Authors: Duffy Brown
“The man’s sixty-three with a paunch. He wears a red bow tie and passes wind in public. Good grief.” I waved my hand in front of my nose at the memory. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
KiKi plunked the martini glass down on the porch with a solid thud, her eyes little slits, her lips tight together. “If you recall, it’s been a whopper of a morning—moving a fountain, finding a dead body—and this alcohol is for medicinal reasons. I forgot about Urston till you mentioned the argument with Hollis. Putter said I should butt out. He also said Urston’s got a love affair with the ponies.”
“Cupcake was a lot of things, but I doubt she was a bookie.” A ray of hope warmed me all over. “But I do believe she was up to something, and so was Urston. Oh, this is good, really good. I should tell Boone. It gives him another suspect to focus on and takes the heat off Hollis.”
I stood, then sat right back down, suddenly feeling
depressed. “Except the minute I walk into Boone’s office the clock starts ticking, and I start paying. Bet he bills by the hour, and I have five minutes of information to hand over. The rat-bastard should be paying me if I’m giving him clues.”
“I don’t think that’s how the rat-bastard works.” KiKi’s eyes closed, and she leaned back against the porch railing. She kicked off her left dance shoe, then the right one, and stretched out her legs. She tipped her face to the sun. “Don’t you love this time of year?” If she were a cat she’d have purred. Bless the healing powers of a good martini.
“Maybe I should find out what Urston and Cupcake were up to. The more information I get, the less time Boone has to spend on the case, and the lower my bill. If I find out who really killed Cupcake before Hollis goes to trial, I can save a bundle. It’s court time that costs, and with your connections to the local gossips and all the dirt the Abbott sisters pick up at the wakes, I bet I can find out a bunch of stuff, maybe even who the killer is, and I work for free and—”
KiKi bolted straight up as if stuck by lightning. She grabbed my shoulders and held tight, looking me dead in the eyes. “Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” She shook me, and I bit my tongue. “Someone’s murdering people and stuffing them in trunks. Then there’s the problem of you snooping around in a city where firepower outnumbers citizens, and the citizens don’t care much for snooping. We have no idea why Cupcake wound up where she did. Whoever happens to be responsible has done the deed once, so a second time around is a piece of cake. Just take the Urston information to Boone, okay?”
KiKi flopped back against the railing. “Lordy, that plumb wore me out. I need a nap.”
“Do you realize that after five years of trial and error and reading every blessed how–to book in the freaking library, I now know how to rewire a house; install faucets, sinks, and bathtubs; and tear off ten layers of wallpaper in one fell swoop?” I pointed to the flaking white paint on the front door, which still had its original glass and brass hardware. “I love that front door. I love this house. I’m selling all sorts of my stuff and everyone else’s to keep it. What if you had to give up Rose Gate, huh? How would you feel about that?” I nodded to her perfect house, which was painted blue and green and had a corbelled chimney, an oversized parlor that served as a dance studio, and an ironwork fence with a rose-patterned gate.
Auntie KiKi sobered and made the sign of the cross to cancel the blasphemy of losing Rose Gate. “What if you wind up on a slab at the morgue with coroner Hewlett peering over your naked dead body?”
“No one expects me to be looking for Cupcake’s murderer. Everyone thinks I’m tickled to my toes that Cupcake is dead and gone. There’s no love lost between Hollis and me, so why would I want to see him go free? I’ll fly under the radar.”
“You never fly under the radar. You’re a king-size blip on everyone’s screen.” Auntie KiKi counted off on her fingers. “Your mother’s a judge, you married the town playboy, who everyone knew was a playboy but you, and you drive cars with dead people in them. Let Boone take care of this. He has connections. No one messes with that man. He has the tattoo to prove it.”
“Have you ever seen it?”
“Well”—Auntie KiKi’s lips formed a sly smile—“Angie
Gilbert’s a nurse over at Doc Wilson’s, and she gave Boone a flu shot once. There it was, that ‘17’ on his shoulder, big as you please. She nearly peed her pants. He is one fine-looking boy.”
“He’s Darth Vader minus the voice and cape.” I stood and pulled Auntie KiKi to her feet. I held on to her till she steadied. “Go home, eat something.”
“And what are you going to do? Get yourself into trouble, no doubt.”
“I thought I’d pay IdaMae a visit. She was mighty upset this morning when Hollis and I got hauled off to the police station. The poor woman was beside herself. She deserves better. I’m going to get her a sandwich and cheer her up. Food cheers everyone up.”
“And then you’re going to ransack Cupcake’s desk.”
“I was thinking more like her computer. Come distract IdaMae for me.”
KiKi held up her hands as if warding off evil spirits. “I’m not being party to this. Your mamma would skin me alive.”
“I’ll dance with Bernard, be his partner for a whole month, and you won’t have to. Think of your poor abused feet.” The reason I could do this is that the summer I turned thirteen I was antsy, chubby, and pimply, and KiKi taught me to dance. You name it, I learned it—everything from the fox-trot and salsa to the electric slide and hip-hop. By the time I went back to school in September, I’d lost fifteen pounds, found the magic of Clearasil, and was a hit at school parties. Dancing isn’t just for the stars.
“Two months.” KiKi picked up her shoes instead of putting them on. Guess she knew from experience that heels, martinis, and steps weren’t a great mix. “We’ll get
Conquistadors from Zunzi’s. What do you think is in that special sauce? I want to take a bath in that sauce.”
Auntie KiKi gave me a long, hard look. “And if you find out anything more about Cupcake, even one little thing, you’ll take it, along with what we know about Urston, straight to Boone as fast as you can. People will put two and two together soon enough and know you’re snooping. That includes the killer.”
“I’ll drive.”
“You gotta promise me, okay?”
T
WENTY MINUTES LATER
, A
UNTIE
K
I
K
I
, I
DA
M
AE
, and I sat around the conference table at the real-estate office, wolfing down sandwiches and garlic bread. Extra stress justifies extra carbs.
“I can’t believe Janelle’s gone,” IdaMae said over slices of chicken sticking out between chunks of French bread with sauce dripping off the end. Is there anything better than dripping sauce?
I took a bite of my sandwich and for a moment thought I saw Jesus. “What do you think happened?” I asked around a mouthful.
IdaMae’s eyes were blank, nothing registering. Her usually neat bob looked as if it had been combed with a weed-whacker. “What do you mean?”
I tried to make it sound more like three women chatting over good food and less like an interrogation by Detective Ross. “Why would someone want Janelle…dead? I mean, we know Hollis isn’t responsible, so who is? Maybe we can help Hollis stay out of jail.”
“Do you think we can do that? When the police arrived this morning, I thought for sure they’d arrest Hollis.” IdaMae’s eyes got all watery, her shoulders slumped. “I went to the library last night when I should have come back here to catch up on some filing. I could have been Hollis’s alibi.” She put her sandwich down, then buried her face in her hands. I put my arm around her and then gave her back the sandwich. She started eating again, methodically biting and chewing as if on autopilot, a terrible waste of a Conquistador; every bite should be savored.
Questioning IdaMae was getting me nowhere. I needed a look at Cupcake’s laptop, which sat closed up like a clam on top of her desk. In no time, the police or Boone would nab it, and my chance to check it for information would be gone.
“Why don’t you go home,” I said to IdaMae after we’d polished off the last of the bread. “It’s been a long day.”
“I have things to take care of. Hollis called me from the lawyer’s office and said he’d stop by in a bit. I need to be here for him. It’s the least I can do.”
I could level with IdaMae about snooping around for Hollis’s sake, but then word would get out fast, and everyone would have their guard up. IdaMae may be a Southern belle, but she was also a Southern blabbermouth. “You need fresh air. You’ll feel better. I’ll watch the office.” I gave KiKi a pleading look that said
Do something
.
She took IdaMae’s arm and they stood. “Just a turn around the block, honey, I insist. It’s for your own good.” Not giving her any choice, Auntie KiKi escorted IdaMae out the front door, just like she escorted reluctant teenage boys around the dance floor. They didn’t have a choice either.
I counted to twenty to make sure the duo was really gone,
then took my purse to Cupcake’s desk and fished out a pen and a receipt from McDonald’s so I could write notes on the back. I flipped open the laptop. Nothing but files on homes sold, homes for sale, loan applications, and a lot of other real-estate stuff.
I faced two months of Bernard and smashed toes for this? The computer wasn’t even password protected. I clicked on the file marked “Homes and Gardens Tour” and pulled up schedules for radio and TV spots, interviews with home owners, and local-celebrity interviews like Raimondo Baldassare and Urston Russell. I scribbled down the schedule, because it had Urston’s name, and shut the computer.
I pulled open the long, thin drawer across the front of Cupcake’s desk to find pens, business cards, promotional magnets advertising Janelle Claiborne, and a bottle of Essie’s Adore–a–Ball Pink nail polish. Cupcake had her faults, but she had excellent taste in polish. The side drawer held expensive hand lotion from that chichi boutique on Broughton Street. There were more real-estate brochures and a flyer for a “Family Values Rally,” with Reverend Franklin and his wife and five kids on the front.
The back of the flyer listed rally dates and locations, with every other one circled in red marker. Cupcake at a family-values rally was hard to imagine; going to three of them boggled my mind. According to IdaMae, Franklin didn’t like Cupcake, and I assumed the feeling was mutual. So why the flyer?
Footsteps sounded on the front stoop. I quickly shut the drawer and dropped the flyer, pen, and receipt in Old Yeller. Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I jumped out of Cupcake’s chair, looking all sweet and innocent as Hollis
shuffled in. His jacket was wrinkled; his shirt, worse. He looked like something a dog dragged out of the river.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I brought IdaMae lunch, and she’s out taking a walk with Auntie KiKi to get some air while I clean up and mind the phones. What did Boone have to say?”
“He told me to get out my checkbook and pray a lot.”
I gave in to my curiosity. “What did you and Janelle argue about last night?”
Hollis looked at me for a long moment, then let out a deep breath. “I’m an idiot, a big fool. Janelle used me, and I bought it, the whole shebang.”
Hollis ran his hand through his hair and sank into a chair. He had never suffered from low self-esteem. He never called himself an idiot or a fool. Hollis thought he was adorable; just ask him.
“What did Janelle do?”
He shrugged. “It’s not important now. She’s dead, and my life goes back to normal.”
“Uh, Hollis, normal is not you in the slammer. We have a long way to go before we hit normal around here.”
“I don’t know who killed Janelle. Her death had nothing to do with me or our argument last night. She wasn’t the woman I thought she was, that’s for sure.”
The door opened, and this time Detective Ross and two uniformed policemen came in. My heart stopped, and Hollis was no longer breathing.
Ross said, “Hollis Beaumont, you are under arrest for the murder of Janelle Claiborne. You have the right to remain silent.” She droned on with the rest of the litany of rights as the uniformed cops hauled Hollis to his feet.
“What can I do?” I asked Hollis. Going though a divorce was bad, but getting hauled off to the slammer was terrifying.
Hollis’s eyes weren’t focusing, his brain not functioning. “Water my plants? Call Boone? Give my mamma a kiss?”
I could handle Boone and plants, but kissing Penny Beaumont was not happening. He dropped his keys in my purse as IdaMae powered through the doorway, a woman on a mission.
She elbowed her way past the cops and threw her arms around Hollis. “What are they doing to you?” she wailed.
Detective Ross was at the part “can and will be held against you” when the uniforms handcuffed Hollis. IdaMae collapsed into a chair mumbling, “This is all so wrong. Why wasn’t I here? How can this be?”
“What evidence do you have that I killed Janelle?” Hollis asked Ross, the reality of the situation settling in.
Ross flipped open her little brown book. “Body was in your car and a neighbor saw the Lexus over on East Hall last night about the time of the murder. ‘HB3’ is a pretty distinctive license plate, Mr. Beaumont.”
Hollis looked dumbfounded. “I wasn’t on East Hall. Janelle showed a house there. I was here at the office doing paperwork. If I was going to murder my own fiancée, why would I use my own car that’s easily recognized?”
“You argued with Ms. Claiborne at the Telfair Museum,” Ross continued. “Anger makes people do rash things. We found Ms. Claiborne’s car parked on Hall. Neighbors said your car pulled around in back of the ‘For Sale’ house around nine o’clock, then left ten minutes or so later. Ms. Claiborne was wrapped in plastic that matches the cut end
of the plastic protecting the carpet in the house. Get yourself a good lawyer, Mr. Beaumont.”
The cops led Hollis out the door, and I called Boone on the office phone. I knew his number by heart from the divorce, 1–800-DIRTBAG. I left a message on his voice mail. I wondered if he knew my number by heart, but that was impossible because Boone didn’t have a heart. And there was the little problem of the fact that I no longer had a phone.