s not bad. They don’t make ‘em like they did in my day though. Where are the Clark Gables and Errol Flynns? No one knows how to romance anymore. Too much women’s lib crap. All the men are too scared to give them flowers because of sexual harassment. I tell you, in my day if a man sent you flowers or romanced you in the moonlight you might as well leave your underpants at home.”

  “I thought women waited for marriage to have sex in your day,” Rosemarie said.

  “Pfft,” Scarlet said. “That’s an old wives’ tale. We were just a lot faster picking husbands back then. Try ‘em on for size and then make a decision. Bam. All done. Plus, we didn’t have birth control so it was kind of a crapshoot. Sometimes you had to take what you could get or convince the other guy it was his baby.”