Demise in Denim (15 page)

I followed KiKi to the main tent, where the buffet table was piled high with Southern cuisine. “Look there,” I stage-whispered to KiKi, and nodded to the head of the line. “It's
Anna and Bella, and they're alone once again. Where do you suppose Clive and Crenshaw are?”

“Honey, can you give this sleuthing thing a rest for just a bit? Look at all this here food. Putter never lets me eat like this. I intend to enjoy the moment and forget cholesterol even exists.” KiKi loaded her plate with fried chicken, fried okra, three biscuits, and green beans seasoned with ham hocks and salt pork.

“I'm plumb out of hands,” KiKi said, a euphoric glint in her eyes, a hint of awe in her voice. “It's going to take both of mine to hold this here plate and get it back to the table without spilling. How about you get the wine since you've only got one puny drumstick and a little dab of okra.”

KiKi wobbled off under the weight of all things unhealthy, and I headed for the wine tent with Anna and Bella just ahead of me in line. Getting the evil eye, I elbowed my way past two old ladies and drew up behind Anna and Bella. There was something going on with Clive and Crenshaw not being around, and the whole thing was even stickier in that the gold-digger sisters had it in for Conway and Boone. Men who came in contact with the sisters did not live a long carefree existence. Conway advised Clive and Crenshaw to redo their wills, Boone agreed, and the husbands were nowhere to be found. Four men involved; four men gone.

“We did it,” Anna said to Bella, keeping her voice low. “We pulled it off. No more sneaking around.”

I advanced with the line and tried to stay close. “We're all set,” Bella said. “And if we do this right, nothing can stop us now and . . .”

Dang, I lost the rest of the conversation. I inched closer and dropped my napkin on purpose. I bent to get it and heard, “Who needs husbands around to keep them, we can do this on our own now that we got the money and . . .” I lost the rest of what Anna said. I scooted close, then closer still, till Anna spun around and hit my plate of food, sending chicken and greasy okra down the front of my dress.

Our eyes locked and Anna said, “Were you spying on us?”

“Hey, you're the one who just knocked food all over me.”

“Why were you so close to us?”

“It's crowded.”

“There's no one behind you.” Bella glared, her voice low and menacing to not attract attention. It was okay to be nasty and downright rude at a Southern event if you just did it quietly and with a pleasant smile so as not to make a scene. The one exception to the scene rule was catching your spouse in the arms or bed of another. Then scenes were encouraged and applauded.

“So you're here with your husbands tonight?” I asked with my own smile in place, my voice equally low.

Anna's eyes turned to bits of ice. “You should be enjoying the night, because tomorrow things aren't going to be very nice for you at all, Reagan Summerside. It's time for you to go, and Anna and I are just the ones to make it happen. Seems like people who get in our way don't fare so well.” She cocked her perfect brow at my destroyed dress. “If you know what I mean . . . honey.”

Anna and Bella got their wine and headed for one of the front-row tables. I kicked my upended plate under the wine table, knocked off the okra clinging to my dress, and got a
glass of pinot-something for KiKi and one for me. I headed for our table in the back, trying to ignore stares of
your dress is a mess
. I spotted a few of my good customers and they looked the other direction, acting like they didn't know me. It could be because of my appearance, but it felt like something more, something personal.

A standup comedian took the stage as I parked down next to KiKi. “Mason Dixon's here,” she said around a mouthful, her eyes fixed on her food. “He tried for the slice of key lime pie I had my eye on, and I stabbed his hand with a fork.”

“You didn't.”

KiKi cackled.

“Lord have mercy, you did.”

“I think I need another biscuit and the line's kind of long, and I still have chicken sitting here waiting for me to enjoy and it would be a sin to let it get cold.” She gave me the
I am your dear auntie who you dragged all the way out here
look. That I hadn't eaten one bite didn't bother dear Auntie KiKi at all. Then again, I knew I didn't stand a chance against fried chicken and okra.

“Right, I'll get you a biscuit.” I hitched Old Yeller up onto my shoulder.

“And some mac and cheese would be mighty nice too, now that I think about it.”

“You're going to explode.”

A little smile tipped the corner of KiKi's full mouth. “But until then I'm going to be enjoying myself, and don't you go wandering off. Our tour of the theater is at eight and Steffy Lou is doing
The Music Man
on the old stage lit up with oil lamps like from back in the day, all very nostalgic. I hear
she's dressed up like Marian the Librarian. Broadway comes to Tybee.”

I got into the mac-and-cheese line and spotted Mason Dixon heading off toward the back of the theater. All the activities for the evening were in the front of the theater, and there was nothing in the rear except open field and crumbling docks down by the water. Moonlight silhouetted the Tybee Lighthouse, tall and graceful and sending its powerful beacon far out to sea. I gave Dixon a head start, then followed, the music and event chatter fading behind me, replaced by night sounds of crickets and other many-legged things I didn't get along with jumping around in the tall grass. I could see Dixon up ahead, then lost him in the shadows of the trees down by the water.

Either he was headed for the old docks to relieve himself because the bathrooms were too crowded, or he was meeting someone. I broke into a run to get to the trees before Dixon knew I was following. Moonlight dappled through the leaves and branches, and I kept to the edge of the shadows to find my way. I spotted Dixon by the rotting docks, and well looky there, Grayden Russell was right next to him. Those two were in cahoots, and it involved the theater and my guess was it involved the Old Harbor Inn, too. I knew it! They were up to no good. A branch snapped behind me and I spun around, catching a glint of moonlight reflecting off metal. A gun? A gun! Holy cow! I ran, not knowing where I was going but needing to get away. Ground gave way to wood, rotting wood that collapsed under me, sending me down into the black
water.

I
SWORE
that if I got out of this in one piece I was moving to the desert. I popped back to the surface, but it took a few seconds; the water was deeper than I thought. Part of a dock was suspended over my head, there were three men on shore, and only God in heaven knew where the gators were hiding out. I doggie-paddled between rotting planks, but there were no cattails to hide in; the water wasn't shallow enough. I was between the devil and the deep blue sea . . . literally. I froze in place not only so the men above wouldn't see me but to keep from attracting the gators if this was indeed a freshwater inlet. Being still was good; arms and legs flailing about was
come and get it, it's dinnertime
.

“Where is she?” Russell yelled. “All the docks are busted, where did she go through?”

“There she is,” Dixon said.

“That's a log, stupid. We got to find her, and you, put that blasted gun away. One shot and everybody and their grandmother's heading out here wondering what's going on.”

“She's in the water somewhere,” Dixon said, as the beam of a flashlight darted back and forth over the surface. “I bet there're some big gators out there. I bet they got her by now and are stashing her under a log to eat on later. Gators like their meat nice and tender.”

“There're no gators, it's too deep; that's the whole point of being here, and anything you're willing to bet on is a sure loser,” Russell added in his oh-so-charming way.

“You know,” Dixon said, “I'm tired of your crap.”

“Yeah, well you're into me for a ton, so you'll take what I dish out and like it.”

“We got to go,” someone else said, but I didn't recognize the voice or maybe I just couldn't tell because I was so freaking scared. “If you want to pull off this great plan of yours, we got to get a move on now.”

A cone of light bounced over the water again. “I bet she drowned. Maybe the snakes got her.”

Snakes! My eyes shot wide open. If I wasn't running from gators, I was running from snakes! I heard some rustling, then retreating footsteps, and the sounds of night and marsh took over, my heart still pounding in my ears. I peeked over the edge of the bank as something slithered around my legs. My heart stopped, I couldn't breathe, and terror shot up my spine.

The bank was steep, really steep, and I was out of the blasted water in two seconds flat. I ran for all I was worth in bare feet as my soaking dress slapped against my legs. I
didn't think snakes were fast, but I wasn't taking any chances. Nature hated me, that was it. If there was something gross lurking in bushes or water, I was in the middle of it and they were licking their chops.

I tore across the yard and headed for the merrymakers till I tripped and fell, landing flat on my face with a solid
whoomph
. I figured I'd put enough distance between me and snakeland, and I lay there for a second catching my breath and thanking the dear Lord above for once again getting me out of a mess. The fact that a cricket jumped on my hand and something was crawling in my hair didn't even faze me.

Someone screamed off in the distance, and it seemed to come from the direction of the theater. Sweet Lord, now what? More screaming filled the air, and I bolted up to see lights on the theater. The lights were moving, dancing up into the sky. Fire! This was the big plan? Burn the theater to the ground? But why burn it if you wanted to buy it?

I ran toward the flames, feeling somewhat relieved knowing KiKi was devouring more heart-attack-on-a-plate and nowhere near danger. People were running and yelling as thick black smoke billowing upward. A wailing fire truck, then another, pulled up to the theater and then around to the back, their strobing red lights reflecting off the flames and the building. Firemen yanked fat hoses from the pumper truck and headed to the back, where the flames seemed to be. I headed for our out-of-the-way latecomers' table and stopped dead. No KiKi. Her chair was empty; the piece of key lime pie she'd fought for was sitting right there on the table.

The eight o'clock tour! The one time I wanted KiKi to
choose food over all, she didn't. I looked back at the angry flames and thick clouds of black smoke and took off for the theater door.

“You can't go in there,” a fireman said, snagging me around the waist as I tore past him.

“My auntie—”

“We'll find her.” He gave me a hard look. “Stay. Got it?”

“Look, I almost killed her yesterday by running the car off the road, and I can't let that happen two days in a row.”

He studied my dress and hair. “What happened to you?”

“I fell in the water 'cause bad guys were chasing me and there were snakes and—”

“And here I thought I was married to the craziest woman in Savannah.”

I darted past the fireman and ran through the door into the theater. It was smoky, but there was no fire and there was no KiKi. I turned around and was suddenly tossed over the fireman's shoulder, hauled back outside, and dumped none too gently onto the grass. “Move from that spot and your butt's in jail.”

“What's going on?” Auntie KiKi asked, coming up beside me sitting on the ground. She had a drumstick in her hand and two more on a plate. People were still running around, but the scene wasn't as frantic as it had been two minutes ago.

“Where in the name of all that's holy have you been?” I screeched. I jabbed my finger back at our table. “You had pie. Why aren't you with your pie? You fought for it, remember?”

“I wanted more chicken before it was all gone.” KiKi sat down beside me. “What happened to you? You're a mess.”

“Bad guys, snakes, guns, the usual.” KiKi didn't skip a bite, underlining the fact that general chaos of some variety truly was the usual, at least lately. “How in the heck did we get to this point?” I sighed.

KiKi took another bite and said around a mouthful, “We drove, honey. Then we walked a little ways.”

“I mean . . .” I puffed out a weary breath. “Never mind. I'm really glad you're okay. Poor Steffy Lou.”

“You don't have any shoes.”

“They didn't really match the dress that well.”

“How'd you get all wet? Helping the firemen? That's mighty nice of you, dear.” KiKi took a drumstick off her plate and handed it to me. “It wasn't much of a fire, you know. A bunch of boxes and pallets behind the theater, is all. Lots of smoke and drama is about it. Steffy Lou thinks those rotten developers set the blaze, trying to scare everyone away so they could get the theater for cheap. Let me tell you, all this commotion is having the exact opposite effect of running scared. Folks are mad as hornets and so ticked off that the theater has more supporters now than ever. Just wait till news of this hits the papers in the morning.”

A smoky haze hung over the theater as the firemen packed up their trucks. Most of the rescue work to put out the fire was around back, so the grass in front of the theater wasn't too soupy from the fire hoses. Even the tents looked unscathed. Steffy Lou got up on stage and commandeered the microphone. “I want to thank you all kindly for helping out during this frightful time, and we owe a debt of gratitude to the wonderful and brave Tybee Island firefighters who saved our beloved theater.”

Everyone applauded and Steffy Lou added, “Now you all know there is an abundance of food and wine that needs your attention, so there's no need to be heading home just yet. We have a lot to be thankful for tonight.”

Steffy Lou then cleared her throat and launched into “The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow.” Harper accompanied her on the piano and everyone joined in. Even KiKi took a chicken break to add her voice to the chorus. It wasn't exactly the
1812 Overture
, but it wasn't half bad.

It was after midnight when, moaning and groaning, in desperate need of Alka-Seltzer due to chicken gluttony, KiKi pulled the Beemer into the driveway. I headed for home sweet home, my bare feet sinking into the cool spring grass. I took my front steps, careful not to get a splinter and thinking how nice it was to be concerned about a splinter and not snakes and guns. I turned the doorknob and stopped. There was a note taped to the door.
Forget what you saw or next time the snakes win.

It was all too much. Everything got black, little dots danced in front of my eyes, my legs went to jelly, and I waited to faint like any decent Southern woman worth her lace hankie should. Nothing happened. I just stood there staring at the note like one of those stoic Yankee women who run corporations and have stock options. I ran a little old consignment shop and the only option I had was what to put in the display window. I had a right to faint.

Instead I opened the door to let BW out, then plopped down on the top step. My dress was ruined, I'd lost my shoes, some guy with a gun had chased me into the water, and I didn't even meet up with a hunky fireman who wanted my
phone number. Nothing was going right. And I was darn tired of getting pushed around.

I yanked down the note, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the bushes. Dixon and Russell and the guy with the gun were not getting to me!

BW and I went inside the house,
our
house. I locked the doors, stomped my way upstairs with new determination to overcome all, and turned on my bedroom light to find a knife stuck through my flip-flops and into my pillow. I blinked once and dropped to the floor like a rock.

•   •   •

“Reagan? Wake up. Reagan?”

There was something cold on my face and someone was licking my bare feet.

“Come on, blondie, get up. Rise and shine.”

I opened my eyes and looked into darkness. Maybe I'd died? Except there was a streetlight streaming in through a window and my guess was the Pearly Gates had better facilities than fluorescent tubing. “I don't want to get up. Stick me with a fork and call me done.”

“We don't have time for done.” An arm slid around my back and I sat up. “Drink this, all one gulp.”

A glass was shoved into my hand and raised to my lips and I drank, gagged, spluttered, and coughed as the liquid burned a path to my toes. “Boone?”

He sat down beside me on the floor. “Are you okay?”

“There's a knife in my pillow.”

He put his arm around me and held me tight. He smelled tired and worn, but it was the safest I'd felt in days. His
scruff was morphing into a beard, his eyes weary. “You have hair.”

“I've always had hair.”

“Quarter-inch buzz is not hair.”

“I'm sorry,” he said in a quiet voice. “I'm sorry about all this. You wouldn't be getting knives in your pillow if it weren't for me.”

“You mean if it weren't for Conway, and that started when you were a baby so I think you're off the hook.”

Boone took my glass and replaced it with a sandwich. “Meat loaf? Parkers? How'd you do that?”

“Lucky for me Parkers delivers to felons. Eat up. So, what's with the midnight message?”

If I told Boone everything that was going on, he'd lock me in a closet for sure. I had to pick and choose what to say and what not to say, and sinking the Chevy was definitely off the table. I took a bite of sandwich. “This Grayden Russell guy is after the Tybee Theater, and Mason Dixon is tied in with him. They started a fire out at the theater tonight during the fund-raiser to scare off the supporters, but all it did was get everyone more on board. Russell and Dixon know I'm onto them and this is a warning to butt out.”

“And Russell's after the Old Harbor Inn. Why those two places and just those two places?”

“Nice real estate?”

“There's lots of nice real estate in Savannah. Why not just buy another hotel here in town or another place on Tybee or maybe out at Whitemarsh?”

“Well, let's see, the inn and the theater are good locations,
easy to get to and close to shopping, restaurants, and action. They're both on water. The Savannah River's a deepwater port and the water by the theater is a deep inlet, deeper than you'd think. Both are places where people can dock their boats when they come in off the ocean? Russell wants a place for fishing boats and taking people out for deep-sea fishing? Fishing's big around here.”

“Big Joey made some calls. Russell's a money man and tied to some serious cash back in Charleston. There's no money in fishing trips or docking boats, and what's in this for Dixon? He's a stuffy little old man who likes hobnobbing and feeling important.”

“Dixon's a gambler and in debt to Russell; I overheard them talking.” Not a complete lie. “So the one thing that ties Dixon to Russell is gambling.” I stopped my sandwich in midair. “They said something about how bigger games and bigger money was coming their way. That gives us boat docks, hotels, and gambling?”

Boone and I exchanged looks and we said together, “Gambling boats!” Boone added, “Savannah is one of the few Southern ports that doesn't have one. Go beyond the three-mile limit and out into international waters and people gamble. Russell needs docks to pick people up, and he needs hotels to draw people in and a nice place to stay. There's big money in this, really big money.”