A Premonition of Murder (5 page)

I was beginning to wonder if we should call the meeting to a close. Abigail's death had seemed to shatter the calm of the group, and no one was too interested in venturing into other topics. And then Lucinda Macavy spoke up. “I have a dream to report.” She went on to describe a dream about her teeth falling out. “I woke up in the morning, looked in the mirror, and saw that all my teeth had fallen out. I was horrified.” Her hand instinctively went to cover her mouth. “It seemed so real! I gasped out loud and ran downstairs to call someone for help.” She paused, looking a little sheepish. “Has anyone had a dream like this? I feel a little silly mentioning it, but it really bothered me. I haven't been able to get it out of my head.”

“You're not being silly,” Sybil cut in. “If it's important to you, it's important to us.”

“My uncle Bubba had a dream like that,” Etta Mae said. “He dreamt that all his teeth fell out. When he got up in the morning and looked in the mirror, he had no teeth.”

“Surely you're not saying his teeth really
did
fall out in the night.” Dorien said. She has a sharp, almost ferret-like face. It's a shame, but her choppy haircut seems to emphasize her worst features.

“Well, no,” Etta Mae said, backpedaling swiftly. Dorien has the power to intimidate almost everyone. “He had all his teeth pulled out years ago. He forgot to put his dentures in when he went to bed the night before. That's why he nearly had a conniption when he looked in the mirror.”

“Oh, well, that explains it,” Dorien said mockingly. “Now it makes perfect sense to us.” She gave a little eye roll to the group, and I knew it would be a long time before Etta Mae spoke up again. Dorien's sarcasm is a real turnoff, but Ali and I have never come up with a workable solution.

“Going back to Lucinda's dream,” I said, hoping to ease the tension I sensed gathering in the room. “Persia, what do you make of it?”

Persia immediately jumped in to tell Lucinda that “missing teeth” is a classic anxiety dream and it probably meant that she was experiencing some unusual stress in her life. “Is there something special going on right now, dear?” Persia asked.

Lucinda nodded. She went on to say that one of her cousins was coming to Savannah for a visit and she was in a tizzy trying to get everything ready for her arrival. “My house is such a disaster,” she wailed. “My kitchen cupboards are a mess, and the hosta has completely overtaken the garden. It's like a jungle out there.”

Ali and I exchanged a look. We've been to Lucinda's adorable little house, and she keeps it in perfect condition. Even Martha Stewart would approve.

I bit back a smile at the notion that things were “out of order” at Lucinda's and reminded myself that everyone has
different standards. Ali and I are not neat freaks by any means. We tend to be casual, with loads of books, newspapers, and overflowing tables in our comfy apartment above the shop, but not ready for a photo op.

Our vintage candy shop downstairs is a different story. Thanks to our capable assistant, Dana Garrett, things at Oldies But Goodies are always shipshape. The candy bins are well stocked with the “classic” candies we're known for, the glass cabinets are sparkling, and the whole place has a festive air, due to Dana's flair for decorating.

The evening ended on a positive note, and I noticed Sybil and Persia stopped to say a few sympathetic words to Rose and Minerva, who were the last to leave. I packed up some brownies and apple tartlets for the two Harper sisters to take home and watched as they made their way slowly down the stairs. Their hearts were heavy over the loss of their friend, and they looked older and less spry than ever. Even though they saw Abigail only occasionally, they had been friends with the reclusive heiress for over fifty years. Her death must certainly have been a shock to them.

5

Ali and I rose early the next day, ready to go downstairs and get back to work at our vintage candy shop. We'd left everything to Dana as we tackled the issue of Abigail's death, but now it was time to get back to business.

Ali had been struggling to keep the shop going when I'd arrived in Savannah a few months earlier to help her. I'd loved the place from the moment I walked in the front door. The name, Oldies But Goodies, is written in an old-timey script on etched glass and matches the vintage theme. With its bleached oak floors, tin ceiling, and bins of retro candies, entering the shop is like taking a trip down memory lane. In an earlier life, the shop had been a jam factory, a community newspaper, and briefly served as a day care center. I don't know how Ali got the idea of turning the place into a vintage candy shop, but I'm glad she did.

Sunlight streamed in the front window from Clark Street, then zigzagged its way past the bins and counters of goodies.
I could smell fresh croissants, and I smiled at Dana, who was pulling a heavy tray out of the oven. She placed it on the counter, along with a jar of homemade blueberry jam and a clay pot of sweet cream butter. It was Dana who came up with the idea of selling jams and chutneys, and they've become popular items.

“Breakfast of champions,” Ali said, grabbing a croissant and slathering it with butter and jam. Dana had already brewed a pot of fresh coffee—hazelnut, my favorite—and a pot of Yorkshire Gold tea for Ali.

“What a way to start the day,” I said appreciatively, sinking onto a bar stool and eyeing the freshly baked pastries. Dana had also defrosted a homemade coffee cake from the freezer. It's a recipe that Ali has been tinkering with, and the final version has a rich poppy seed filling and a buttery crumb topping. I think it's going to be a keeper.
Poppy seed cake or croissant?
Which do I want?
They both looked delicious. Dana must have read my mind, because she cut a small wedge of coffee cake, added a hot croissant, and passed the plate to me.

“I'm so sorry about your friend,” Dana said softly. “It's just awful.”

“Thanks,” Ali said. “We only met Abigail once, and I don't know why I'm taking this so hard,” she commented. “We both are,” she added quickly.

“It was such a shock,” I murmured.

“Is there anything new on the case?” Dana asked tentatively.

“No, I'm afraid not,” I told her. I paused for a moment and then decided to turn the conversation to cheerier topics. Ali is a sensitive soul, and I knew if we talked about Abigail any longer, she would be sad and depressed for hours. “What's the plan for today?” I asked Dana.

One thing I love about Dana is her initiative. Give her a project and she runs with it; she's one of the most creative people I've ever met. Ali and I were astounded when she told us that her parents insisted she major in criminal justice. They felt that majoring in marketing would limit her job opportunities. I think it was very shortsighted of them because she's a genius at promotion and would be a valuable asset to any company.

“The front window,” she said promptly. “Want to see what I've done so far?”

I grabbed my coffee and tagged along after her. The shop wasn't open for business yet, and I was happy that the three of us had this time together to plan and strategize. I made a mental note that we should meet at least once a week before the store opens and toss around ideas.

Dana does a wonderful job with the window display—which she rotates—and this month she's featuring vintage candy posters for Jujubes, Good and Plenty, Jawbreakers, and Necco Wafers. She found the lovely old posters on eBay and mounted them on wooden easels. I made a mental note to reimburse her. Dana will buy supplies out of her own money if I'm not careful.

“Where did you get the mannequin?” I asked in amazement. I knew I wasn't imagining things. A tall female mannequin with a frizzy blond ponytail was standing in the middle of the shop window, looking off to the side. She had a saucy smile and one eye was half-closed as if she were winking at passersby. The mannequin hadn't been there last night when we closed up, so Dana must have brought it in this morning.

“Someone tossed it in the Dumpster in front of Harold's, that department store that closed down on Market Street. Can you believe it? A perfectly good mannequin. These things are
pricey. I don't know what they were thinking. I jumped right in and got it.” She brushed a speck of dirt off her sleeve. “Luckily no one had thrown anything on top of it. It must only have been there for a few minutes. I'm so happy I spotted it.”

I had to chuckle at the thought of Dana Dumpster-diving for us. She will always go the extra mile to do her job.

“Very clever,” Ali said. “And the outfit?” The mannequin was dressed in a turtleneck sweater, a poodle skirt, ankle socks, and saddle shoes. Circa 1955, I'd guess. She had short, straight bangs and reminded me of Kathleen Turner's character in
Peggy Sue Got Married.

Dana laughed. “The outfit was left over from a fifties party at Kappa Kappa Gamma. My roommate gave it to me, but she wants it back when we change the display.”

“Tell her thank you, I love it!” I never fail to be amazed at Dana's creativity. The mannequin was holding an aqua blue “princess phone” to her ear with one hand and a Butterfingers bar in her other. “Definitely something that will stop traffic,” I told her.

“I think it turned out well,” Dana said modestly. She took a step back to appraise her work. Next month, Dana will do something completely different; she never seems to run out of ideas. Tourists stop to admire her displays, and then they wander inside to check us out. And they usually end up not only buying a nice selection of candy, but settling down for a light lunch or coffee and pastries.

Ali and I had decided to expand the shop's offerings last year, and it was quite a hassle, but worth it. We thought it would be fun and good for business. We were right on both counts. The experiment paid off big-time.

The backyard is small but charming, with coral and white impatiens lining an oyster shell pathway. We found a few wrought iron tables and chairs at a tag sale, and Ali made
seat cushions and tablecloths. The Harper sisters keep us supplied with fresh pink carnations in mason jars for each table.

The customers love sitting under the beautiful live oaks, lingering over coffee and pastries, and we have some regulars who show up every day. Sometimes there's an overflow crowd, but the breakfast bar inside the shop will accommodate half a dozen more people. Right now, we're only open in the daytime, but we're thinking of stringing Japanese lanterns in the trees and staying open one or two evenings a week. With a business, you're always planning, always wondering how to make a splash in a competitive market.

Plus we're running a thriving takeout business. Ali passed out flyers and discount coupons to the businesses in the Historic District, and now a lot of office workers order their lunches ahead of time and come dashing in to pick them up.

“What do you think of the candy buttons?” Dana asked. She was holding rolls of white paper with tiny candy buttons on them, a favorite “back in the day.”

“What do you plan on doing with them?” I have no design sense and love to watch Dana work her magic with these displays.

“Well, first I thought of just hanging them from the ceiling, but then I decided they might look like flypaper,” she said with a giggle.

“I see your point.” Ali laughed. “I think you're right. They can't hang straight down. How about draping them from the ceiling, sort of like Roman shades? You could arrange them in graceful arcs and fasten them with thumbtacks. And you could give a twist to them, like you do with crepe paper.”

“I like that idea,” Dana said. “It would add a nice touch. You've solved the problem.”

We left Dana to finish the window display and went back
to our breakfast. The shop would be opening in another half hour, and there were a lot of things I wanted to discuss with Ali. She pulled out some covered containers from the refrigerator and started working on the lunch specials.

We always offer homemade salads, soups, and sandwiches. Lately, we've added paninis and a flatbread menu, but those items are made fresh for each customer. The soups, salads, and desserts are all labor-intensive, but customers appreciate the fact that we use all fresh ingredients with no preservatives.

One time, a whole family insisted on having their sandwiches made with soft white sliced bread. We make our own sandwiches on delicious whole-grain bread delivered fresh each day from a local bakery. Instead of telling the family that we didn't have any of their favorite bread on hand, Ali dashed to a nearby supermarket and bought some. The first rule of business is to give the customers what they want.

“What's on the agenda for today?” she asked, deftly mincing a cooked chicken breast and adding celery and spices. Ali is a vegetarian, but she makes the best chicken salad sandwich in town, and the secret is cream cheese. Our friend, the restaurateur Caroline LaCroix, taught her how to make it. And Caroline insists that it should be served only on a fresh croissant.

“I think we need to pay a few visits in town,” I told her. “I want to see Noah and I'd like to drop by and see that lawyer, Norman Osteroff. I think it would be worth it to have a quick chat with Lucy, the housekeeper. She could certainly tell me a little about Desiree, Abigail's sister.” It occurred to me that the two deaths could be related, although at the moment, I didn't see how.

“It sounds like you've got a full day planned,” Ali said, wrinkling her brow in concentration.

“Do you want to divide up or shall we go together?”

She opened the refrigerator and took a long look. “There's an awful lot to do here. I need to make chicken salad, tuna salad, and egg salad,” she said. “I'm not sure when I can get away. Dana can handle the candy sales and the cash register”—she gave a little helpless shrug—“but I need to get the salads going right now, and then I have to defrost a couple of soups from the freezer.”

She pushed a lock of blond hair out of her eyes, looking a bit frazzled. Adding the café to the shop has meant a lot more work for both of us, but I think it will pay off in the end. When I first arrived, the shop was operating in the red, and Ali had to tuck into her savings to meet her monthly bills. Now we're finally turning a profit, and I think things are on the upswing. We have a lot of repeat business, which tells me we're doing something right.

“Ali, don't worry about it. I can handle things myself this morning,” I told her. “Let's touch base after lunch. I think I'd like to have you with me when we call on Norman Osteroff. I have the feeling he's not going to be thrilled to see us.”

*   *   *

My first stop
was Beaux Reves and Lucy Dargos. The imposing house looked empty, with its shutters closed against the Savannah sun and the grounds deserted. I announced myself at the entrance and the massive wrought iron gates swung open. As I drove up the winding road lined with live oaks and magnolia trees, I thought of all the family secrets that might be unveiled with Abigail's death.

Sudden death always seems to leave a few loose ends, and I hoped that my chat with Lucy might be fruitful. Had she discovered any of Abigail's correspondence, anything that might have a bearing on her death?

I knew that Abigail was a great letter writer, and came from a generation that believed in the power of handwritten notes. But the Harper sisters said they'd communicated by e-mail with Abigail over Magnolia Society business. I wondered if there was a laptop tucked away somewhere inside the mansion. Had the police seized it as evidence? Or was it squirreled away somewhere out of sight?

“I thought you might pay me a visit,” Lucy said with a sad smile. She wiped her hands on her apron and led me into the kitchen. The front hall was dazzling. Every surface was polished, and a faint lemony smell drifted in the air.