Iced Chiffon (15 page)

“It’s just a phase,” KiKi soothed. “Ever since Cupcake came on the scene, things have been a mite rough for you. But it’ll get better; you just wait and see. Walker Boone came looking for you last night at the Marshall House; did he ever find you?”

“He’s the one who scared off the mugger.”

“Why, see there,” KiKi beamed as she let me go. “Things
are better already. Boone did you a good turn for a change, and who would have thought that would ever happen?” Her brow furrowed again. “But is there some particular reason why you’re all splattered with yellow paint?”

I led the way to what used to be my pantry off the kitchen. “Ta–da,” I said as I opened the door to sunshine-yellow walls, a cute vintage crystal light fixture salvaged from one of the bedrooms on the third floor, and a gilded cheval glass from the attic.

“How did you do this? You hate getting into little places.”

“I left the door open, and since I have no food to put in here, I decided to make it into a dressing room for the customers,
if
I had customers.” KiKi and I listened to a house void of shopping noises.

“You know,” KiKi said in a sympathetic auntie voice, “you could sell Cherry House and start over. You’re young; you can do that. There might be a teaching job for you out there; the city schools are always looking for substitutes. You could move in with your mamma or Putter and me. We’d all love to have you; you know that. We’re family. We support each other through thick and thin.”

Visions of being trapped in a classroom with a bunch of mean little kids ran though my brain, followed by more visions of Mamma’s perfectly ordered house, where everything had a place and never moved. Or maybe there was Uncle Putter, darting through hallways in his boxer shorts while a wild tango vibrated up through the floorboards, with KiKi saying, “One-two-three, one-two-three.”

I couldn’t move in with Mamma or KiKi. There wouldn’t be out-and-out bloodshed or a homicide; it wasn’t the Summerside way. There
would
be dinners where I had to eat my
carrots if I wanted dessert and long silences over morning oatmeal. I hated oatmeal and never understood how a carrot—a vegetable with great color—could taste like dung dunked in sugar.

“Flyers,” I yelped, feeling a wave of inspiration—or was it desperation?—wash over me. “Like when we advertised car washes at church. If it works for the good nuns at Saint John’s, it can work for me.”

“Well,” KiKi said, not sounding all that convinced, “I suppose we can try flyers to draw attention to the Fox; that’s one way of doing it. Cher used sixteen changes of sequined-enhanced clothing, ten wigs, five drag queens, and a mechanical bull to get attention.”

Neither of us were drag queens or had access to a mechanical bull, so, a half hour later, KiKi and I were handing out flyers I’d made on her computer.

“My feet are killing me,” KiKi said as we came out of Dottie Freemont’s Modeling and Finishing School. “Remind me again why I’m doing this.”

“You’re the one who said we support each other through thick and thin. I appreciate your help; I truly do.”

“I wish my big toe did,” KiKi said to me, then pointed across the street to Shoes by Sarah. “We should visit Sarah. She’s a good bet for pushing a consignment shop. If gals sell their lightly worn designer shoes at your place, they’re more likely to buy new shoes at hers, and I could do with some sandals that didn’t give me blisters.”

We crossed Abercorn, and I opened the boutique’s lavender door to plush carpet, cream-colored walls, and little French chairs with tapestry upholstery. Something by Mozart played in the background. Displays of evening clutch
bags, designer heels, and sporty flats dotted the store, and I spotted a pair of pink-and-white peep-toe pumps that screamed
Buy me.

“I know you,” the woman with “Sarah” on her nametag said to me as she came to the counter, where KiKi and I stood. She was dressed in the boutique uniform of white blouse and black skirt. “You were at that wake last night. You’re the ex.” She stared at KiKi. “You were there, too.”

KiKi took off her shoe and rubbed her toe. “I was there for the martinis.”

Sarah leaned across the counter and whispered, even though no one was around. “I suppose you’re happy as a clam that Janelle’s pushing up daisies.”

“I take it you’re another clam,” KiKi whispered back.

“More than once that woman returned shoes with some half-baked story about them being defective and demanded another pair for free. Said if I didn’t do right by her, she’d put the word out that Shoes by Sarah was a store not to do business with. Boutiques have a hard enough time as it is, competing with the mall. In this pitiful economy, we’re all hanging on by a thread. I gave that little witch what she wanted, but I’m here to tell you I’m mighty grateful she’s not around to bother me anymore.”

KiKi nodded at the pile of shoes on the counter. “Well, someone sure enough likes your store. They have quite a selection picked out.”

Sarah put her hand to her heart and gazed skyward in devout prayer. “Thank the Lord for Trellie Armstrong. That fine woman’s just the opposite of you-know-who. I do declare Trellie keeps half the boutiques in Savannah afloat. She would have bought even more shoes if she didn’t need
to get herself presentable for her dear Baxter. She said he plays golf every day at the country club, then comes home and takes her out to dinner.” Sarah winked. “On her dime, of course. Baxter sure did marry well, I can tell you that much, and Trellie got herself one fine-looking man to wake up to each morning.”

KiKi looked thoughtful for a minute. “In all fairness, I have to say I’ve never seen Trellie happier.”

“I do believe you’re right,” Sarah agreed with a genuine smile. “Right as rain.”

After KiKi bought comfortable navy sandals and Sarah promised to spread the word about the Prissy Fox, we cut across Broughton, passing out more flyers. KiKi’s blister looked red and angry even with the new shoes, so we took a shortcut home, cutting though the alley by the Marshall House. I sidestepped a loose cobblestone, and KiKi suddenly flattened me against the side of a huge green Dumpster. “Baxter,” she mouthed, and pointed around the corner.

I took a quick peek. Good Lord, it
was
Baxter coming out the back door of the Marshall House! I wouldn’t have recognized him in a beat–up Braves ball cap, thick horn-rimmed glasses, ragged polo shirt, and cheap Levis. Sarah had just said he was playing golf at the country club. But lo and behold, here the man was right in front of us in an alley.

I craned my neck for another look to make sure. Yep, it was Baxter Armstrong all right. KiKi stuck her head below mine. Baxter dropped a suitcase in the back of an old, rusted black pickup, then jumped in the driver’s side and brought the truck to life. For a split second, his gaze landed on us. I jumped back, pulling KiKi with me as the truck tore out of the alley.

“Heavenly days,” KiKi said, puffing out a shaky breath after the truck left. “Do you think he saw us? What was that all about, anyway?”

“I doubt if Baxter realized we’re here. This isn’t the usual stomping grounds for KiKi Vanderpool and Reagan Summerside.”

“Honey, this isn’t the usual stomping grounds for Baxter Armstrong either, and yet here he was in the flesh, right in front of us. Why on earth was the man sneaking out of a hotel when he should be on the tenth hole with a driver in his hand? Maybe that was Baxter’s evil twin brother, like on
Days of Our Lives
. Maybe it was Baxter planning a surprise party for Trellie, and that’s why he’s here being all secretive. He could be working on one of the fund-raisers Trellie heads up. There could be a million reasons why he’s here and not playing golf today.”

“Except why is he dressed the way he is and coming out the rear entrance? For sure he didn’t want to be recognized with those glasses and that hat.”

KiKi bit at her bottom lip and made the sign of the cross. “I hate to even say this, but maybe he’s cheating on Trellie. Do you think he really did marry her for her money like everyone thinks?” KiKi stomped her foot right there in the alley. “I like Trellie, and up until now, I liked Baxter. Every time Putter and I meet up with them, Baxter’s nice as can be and so attentive to Trellie. Why is he doing this to her? What a rat!”

“Last night I saw Baxter right here at the Marshall House, having a drink at Cupcake’s wake. I thought the Marshall House was his usual watering hole, and his being there was a coincidence. Now I’m not so sure. I think Cupcake might have found out what we just found out. Not that we really
found out anything for sure, of course, but we have definite suspicions.”

KiKi leaned against the Dumpster to rub her foot. “You think Cupcake knew Baxter was stepping out on Trellie?”

“We found out, and we weren’t even looking to find out. Cupcake was on the hunt to add unsuspecting wayward individuals to her blackmail list. I think she discovered what Baxter’s doing and that’s why he was at the Marshall House last night—to celebrate.”

KiKi held up her hands as if warding off a herd of charging cattle. “This is crazy talk. We’re making assumptions that could end up hurting a lot of people. If Baxter really does play golf every afternoon like Trellie thinks he does, or even if he just plays once in a while, Putter will have the skinny on him top to bottom. Putter doesn’t know what color our living room is or if we’ve had chicken three times in a row for dinner, but if there’s a golf ball involved, he knows name, rank, and serial number.”

KiKi suddenly looked happy, and with the blister situation, she hadn’t smiled all afternoon. “You and I should meet Putter for dinner at the club and get this straightened out. It’s crab-cake night in the dining room, and I’m dying for a good crab cake and maybe a piece of chocolate cheesecake. This is all in the interest of getting our facts straight, of course. Put on something nice and do up your hair, honey. We need to leave by five sharp.”

B
Y
the time we got back home, KiKi was barefoot and saying unflattering things about every shoe ever made. She hobbled to her house to tend to her poor toe, and I opened the Fox to three new customers and Dinah Corwin waiting for me on the front porch. Dinah had on huge sunglasses, no doubt to hide the aftereffects of one too many dirty martinis the night before.

“Great party,” I said to Dinah as another customer strolled through the door, making my heart do a little tap dance in anticipation of money coming my way.

“That it was,” Dinah said in a weak voice as she sank into a chair. She held her head with both hands and made little gurgling sounds deep in her throat. “You wouldn’t happen to have two aspirin by any chance?”

I went off to get the pills and a glass of water and collided with Chantilly, rushing in through the front door. “I almost
didn’t recognize you,” I said, taking in her appearance. She had on skinny jeans, swanky boots, a yellow tank top with little rhinestones, and no sign of a brown uniform anywhere. “If UPS knew you looked this good, they’d give you special dispensation on wearing brown.”

Chantilly laughed. “I have the day off and came over here to go shopping at the best little shop in Savannah. I’m in need of something real nice to go with this little old thing!” Chantilly thrust out her left hip along with her left hand, which sported a sparkling diamond on the third finger.

“You’re engaged?”

“To the finest man on earth, I do declare,” Chantilly squealed, grabbing me in a hug. “Am I lucky or what! I’m so excited I can’t stand it. I wanted you to know so that you don’t give up on men like I almost did.”

“I am so over men.”

“Nuh–uh.” Chantilly shook her finger at me schoolteacher style. “You can’t be doing that. I was engaged once before to a complete loser. He emptied my bank account, sold my stuff at that flea market out there by the airport, and cheated on me with Cousin Rachael and Cousin Ralph. Obviously, I didn’t know my fiancé as well as I thought I did. That was two years ago, and just look at me now. Simon is different. Simon is way different. The man treats me like gold.” Chantilly gave me a wicked look. “And he’s gorgeous as all get-out.”

She retrieved her iPhone from her purse and showed me pictures of the engagement party. The engagement ring was nice, the man nicer, but what I envied was the iPhone.

Chantilly sashayed her way over to a sexy black dress, and I went off in search of pills. When I got back, Dinah
had picked out a pink sundress with a beige jacket. No matter how poorly a woman felt, she always had enough residual vitality to go shopping; it was the law of the universe.

Dinah downed the capsules and massaged her forehead a few times. “I think I might live after all.” She held up the dress. “It’s perfect for the interviews I have out at the country club later on, and I can wear it on my cruise. Henry, that’s my new honey in Atlanta, called last night. We’re going to Cabo.”

She laughed, then made a face and held her head again. “I put myself in your hands. Make something match this dress.”

A
T FIVE SHARP
, K
I
K
I HAD THE
B
EEMER OUT OF THE
garage, honking every two seconds for me to get a move on. “We’re going to be late,” KiKi said as I climbed in the car, still buttoning my navy linen skirt. It was old but one of my favorites, and navy linen with a cream blouse took you anywhere in the South in springtime. KiKi booked it down East Gaston like the devil was in the rearview mirror. “They only make so many of those crab cakes, and I’ve been thinking about them all day long.”