Iced Chiffon (24 page)

KiKi heaved a sigh. “This is too far-fetched. Do you really think Raylene could have that much rage in her to kill Janelle? A good old Southern gal hissy fit that we all succumb to now and then is one thing, but this is out-and-out murder.”

“You saw her reaction to the tilted fountain incident, and that’s nothing compared to people finding out that she’s paying off Urston to win Best of Show. Raylene’s fight with Cupcake was before the couple saw the house. Cupcake was alive then, and how does the Lexus figure into all this?”

KiKi drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, her eyes not focusing. This was Auntie KiKi deep in thought. “You know,” she finally said, “Hollis’s office is right around the corner from the ‘For Sale’ house. What if Raylene spotted the Lexus parked on the street?”

“There isn’t one fight between Raylene and Cupcake, but
two,” I added, following KiKi’s idea and running with it. “One before the couple who saw the house, and one after they left. After Raylene whacked Cupcake, she took the Lexus key from Cupcake’s bag and got the car.”

KiKi fell silent then said, “I can see Raylene bashing Cupcake—had the feeling a time or two myself—but I can’t see her stealing the Lexus and hauling a body. Raylene’s a size 4; she could never drag Cupcake to the trunk.”

KiKi looked at me the same time I looked at her. Together we said, “Urston!”

I added, “She calls, and he comes running. They wrap up Cupcake and wipe Raylene’s prints off the ‘For Sale’ sign. I’m thinking she probably held it on the sides when she did the hitting, and Hollis held the sign on top when he pushed it into the ground in front of the house. Urston gets the car, they toss in the body and the sign, and Urston drives the car back to where Hollis left it parked. The whole thing takes under ten minutes, and Hollis takes the rap.”

“Do you think that’s really the way it all happened?” I asked KiKi, unnerved by the whole conversation.

“Some of what we have is probably right,” KiKi said in a hushed voice. “Some wrong, but there’s only way to find out which is which. We need to chat with Raylene Carter. Are you going to tell Boone what we’re doing?”

“Yeah, when hell freezes over.”

K
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and I picked up Bruce Willis from the vet. We got him inside the house and comfortable on a blanket behind the counter. He may have been an outside dog before, but he’d feel safer inside and recuperate from his ordeal. Whoever minded the store could keep an eye on him. The vet talked me into buying more expensive dog food, and with nearly losing BW, I buckled to the sales pitch. That I’d be relegated to cereal and bologna for the rest of the week was a small price to pay for having my doggie back.

I called Boone to tell him Bruce was okay and that I had him home. I was still ticked off that Boone was using me as bait, but I figured I owed him the call for carting me and BW to the vet. I got his voice mail and left a message.

“Well, here we are, all gussied up,” Elsie Abbott said, coming in the front door of the Fox, AnnieFritz following. “We’re ready for Consignment Store 101.”

The sisters had their hair set in big round Southern curls that made them a good three inches taller. They were primed for retail action in dark skirts and cream blouses. I showed Elsie how to write up sales and keep the books straight so consigners got their cut. KiKi introduced AnnieFritz to working the floor. Clothes in the dressing room needed hanging up and putting back out on the racks. Displays had to be checked for such things as blues getting mixed in with the black-and-white display and other retail catastrophes. Scarves, gloves, hats, and purses always needed straightening to make the place look boutiquelike and not like a yard sale. As for dishing out gossip and chatting with customers, that part the sisters had down pat.

Now that the sisters were onboard, I didn’t have to close the Fox for lunch or for those inconvenient times when I ran around Savannah trying to catch a killer. Between the Abbott sisters, Auntie KiKi, and myself, we had the Fox covered and could keep it open regular hours. All I had to do was find enough customers to fill all those hours.

“You got that troubled look about you,” KiKi said to me as we climbed into her car to pay Raylene a visit. “Worried about Bruce Willis?”

“And the store. Do you really think I can pull it off? I barely have enough customers to keep it going, and now I’ve cut my profits even more by taking on Elsie and AnnieFritz.”

“If we nail Raylene as the one who did in Cupcake, the Fox will get a lot of free publicity. You’ll be on TV and in the papers. Everyone will want to check you out. Business will be booming in no time. You need to get one of those charge machines to take credit cards.”

“What if we’re wrong about Raylene?”

“Well, then, it’s like Cher says, ‘Until you’re ready to look foolish, you’ll never have the possibility of being great.’ If we’re off the mark, then we’ve eliminated Raylene and Urston, and we move on to someone else. But we’re not wrong; I can feel it in my bones. Everything fits. Raylene and Urston have motive and opportunity. I got Bernard to switch his lesson from two o’clock to three. That gives us time to rattle Raylene’s cage before you get back here and dance with him. I think he’s sweet on you.”

“If Raylene and Urston are responsible, are you still going to make me fox-trot with Bernard?”

KiKi tossed her head back, let out a wicked cackle, and hit the gas.

“Maybe I should have called Raylene,” I said to KiKi as she pulled up in front of Raylene’s house. “Barging in like this could just upset her, and Raylene upset is a nightmare.”

“Think of it this way: we’ll catch her off guard, and she’ll say something she shouldn’t.” KiKi got out, and I followed her up the brick steps. What do you say to a potential killer? Shame on you? What did I know about grilling a potential murderer?

KiKi seized the pineapple doorknocker and rapped it down hard. In Savannah, not having a pineapple doorknocker was akin to not knowing your grandma’s biscuit recipe by heart.

“You didn’t give me time to think,” I stage whispered to KiKi. “I need time to figure out what to say.”

“It’ll come to you.”

“Heartburn comes to you. This takes planning.”

KiKi shrugged, and Raylene flung open the door, a scowl on her face. “Didn’t you cause enough trouble the last time
you were here? Polka dots? What were you thinking? People are still talking.”

Gee, we were off to such a wonderful start. “Could we come in for minute?” I asked, trying for congenial and nonthreatening.

“You’ll probably ruin something again. I don’t want you anywhere near my house.”

“We’re here to discuss Janelle Claiborne. If you want to do that on your porch, where all the world can hear, fine by us.”

“What if I just slam the door in your face?”

“What if I tell the world what I found in Urston’s notebook?”

Anger lit Raylene’s eyes, her upper lip curling into a snarl. For a split second there was a hint of conniving, bitchy Raylene, who manipulated her way into Savannah society. Then nasty Raylene vanished as quickly as she’d arrived, and Southern belle Raylene was back. “All I know is Janelle was your ex’s fiancée, they had a fight, and he killed her. End of story.”

“What about your fight at the garden party with Urston over paying Janelle? What about Urston’s fight with Janelle at the Telfair Museum when he gave her money? That makes you both suspects as well.”

Raylene straightened her shoulders and jutted her chin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. That’s ludicrous, and you best mind your mouth, Reagan Summerside.”

“Janelle realized what was going on with you and Urston,” I continued. “Urston has a gambling problem, and you have a Best of Show problem. The two of you cooked up a way to fix your problems, until Janelle came along. She was blackmailing you.”

“That is outrageous. You have no proof of this,” Raylene growled in a low voice. “Not one little bit, and if you spread your lies around town, I’ll haul your behind into court and sue your pants off, or worse. Much worse.” Raylene slammed the door shut.

“Well now, that was interesting,” I said to KiKi, both of us staring at the wood door.

KiKi grabbed my hand and hurried me back to the car. “Honey, this is better than fried chicken for Sunday dinner. We went and got ourselves a real death threat.”

“Oh, gee, I feel so much better now, something to add to dog poisoning and house invasion.” I got in the car, and KiKi fired it up.

“Raylene’s guilty; don’t you see?” KiKi pulled away from the curb and headed down Saint Julian. “No one gets that upset if they’re innocent. But the old bat’s right about one thing—we need real proof. We need to find someone who saw her come back to the ‘For Sale’ house a second time, and who saw Urston drive the Lexus. Maybe that Frank person next to Tommy Lee knows something. Tommy Lee didn’t tell all he knew to the police, and I’ve got a feeling Frank did the same. They want this unfortunate occurrence to go away and that ‘For Sale’ house sold. They are not going to be forthcoming with information that stirs the pot, so you have to come up with a reason for them to tell you everything. I’ve got a private lesson out on Tybee Island this evening, but you can go visit Frank all by yourself.”

“Since when do you make house calls?” I asked KiKi when she pulled up in front of my house.

“Since Corilla and Jack, the owners of the Crab Shack, offered me a fine low-country boil if I helped them brush
up on their fox-trot. They have a wedding in Atlanta this weekend and want to do it up right.”

“And you’re not taking me with you to the Crab Shack?”

“You have a rumba lesson and a date with good neighbor Frank.”

KiKi handed me the key to her house, then drove off. I could almost taste the low-country boil of steamed crab, shrimp, crawfish, sausage, potatoes, and corn on the cob. There was nothing better than sitting out on the docks at Chimney Creek under a full moon at the Crab Shack peeling shrimp and drinking beer. I let myself into KiKi’s house, borrowed a pair of her dancing shoes to replace my hiking boots, and for an hour I wrestled Bernard around KiKi’s parlor.

After Bernard left, I couldn’t bring myself to stuff my throbbing feet back into my boots. I carried them and hobbled my way over to Cherry House. I stopped in the middle of my yard. There was a sign with “The Prissy Fox” scripted in green and pink, with a little brown fox in the lower right corner. What a nice surprise after a trying day of butcher-the-toes and catch-the-killer.

“Where’d the sign come from?” I asked Elsie Abbott as I came inside. A twentysomething lady had a dress draped over her arm, but that was it for customers.

“It’s from your mother.” Elsie tagged a yellow suit that had just come in for consignment. “She had it installed and everything. Said you better get yourself some permits and a license to keep on the right side of the law. Said the sign made your place official. She bought a black suit and some nice heels to go with it. I insisted on giving her a discount. I figured that’s the way you’d want it. She has a benefit tonight. Word on the street is she’s being courted.”

“Courted?” Well, that knocked the air right of me. “My mamma? A man? Mamma’s seeing someone.” I felt dizzy. Not because mamma was with a guy but that I’d been so wrapped up in my own life I didn’t know. I was a bad, bad daughter.

“Not a man kind of courting; they’re courting her to be an alderman. They want Judge Gloria Summerside to run for city council. She’d be a right fine city councilwoman. I’d vote for her in a heartbeat.”

Elsie dropped her voice to a whisper and eyed the lone customer. “Business has been kind of slow, but Sister and I did take in a lovely writing desk from Darlene Pritchard. No reason not to sell a little furniture. We’ll talk the Fox up at the wake tonight.”

“How’s Bruce Willis?” I asked, coming around the counter. I plopped my purse on the floor and sat beside it. BW looked at me and added a pitiful whine.

“He’s fine as frog’s hair,” Elsie said.

“He’s just playing you like a well-tuned banjo for sympathy,” AnnieFritz added, peering down at me. “Won’t have a thing to do with that fancy food you bought him, but when I opened the fridge to put some sweet tea in to chill, he came running like his tail was on fire. Nearly knocked me down and parked himself in front of a pack of hot dogs on the second shelf. He wouldn’t move till I fed him the last one. Your food supply’s kind of sparse these days, honey.”

I wanted more than anything to go upstairs and sleep. Instead I said to Elsie and AnnieFritz, “Can you watch the Fox for fifteen minutes more so I can run to the store for cheap dog food? BW really needs to eat something to get his strength back.”

“And remember the hot dogs,” Elsie added as I snatched
up my bag and pulled on the boots. I cut through KiKi’s yard, then the next four backyards. This way it was a five-minute walk to Kroger’s, and that gave me five minutes to shop. I dodged behind a red pickup and crossed Gwinnett just as a black car came right at me. It wasn’t slowing down. It was accelerating! I froze for a second, doing the deer–in–the-headlights routine. Survival instinct kicked in, and I dove for the curb, hitting the pavement stretched out like a baseball player diving into home plate. Tires squealed, and I caught a glimpse of the car fishtailing around the corner.