A Penny Urned

by Tamar Myers

  “I never even met my aunt. In fact, I never even knew she existed until two days ago.”

  She scribbled something on a pad and then looked up me. I waited for her to say something, but she just stared at me with all the expression of a dead fish. One with two full sets of teeth, of course. That went on for several minutes until finally I could no longer stand it.

  “What do you want?” I wailed miserably.

  “Ms. Timberlake, I’ve been an officer of the law for a long time. I can tell when someone is holding back.”

  “She’s just a young girl,” I cried. “Her name is Amanda Gabrenas. She’s my aunt’s granddaughter—a fact which I just found out tonight.”

  The sergeant scribbled some more. Again she locked her grouper gaze on me until I sang like a canary.

  “Okay, there’s woman named Moriah Johnson who had a key, but I made her give it back to me. She’s my aunt’s niece by marriage—at least, I think she is. After everything I’ve learned today, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out Moriah is my sister!

  “But Sergeant, both of those women have had keys for a long time. If they wanted that coin collection—assuming they even knew about it—they had ample opportunity to look for it in a way that would not have brought such attention.”

  “What coin collection?”

  I brought the sergeant up to speed. To her credit she was a much faster study than some other law enforcement officers I’ve had to deal with. And please understand, I’m not referring to Greg.

  “Well, Ms. Timberlake. This certainly sheds a whole new light on the case. I’ll speak to my partner at once. I just wish you had shared this information with me this morning.”

  “I would have told you this morning, but you had to rush off to some kind of emergency, remember?”

  “Yes, that. Well, we finally arrested the Phantom Producer.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Just some tourist who liked it so much down here, he decided to stay, even though he didn’t have the funds. He’s been going around town telling folks their homes would make great movie locations. Has them take him on tours of the house, gets the owners real comfortable, and then steals something. Always something very small that the owners don’t notice missing until he’s gone, so up until now it’s been impossible to prove anything. This time, however, he was caught in the act of stealing a Fabergé egg.”

  “Icky Bob Crane!” I said. “You arrested Icky Bob Crane.”

  “You know the man?”

  “We met him this morning when we were coming out of Albert Quarles’s house. He obviously thought we lived there.”

  Sergeant Albergeria nodded. “Just between you and me, that’s one weirdo off our streets. A dozen or so more and we’ll be a normal city like any other.”

  “And boring.”

  “Savannah will never be boring, Ms. Timberlake. Not as long as we still have folks like your late aunt living here. Which reminds me—and I was going to call the hotel anyway to leave a message—I checked with the coroner’s office.”

  “And?”

  “The champagne he found in your aunt’s lungs was the ordinary kind. You know, that pale yellowish-brown stuff. It was a real popular color on cars a few years back.”

  I gasped. “Then she was murdered.”

  “Perhaps that’s jumping to conclusions.”

  “Not if you knew my aunt.”

  “Which you didn’t,” she reminded me gently.

  “Yes, but everything in that house is pink. Carpets, drapes, furniture, you name it. I was in that bathroom. The tile floor is pink, the scale is pink, the toilet brush caddie is pink—even the light bulbs are pink, for Pete’s sake. And since there is such a thing as pink champagne—well, I just know she wouldn’t have poured any other color into that pink marble tub.”

  The sergeant sighed. “Okay, you’re doing a good job of convincing me. Tell you what, first thing in the morning I’ll swing by the coroner’s office and take a peek at your aunt’s autopsy report.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Bill’s an old friend. And it doesn’t hurt that his wife’s cousin is married to my brother.”

  “Thanks!”

  We’d been sitting on my bed—that is to say, the sofa. She stood.

  “But don’t get your hopes up, Ms. Timberlake. This is a very cold trail, and even if I do find something that seems amiss, I have to run it by my captain. Then he has to contact Homicide. What I’m trying to say is, I can’t promise you results.”

  “That’s all right. Just try. And please, don’t forget to ask around about my mother.”

  “I’ll do my best on both counts,” she said and smiled encouragingly.

  But should one trust a woman with sixty-four teeth?

  22

  C.J. was mad enough to chew nails and spit rivets. I don’t know what she thought was going on between the sergeant and me, because she refused to speak to me that night. I know, that might sound like a blessing to some, but with Mama and Wynnell both absent, it was darn lonely in that room.

  Under normal circumstances C.J. would have been delighted had I chosen to share the king-size bed, but I took the couch again just to spite her. I thought I might at least force a protest, but no such luck. Her lips were sealed tighter than a clam at low tide, and I had to settle for an angry grunt when I said good night.

  The next morning when I awoke, she was gone. I must confess my first emotion was elation, which was immediately followed by guilt. There’s no denying the woman is a pain in the rear, but she’s as loyal as a steak-fed dog. Jane Cox would stand in the hedge and fill up the gap, if need be. Realizing that made me feel even worse.

  Then I saw that her suitcase was open on the luggage rack. She’d packed a few things—or had she just not removed them in the first place? At any rate, it was by no means full. I darted to the bathroom, but it was as empty as Buford’s heart the day he announced his intention to divorce. I returned to the bedroom and dressed hastily in a yellow cotton T and pale blue skirt, and anticipating the day ahead, slipped on sturdy leather loafers.

  I was just starting to unpack the few things that were in her suitcase when the door opened and in walked C.J. bearing a cardboard tray. She was all smiles.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead. I hope you like pancakes and sausage.”

  I smiled back. “You know I do.”

  “And coffee with lots of sugar and cream, right?”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  She set the tray on the kitchenette table and opened the Styrofoam containers. “Sorry I took so long. I was going to get you something from downstairs, but I didn’t want to pay their prices, so I walked to McDonald’s.”

  “All the way to McDonald’s?”

  “I ate the Egg McMuffin on the way back. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. This is wonderful.”

  “Ooh, Abby, I’m so glad you’re not still mad at me.”

  “Me? Mad at you? C.J., dear, it was the other way around.”

  “It was?”

  “Never mind. I didn’t mean to sleep so late. As soon as I’m done eating, we’ve got to hustle our bustles out to Bonaventure Cemetery. Destiny—I mean Diamond—awaits us.”

  “Ooh, Abby, you’re not really planning to meet her there, are you?”

  “You’re darn tooting.”

  “But I thought you thought it was all a bunch of hogwash.”

  “I did. But a lot has come down the pike the last couple of days, and I have a lot of questions to which I’m desperate for answers. If talking to a ghost will get me answers, I’m game.”

  C.J. shook her head somberly. “Talk to a ghost and you become one yourself within thirty days. That’s what Granny Ledbetter always says.”

  “Nonsense. And what’s with this change of attitude? Yesterday you couldn’t wait to talk to Miss Amy. You begged to come along.”

  “That was then, and this is now,” C.J. said, like an overgrown teenager.

  I took
a bite of pancake. “Buck,” I said, my mouth disgustingly full.

  “No, Abby, those aren’t buckwheat. McDonald’s only has plain.”

  “Buck, buck.”

  “Huh?”

  I laid the plastic fork down and flapped my arms like a chicken. “Buck, buck, buck brat!”

  C.J.’s lower lip trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. Needless to say, I felt like a total jerk. If I’d been a faster thinker, I would have spilled some of the coffee on my lap, thereby providing a diversion and a possible lucrative lawsuit. Dolt that I am, I merely pushed my breakfast aside and gave my friend a big hug.

  “It’s okay, dear. You can stay here if you want.”

  C.J. was openly sobbing now, her copious tears as warm as a freshly drawn bath. I got completely soaked to the skin and we went through half a box of the hotel’s tissues before I got her calm enough to talk coherently. Even then her conversation was interrupted by the occasional torso twitch.

  “Ooh, Abby,” she finally managed to say, “I was lying to you.”

  “No kidding? What about?”

  “I don’t have the second sight!”

  I feigned surprise. “You don’t?”

  She shook her head vigorously and I got wet all over again. “I just said that because—because I wanted you to respect me.”

  I wiped my face with a damp sleeve. “I’ve always respected you, dear.”

  “You have?”

  “Absolutely. You’re one of the smartest business people I know.”

  “That’s true,” she said. “Did you know I have a genius I.Q.?”

  “Get out of town!”

  “But,” she began to whisper, “when it comes to other things, Granny always said my roof wasn’t nailed down right.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m half a bubble out of plumb line.”

  I scratched my head. “Your granny was a builder?”

  “Nah, unless you count that two-story outhouse. But she only designed it; Cousin Alvin did the actual building. Frankly, Abby, it was a terrible design. You could never use the bottom floor without an umbrella. But anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I’m three pickles shy of a barrel. Always have been, to hear Granny tell it.”

  “Ah, that! We’re none of us perfect, are we?”

  “That’s for sure. Take you for instance—”

  I grabbed my purse and fled the room. C.J. followed me like a hound to the chase.

  She was still listing my negative qualities when we pulled through the wrought-iron gates of Bonaventure Cemetery. I parked the car in the shade of a moss-draped oak and opened the door.

  “I need to check the office for a map,” I said calmly, “or we’ll be cruising around this place all day, looking for Diamond’s coordinates.”

  C.J. paused in her litany. “She said the marker looked like a Greek temple.”

  “That she did. But look around you; this place looks like Athens. I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Okay.” C.J. flashed both hands twice and then held up six fingers. “But don’t let me forget where I was.”

  “You had just listed ‘critical,’ which I believe you gave as my twenty-sixth fault. Although frankly that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, because you listed ‘judgmental’ as my eighteenth fault, and not only do you have some overlap there, but you are out of alphabetical order. “

  “Abby, you see!”

  I slid out of the car and made my getaway to the records office. When I returned with the necessary information, C.J. was still holding up six fingers.

  “Now where was I?” she demanded.

  “On your way to meet Diamond,” I said blithely. “And that delightful little Miss Amy we’ve heard so much about.”

  C.J. put her hands in her lap. Bright as she was, that train had just been derailed.

  We drove in silence to the corner of Wiltberger Way and Bonaventure. I never would have found it had I not stopped to look at a plot map. There are undoubtedly few pizza deliveries to Bonaventure Cemetery, and I venture to say any pizza delivered probably arrives cold. Although I’m sure it is greatly appreciated nonetheless.

  I parked in what little shade was offered by a Carolina cherry laurel. I had no sooner turned off the engine than Diamond’s face appeared at my window. Fortunately I was still belted in, or I would have banged my head on the car ceiling.

  “Y’all late,” Diamond growled.

  I glanced at my watch. It was five minutes past ten.

  “Sorry. I overslept.”

  “Miss Amy don’ like folks being late. She say it bad manners.”

  “Please tell her I apologize.”

  “Tell her yo’self.”

  C.J.’s head spun like a top on a stick. “Is she here?”

  Diamond cackled. “You see anybody?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Diamond cackled again and led us a like mother hen to Miss Amy’s grave. The monument was truly extravagant. Unlike many of the other ersatz temples, this one was constructed of marble, not concrete. It had twelve instead of the normal eight columns and was circular rather than oblong. The fancy Corinthian capitals supported a marble cupola with a small opening at the top, which was covered only by a bronze star.

  I won’t repeat the family name, but it was one I’d never heard before anyway. It was cast in bronze and embedded in the center of the floor. Individual family plots radiated from the small temple like the spokes of a wheel, and Miss Amy’s actual marker was a simple white stone barely larger than a bread loaf.

  Diamond bade us sit under the cupola, facing the little girl’s grave. When we were seated, Diamond opened the bag she wore around her neck and removed a piece of candy. A Hershey’s miniature! She placed this reverently in front of the little stone and joined us.

  “What was that for?” I asked.

  “Present for Miss Amy. She mighty fond of chocolate.”

  “But why such a small piece? Why not a regularsize bar?”

  Diamond rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Don’ want Miss Amy to be rotting no teeth.”

  “Isn’t it a little late for that?”

  “Shh!” Diamond held a crooked finger to her lips.

  We sat quietly for a few minutes. The only sounds I could hear were the pulse in my ears and the drone of insects. That and the occasional voices of tourists at the far end of the cemetery who had come to pay their respects to composer Johnny Mercer. It was pleasant enough just sitting there, albeit a bit boring. I must admit I disagree with those folk who say it is better to be buried in Bonaventure Cemetery than be alive anywhere else. Not unless the cemetery adds cable TV.

  I am pleased to say C.J. cracked first. “Now what?” she had the nerve to ask.

  Diamond glowered at the girl. “Now we sits and bees quiet. Miss Amy ain’t gonna show herself if they’s a ruckus.”

  We sat as still as mice in a cattery. Several more buses of tourists came and went, the insects droned louder, and I thought my pulse points were going to burst through my ears. Finally, just when I was seconds away from screwing up enough courage to bolt, Diamond sat bolt upright.

  “She here!”

  “Where?” C.J.’s eyes were as big as fried eggs.

  “Ooooooooooh,” I moaned softly.

  I thought it was generous of me to lend atmosphere to the occasion, but Diamond was not amused. “Stop that! You want Miss Amy go away?”

  “No, ma’am,” I said sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  Diamond accepted my apology with a sniff and turned her attention back to our spectral visitor. “Miss Amy, these womens come to pay you their respect.” She chuckled softly. “And to ax you some favors.”

  “I just want to know where my mama is,” I wailed.

  Diamond cocked her head. “What’s that? You ain’t be feeling like no company this morning? That too bad, Miss Amy. How long you been feeling poorly?”

  Miss Amy took her own sweet time answering. Perhaps they didn’t teach manners down there in gr
ave school. Finally Diamond turned to us.

  “Sorry, ladies, but Miss Amy have her a killer headache today. She din’ even hang ’round long enough to say good-bye.”

  “Why, that’s absurd!” I cried. “Ghosts don’t have headaches! Look Diamond—or whomever you are—this whole thing is the stupidest bunch of nonsense I’ve ever heard. And with C.J. sitting beside me, that’s saying a lot!”

  C.J. stomped a foot the size of a small continent. “Thanks, Abby!”

  “Whoever,” Diamond said.

  I’d lost all patience with the woman. “What?”

  “It should be ‘whoever’, not ‘whomever’. In this case the word in question refers to me, Diamond, who is the subject of your sentence. ‘Whomever’ is an objective relative pronoun. Although I must say that sentence is particularly confusing, and you would do well to rephrase it.” It sounded like the words were coming from Diamond’s mouth, but they clearly weren’t hers.

  “What did you say?”

  Diamond’s grin was as wide as her face. “I was an English teacher for forty years.”

  Not only did the cat get my tongue, she batted it around a bit, had a litter of kittens, and played some more before I was able to speak. Meanwhile C.J.’s mouth hung open like a nightjar catching mosquitoes.

  “B-b-but,” I finally stammered, “y-you—well, you didn’t sound like an English teacher. Not until just now.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not about to accuse you of being a racist. Your conclusion was perfectly valid, given the information I supplied you with.”

  “With which I supplied you,” I said angrily.

  Diamond cackled. At least that much of her was real.

  “Lord, but this is fun!” she crowed.

  “Maybe for you. But C.J. and I don’t like being made fools of.”

  C.J. nodded vigorously. “That’s right!”

  Diamond shrugged. “Ladies, please forgive me. Perhaps in your case I carried the charade too far. You see, now that I’m retired from teaching, I make a living entertaining tourists.”

  “How?” I told you C.J. was a pragmatic business woman, despite her handicap.