by Brown, Duffy
“Oh sweet mother, if he sees me dressed like this, I’ll be in one of those ankle contraptions like they put on that guy in White Collar so they know where he is all the time. Now there’s some mighty fine eye candy if you ask me. Where did they find him is what I’d like to know. Hubba-hubba.”
“Hubba-hubba?”
“Hormone replacement therapy. I think it’s kicking in right nice.”
The viewing started at seven, and a line spilled out onto the lit porch and down around the manicured boxwoods. “This is never going to work,” KiKi said, pulling lacy hankies from her black purse big enough to stash cookies since I sort of promised BW. “We need to get inside and set up by the casket now and not miss anything. The casket is where the good talk is. People see a dead body stretched out proper and feel the need to spill their guts. It’s sort of like cramming for finals; they confess everything for when their time in the big box comes along.”
“I thought gossip central for this event would be the cookie table.”
“That’s where everyone talks about everybody else who shows up and how they’ve gained weight or lost hair and who’s sleeping with who.”
“How do you know this? Is it another one of those AARP things?”
“I taught Elmer Merryweather to cha-cha last month. He owns that Peaceful Endings place over there in Garden City. He always smelled like flowers and mints when he came in, and he gave me the funeral home 411.” KiKi handed me a handkerchief. “Here’s what you do. You act like you’re crying your heart out, make a bunch of blubbering sounds, keep your head down, and follow me. I got this covered.”
KiKi buried her face in her hankie and let loose with something that sounded like a cat with his tail caught in a door, sending chills clear up my spine. People parted like Moses and the Red Sea, probably scared half to death of what was headed their way. We scurried around the line, went right in the doorway and past the black-suit-and-black-tie-clad owners of this fine establishment.
We weaved between baskets and vases of lilies and carnations saturating the place with the fragrance of the dearly departed and steered clear of the Abbott sisters by the picture display of Scumbucket in all his trumped-up earthly glory. From time to time the sisters burst into tears, half the room following suit.
KiKi pulled up beside a stand supporting a wreath of yellow roses adorned with May he rest in peace from Jill and Bob Decker. I had no idea who Jill and Bob were, but they dropped a pretty penny on flowers.
“This will do just fine,” KiKi whispered as we staked out a spot next to a display of ferns, our backs to the casket as if we were in our own little state of sorrowfulness. Money-Honey and Valentine, both draped in black, greeted the mourners.
“I do declare, did you happen to catch a glimpse of Honey?” KiKi whispered again. “She looks a fright, big old raccoon eyes from smeared mascara and a red blotchy nose. Never figured her for the grieving-widow type, but she sure seems distraught over the ordeal.”
The line wound past the casket, everyone offering condolences and saying how Seymour was such a fine man and would have made a simply wonderful alderman and my oh my doesn’t he look peaceful.
“There’s nothing here,” KiKi muttered into her hankie a half hour later. “I’ll go check out the cookie table and see what’s going on there.”
“You just want a cookie.”
“They have those ones shaped like maple leaves. I love maple leaf cookies. If I don’t go now, they’ll be gone for sure, and since you pooh-poohed the ribs, I need a cookie to keep my energy levels up.”
I told KiKi to get one for BW, and she wandered off into the crowd. I took up roost behind a palm at the head of the casket. I didn’t want to look like a little old lonely lady and have someone be tempted to do the Southern hospitable thing and come chat. I had my flowered hat pulled low and the wig close to my face, but one good look at me and it wouldn’t take Sherlock to figure out I wasn’t a little old lady. Or even worse, what if they didn’t figure it out?
Scumbucket did look good, mostly because his mouth was shut, his eyes were closed, and he was not moving a muscle. He had on a blue suit with a campaign button stuck on the lapel, and there was something pink tucked under his left shoulder. It wasn’t obvious from a front view. What the heck was it?
I shuffled my way to get a better angle and bumped into a middle-aged woman with wild gray hair and crazy eyes. She folded her arms and glared down at Scummy. “I’m glad he’s gone, and I don’t mind saying so. And that Judge Summerside is going to fry for doing the deed is the icing on the cake. The universe finally aligned itself, and all is well. These two finally got what they deserved.”
I was with her all the way up until the fry-Mamma part. I watched the crazy-eyed woman exit through the side door, and when I looked back, Honey was hurrying off in the direction of the ladies’ room. As much as Money-Honey wasn’t my favorite person, burying her husband had her truly distraught. KiKi was right. Honey looked plum terrible and then some.
With Honey out of the picture Valley continued greeting the mourners with four basic phrases he used on a rotating basis. He sounded sincere enough, but you’d think he’d be a little more genuine over losing a friend. He and Scummy were in a campaign together; they had to have a basic camaraderie, right?
KiKi hustled up to my side all out of breath, her cheeks flush with gossip. “You’re not going to believe this. Marigold and Butler are in the side yard doing battle royal and drawing a bigger crowd than Seymour is in here. And . . .” KiKi wiggled closer still. “When I was in the little girl’s room trying to re-pin things back up where they belonged, Money-Honey came in. She must have thought she was all alone ’cause she threw water on her face to get her mascara running and added blush to her nose and drew circles under her eyes. Let me tell you, my hindquarters and your boobs aren’t the only fake things around here tonight, sweet pea.”
“Maybe Honey’s just not a crier but wants to look like she cares?”
“Or maybe she’s happy as a pig in mud Seymour’s gone, but she doesn’t want to let on?”
“Speaking of a pig, there’s something pink tucked under Scummy’s left shoulder.”
KiKi parted the fronds to get a better look. “Well, I’ll be; there is something there. It’s kind of sparkly best I can tell. Not men’s jewelry for sure. Bet I can reach in and get it if I just—”
“No!” I growled deep in my throat, adding a good deal of stern to my voice. “If we cause a scene, Mamma will kill us and . . . Oh good grief, here comes trouble.”
I nodded to Lolly Ledbetter next in line at the condolence meet and greet. She had on the red dress all right, along with red shoes, red hat, and even her eyes were bloodshot.
“Well, finally.” KiKi rubbed her hands together, a smile tripping across her face. “Be a pity to have a wake this size without a little excitement at the casket, and I do believe Lolly’s drunk as a skunk.”
Lolly parked her hands on her hips, tossed her hair, and said to Honey, “Well now, the old boy sure looks a lot better in there than he ever did out here where he caused nothing but trouble for the rest of us.”
Everyone gasped, then the room went dead quiet, not as much out of respect for the dearly departed as not wanting to miss a single word of what was going on. Honey’s mouth pinched tight, two black suits hurried over to Lolly’s side, and out of the corner of my eye I saw KiKi lean in toward the casket. She grabbed for the pin as her faux butt slid down around her ankles. Eyes bulging, KiKi wobbled, losing her balance. I grabbed for her; she grabbed for a fern, missed, and knocked it plant side down, dirt side up onto Scumbucket’s head.
Everyone stared at the casket. My heart stopped dead in my chest. If Mamma got wind of this . . .
I kicked KiKi’s fake rump under the casket display as she stepped out of it and slowly pulled her backward. “Count to three and run,” I whispered. Tucking our heads down, we turned slowly then beelined for the hallway, voices picking up in the main room, the thick-padd
ed carpet muffling our getaway.
We dashed out the side door, and KiKi yanked me behind a hedge of magnolia trees. We froze perfectly still in case someone followed in hot pursuit of the funeral crashers, but the only sound was from the traffic on Price and enough mayhem inside to rattle the windows. “What happened to completely safe?” KiKi finally said to me.
“Hey, you’re the one who went and lost their butt.” Did I really just say that? I closed my eyes to get a grip on the situation then turned KiKi around to look at me. “Head for the car,” I told her. “If you’re not home watching Dancing with the Stars when Uncle Putter walks in, he’ll know in an instant who caused this commotion.”
“You think he’ll hear about this?”
“The Abbott sisters are inside.” I nodded toward the funeral home. “In five minutes flat all of Savannah will know about Scummy wearing a fern on his head, complete with pictures. I’m going to hang around and see if I can find out anything on Marigold and Butler and what that’s all about. They’re tied to Scummy some way.”
“I don’t know Butler all that well, but I can’t see Marigold killing Seymour. Why that girl’s sweet as pie.”
“You weren’t at the Fox today.” I pealed off KiKi’s hat and wig, and fluffed up her hair and smoothed out her makeup. “Better.” I smiled. KiKi’s eyes twinkled. Batman and Robin do Savannah. “Keep in the bushes and go around the back to the sidewalk on the other side.”
“I’ll get us some ribs.”
“If you smell like BBQ, the jig’s up with Uncle Putter. He’ll inform Mamma, and I sort of told her I’d let Boone handle the Seymour mess and find the killer so she wouldn’t worry about the two of us.”
“You think she bought it?”
“I gave her my best sweet little girl look and lied my heart out.” I kissed KiKi on the cheek then lost sight of her rounding the corner. Hard to believe no one followed in hot pursuit. Then again, the black-suit-and-black-tie brigade had their hands full with cleaning up Scumbucket and dealing with the fainted-dead-away faction that was sure to accompany such a social nightmare.
I took off my hat and wig and unstuffed my upper dimensions. Pulling my dress down over my now 32Bs, I tightened the belt for a long black dress appearance; at least that was the plan. My hair was always a disaster so nothing new there. I wadded up the undercover outfits and wedged them into one of the bushes, as I heard the sounds of sirens approaching. Taking two calming breaths, I squared my shoulders, stepped into the open and right into the path of Walker Boone.
Chapter Seven
“WHAT the heck were you doing in there?” Boone asked. Tonight he wore jeans, a navy jacket, and a really pissed-off expression. He herded me back into the magnolias, the uproar emanating from Eternal Slumber not subsiding one little bit. Two ambulances screeched to the curb, and Boone jabbed a finger in their direction. “What happened to you butting out and me handling things?”
“How’d you know I was here?”
“Foxtrot’s parked up the street, Seymour’s wearing a plant on his head, and the EMTs have landed. Doesn’t take Einstein to connect the dots.”
“Who’s Dozer?”
Boone gritted his teeth and muttered something colorful, a few capillaries popping in his eyes. “Seymour rubbed shoulders with some unpleasant people, and Dozer’s one of them. You sniffing around in his life guarantees to make yours a short one. Keep that in mind and go sell some hats and dresses and stay out of the way.”
At first I felt really guilty for lying to Boone about not getting involved in investigating Seymour’s murder when I knew all along I would, but the go-sell-hats crack was instant absolution. “I have leads, you know. Good ones, and I’m not sitting on the sidelines and twiddling my thumbs when I can help my own mother.”
“You call adventures from the crypt help?” Boone ran his hand over his hair; the sound of gurney wheels rattling on the sidewalk drifted our way. “No one’s going to talk because God knows where the disastrous duo will strike next and cause a scene. You have everyone diving for cover, and people don’t want to get involved. Your mother’s worried you’ll get hurt trying to clear her, and she’s got enough on her mind without you adding to it.”
“How will Mamma find out? You gonna go all Mr. Goodie-Two-Shoes and tattle on me like we’re in kindergarten?”
Boone stilled, his stance relaxed, a slow smile creasing his face. “Goodie-two-shoes?”
“Trust me, it wasn’t a compliment.”
“I’m not the only one who knows you’re stirring up trouble, Blondie. There’s a whole city out there tuned into the kudzu vine, and you’ve got top billing these days.”
A spark of devil lit his black-as-night eyes, and he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. My stomach got all squishy, and it had nothing to do with the tucking and everything to do with the devil. Boone on the warpath was one thing; Boone scheming and conniving and aiming it all at me was a whole other matter. “What?”
“Your mother won’t be trying any cases with all these allegations hanging over her head, and we both know her campaign’s in the toilet. She needs something to keep her busy, occupy her time in a meaningful manner.”
“Volunteer work at the hospital?”
“I was thinking more like helping you at the Fox. You’re screwing up my life. I’m returning the favor. Having Judge Gloria Summerside around will keep you and KiKi off the streets and out of my hair.”
“You wouldn’t”
The grin broadened.
“That’s pretty low even for you.”
“What happened to goodie-two-shoes?” Boone shoved his hands into his pockets, gave me a little wink, then stepped into the foray of people exiting Eternal Slumber. A gurney rolled to the front door, attention-whore Blanche Woodside buckled in tight, waving to the crowd Pope style.
“You’re not going to stop me,” I yelled at Boone as he headed down the sidewalk.
“But I can slow you down plenty,” he called back over the crowd.
I winged a pinecone at Boone’s big fat head, missed by a mile, and knocked Elsie Abbott’s hat cattywampus. With all the commotion she didn’t even notice. I was more determined than ever to snoop around and not just because Boone ticked me off. I had suspects on my list that Boone didn’t have, really good suspects. Oh, I could inform Mr. Pighead that Marigold had a big old hissy over going to the funeral with her dear husband, and Lolly Ledbetter wearing a red dress to the wake tonight meant something other than she liked the color red. Boone wouldn’t get that these two gals were beyond infuriated and more than capable of dumping poison in Scummy’s drink without a moment’s hesitation.
Archie Lee was still a front-runner on my who-killed-Scummy list. Popeye had a working knowledge of poisonous plants, and now there was this guy Dozer to consider. Two people had warned me about him being a badass, and Dozer had blood pressure problems, meaning he knew something about heart meds and what they did. He was also a working guy, not a fan of Seymour’s, and probably one of the original Saint Patty’s Day signers of the declaration of Archie Lee for Alderman.
The ambulance carrying Blanche motored off down Price with sirens blasting, at the request of Blanche no doubt, as Lolly’s Trolley minus its passengers charged our way. It swayed precariously from side to side and jumped the curb, chasing weary mourners screaming onto the porch. The trolley finally came to rest between two lampposts.
“Is that Lolly?” Cazy asked, stumbling down the trolley steps and pointing a shaky finger at the retreating ambulance. “A few minutes ago Twitter lit up like a Christmas tree, saying some ruckus happened here at Eternal Slumber. I knew it must be my Lolly. I told her not to go and wear that red dress. What happened to her? Is she going to be okay? I told her she shouldn’t come here. Seymour’s dead, and our troubles are over once and for all. What happened?”
I sat Cazy on the bottom step of the trolley and fanned him with Old Yeller. “The what-happened part covers a lot of territory tonight, but Lolly isn’t in the ambula
nce.”
“Blanche Woodside again?”
“The one and only. Lolly is probably headed home. Last time I saw her she was fine, but you best move this trolley; the police are in a bad mood tonight. Seems someone dumped a plant on Seymour’s head, causing quite a stir, and no one’s been quite the same since.”
Cazy’s jaw dropped. “Lolly did that?”
“Two little old ladies with wild curly hair. Sort of disappeared into the night; no one’s seen them since.” I pulled Cazy to standing. “Officer Grumpy-Pants is coming this way. You better get a move on.”
Cazy climbed behind the wheel. I stepped into the street, holding out my arms to stop traffic. I did the come-on-back wave to Cazy, directing him where to go, and after a few back-and-forth K-turns he straightened the trolley. Hoping Cazy was in a chatty mood, I took the seat behind him when he pulled into the flow of traffic. It was a chance to get a little information, enjoy the open-air ride over cobblestone streets with downtown Savannah all lit up and nighttime happy.
“Why did you think Lolly would be at Eternal Slumber?” I asked Cazy, a Little Miss Oblivious lilt in my voice as we rumbled along.
Cazy stopped for a red light and glanced my way, eyes widening in recognition. “Well heavenly days, you’re Judge Summerside’s daughter, aren’t you? I was in such a state back at the Slumber I didn’t recognize you. Lolly sure wanted your mamma to win that election, and she worked real hard on the campaign. Too bad the judge had to go and get accused of knocking off Seymour. Crying shame. Lolly didn’t suspect for a minute things would turn out the way they did.”
The light changed, and the trolley chugged forward. I leaned closer. “So how did Lolly want things to turn out?”
“That your mamma would win of course, and Seymour would throw himself under a fast train. Lolly even followed your mamma to Seymour’s the day he croaked to make sure she was okay. Then Seymour wound up dead as a carp in a cup of spit.” Cazy slowed as a group of tourists meandered across the street to Colonial Park Cemetery for a night tour called Ghosts in the Graveyards.