Pearls and Poison (A Consignment Shop Mystery) (12 page)
Read Pearls and Poison (A Consignment Shop Mystery) Online
Authors: Duffy Brown
“Haber kills Seymour to keep him quiet. Somehow Pillsbury’s bro got the bad lumber by mistake to make the repairs on the house, so Haber had to get rid of the evidence. With Seymour’s murder stirring things up, Haber blew the house.”
Boone finished off his coffee as I stared at him bug-eyed. “You know about this?”
“You’re not the only one trying to find the killer, remember? Seymour made enemies, and these are two super-size ones. Dozer knocked off Seymour because Seymour ruined his business, or maybe Haber did the deed because Seymour was on to him.”
I set down my cup. “The thing is, I can’t see either Dozer or Haber using poison. They’d arrange for a building accident. Seymour gets run over by a backhoe, squashed by a load of lumber if they were into irony. Construction is loaded with accidents waiting to happen.”
Boone and I both eyed the last doughnut sitting alone in the bag, a devilish half smile on Boone’s face. “About my jacket . . .”
I always came out on the short end of guilt.
“The thing about the poison,” Boone said after devouring the last sprinkle, “is that it dumps the blame on your mom. A construction accident makes Dozer and Haber look a lot guiltier.” Boone leaned back against his door, looking content till he cut his eyes my way. “Who else you got?”
“Who else
you
got?”
“I don’t have anything firmed up yet.”
“You expect me to believe that? You’re not telling me because you want me out of the picture. I sit here and spill my guts about Dozer and Haber maybe killing Seymour, and you give me nothing?”
“Hey, I chipped in coffee and doughnuts. You spilled your guts because you were feeling guilty. Don’t you feel better now?”
“No.” Yes. “Are . . . are you okay? You were sort of limping.” I touched the cut on his head, my fingers sticky with dried blood. I suddenly felt sick, and it had nothing to do with too many carbs and too much sugar in my stomach. “Maybe you should go to the hospital and have someone take a look.”
“I’m not the one without eyebrows.”
I had to say the next words or I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. “Thank you.”
“For . . . ?”
Oh for crying in a bucket! “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? The falling wall, the fire, flames cooking us alive, you jumping on top of me.” A blush inched up my neck at the last part.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.” A spark of devilment lit Boone’s eyes. He was messing with me, and we both knew it.
“I’m out of here,” I said and levered myself off the porch floor.
Boone didn’t budge. “I can drive you.”
“I have to get KiKi’s car, and you dropping me off with the cops still around will raise eyebrows.”
“But not yours.” Boon stood. He fiddled with a strand of my hair for a beat. “I know you’re trying to save your mom and nothing I can do is going to stop you, but people don’t blow up houses because they’re bored on a Sunday night with nothing else to do. You get in the killer’s way, and he’ll get rid of you just like the house and Seymour.”
He fastened my jacket, two buttons falling off in his hand. He stuck them in his pocket. “Got another coat?”
“I like this one. It has memories.”
“Some better than others. Watch your back, Reagan.”
I headed for Blair. Boone never called me Reagan, Blondie maybe and sometimes shop girl if he really wanted to tick me off, but not Reagan. I glanced over my shoulder, the night feeling a little spooky. I walked faster. Maybe I should scrape some money together for a phone, except there was that water bill sitting on the kitchen counter and the soon-to-arrive heating bills.
BW and I rounded the corner onto Blair, rivulets of dirty water snaking down the street, the acrid smell of soaked wood saturating the air. Smoke curled from the pile of dank rubble. A fire truck, two police cruisers, and a few pockets of kibitzers kept watch. I charged up the Beemer, and BW and I headed for home.
When I pulled into KiKi’s drive, the lights were off in her kitchen, meaning KiKi was in for the night. I beeped the car locked and took the keys with me for KiKi to pick up tomorrow. I checked on Hellion, aimed my flashlight through the garage windowpane, capturing him snuggled up all cute and sweet on his blanket. He yawned, pried open one eye, flipped me the bird, then went back to sleep. A perfect ending to a perfect day.
Clouds made for a moonless night, the street midnight quiet, the dining room light in Cherry House shining through the bay window out onto the porch, the silhouette of a man suddenly right smack in front of me. He smelled of beer and cigarettes, and he threw a hotdog wrapper at my feet.
“Stay out of my business if you know what’s good for you.” Dozer gave me a hard shove, sending me stumbling back against the porch railing, rattling the whole structure. BW in true BW fashion went after the hotdog wrapper.
Was I scared? Heck yeah, but I was also fed up with mean cats, nearly getting blown to smithereens, ugly displays in my very own shop, my favorite jacket ruined, one measly doughnut, and all of it getting me absolutely nowhere. “So,” I said, angry and tired winning out over chicken. “Why’d you kill Seymour? Revenge? Fed up with losing contracts? Bored?”
Dozer scoffed. “Shows how little you know about anything. I didn’t kill Seymour, and if you come on my property again, you’ll be pushing up daisies with that bastard out at Bonaventure Cemetery, and I can dance on both your graves.”
“Honey Seymour’s taking over Seymour Construction, and it’s going to be business as usual. That’s what she told Butler Haber.”
An evil smile played at Dozer’s lips. “I can keep Honey Seymour in line and Haber, too.”
“By telling everyone Seymour knew about the lumber switch all along? No one will believe it. Seymour wouldn’t do something so stupid that would have his construction projects falling apart in a few years.”
“All I have to do is plant the seed that Seymour was cutting corners. That along with the building problems cropping up in the papers these days and Seymour Construction takes a tumble.”
Before I knew what was happening, Dozer grabbed my arms, lifting me off the porch. My bulging eyes now level with his raging with anger, his hot beer breath on my face. “I’m winning the next contract that comes out and the one after that and the one after that. Honey Seymour is not getting in my way if she knows what’s good for her and that company she’s running, because I’ll take her down. Butler Haber is giving me the deal of a lifetime on lumber, good lumber. I’m going to make a killing this time, and you’re going to keep your big mouth shut.” He shook me like a ragdoll. “Got it, sweet cakes?”
Dozer let me go, and I slid onto the porch, my back against the railings. He stormed down the steps and headed for his red pickup, hit the gas, and roared down the street, the noise deafening in the dead quiet.
I sat on the floor, my legs rubbery and my heart thudding so hard it jarred my head. BW contentedly licked the hot dog wrapper.
Dozer was clearly over the edge. After years of getting dumped on he finally had the upper hand and loved it. The problem was I knew why Dozer Delany was sitting in the catbird seat, and that made me a big, fat walking liability to him and Butler Haber not to mention Archie Lee and Popeye. When I made enemies, I did it big.
I finally wobbled inside and locked the door behind me. I wedged a chair I got on consignment under the kitchen doorknob like they do in the movies. I bunched the “Elect Gloria Summerside” signs around the chair in case anyone got through; the racket of them hitting the floor would act like a cheap alarm system. I flipped on every light in the house, making the place look like High Mass at St. John’s. I picked up the baseball bat Hollis forgot to pack when he moved out. BW moseyed upstairs to take advantage of the bed all to himself, and I sat on the steps keeping watch over my humble abode.
I didn’t think Dozer would come back tonight, but there was Butler Haber to consider, and by now he knew I was nosing around the house on Blair. Boone was right in that this was about more than winning an election, and the Summerside girls were right in the thick of it.
• • •
A BANGING ON THE FRONT DOOR JARRED ME AWAKE,
sunlight streaming in through the bay window. I peeled myself off the steps, my neck stiff and pains in my knees and back. I opened the door to, “What in heaven’s name is going on over here? Your back door is wedged shut tighter than a lid on a honey jar and . . . Sweet Jesus in heaven and Lord have mercy. You look worse than when you left my house last night, and frankly I didn’t think that was possible. And you’re still in the same clothes, what’s left of them. What’s with the bat?”
KiKi stepped inside. “And you’ve got all the lights blazing. At this rate Georgia Power is going to start sending you flowers.”
“Have you checked Twitter this morning?”
“Good Lord, now what?”
“I
’VE
been thinking,” I said to Auntie KiKi, both of us standing in the hall by the checkout door. “Maybe you should visit Uncle Putter at that fancy golf course in Augusta. You could do a spa getaway. Just think of it: sea wraps, mud baths, Klaus the massage guy. Bet Klaus is really yummy. Bet he has hands like velvet.”
“You really think I’d run off to a spa while my sister and niece are neck-deep in doo-doo? What kind of Southern woman would do such a thing? Besides, Fanny Harper says there’s nothing at those spa places besides steamed fish, celery and carrot sticks, and grass tea. Have you ever had grass tea? She says it tastes like someone cut their lawn and threw it in water, and they charge you fifteen dollars a cup for the stuff. If I’m paying fifteen dollars for a drink, it’s going to have
martini
somewhere in the title.”
KiKi sat at the dining room table and pulled me down in the chair next to hers. She shoved the scarf, purse, and jewelry display out of the way then folded her hands together all prim and proper and leaned close like she meant business. “Okay, spill it.”
It was one of those situations where I could lie and soft-pedal what was going on, but with four badass dudes snapping at my heels, one could easily go after KiKi, and she needed to be prepared.
“The explosion at the house last night wasn’t an accident,” I told KiKi. “I think Butler Haber was trying to cover up that bad wood situation Pillsbury mentioned when he was here at the Fox. I think maybe Haber could have killed Seymour because he was using the same stuff, didn’t know it, then threatened to expose Haber. The Blair house was further proof of what was going on, so Haber blew it up.”
KiKi flopped back in her chair. “Well, I do declare. Butler Haber is a no-good rotten swindler. Who would have thought? No wonder Marigold was having a conniption and hurrying off to see Odilia. I guess that means we add Butler to our I-polished-off-Seymour list along with that Dozer person.”
I took KiKi’s hands in mine. “These are mean guys. You got to be careful, promise me. Lock your doors. Maybe you should get one of those alarm systems in your house.”
“Heavenly days. I’d never remember those code numbers, and I’d wind up setting the alarm off and driving the neighbors crazy with the racket. Besides, I have Putter’s nine iron right behind the back door, and Putter Vanderpool does maintain a right proper Southern home if you get my meaning.”
Translation: Uncle Putter had enough firepower stashed away to arm a small country, and his wife knew how to use it.
“You know,” KiKi said. “You got all these bad guys wanting to kill Seymour, but we never did figure out why Rachelle Lerner had it in for the man. Big bad guys and poison doesn’t feel right to me. We know Rachelle didn’t like Gloria because she sent darling sonny boy up the river, but what did Seymour ever do to her? Maybe we should have a chat and find out.”
“And pick up some sticky buns.”
KiKi’s eyes twinkled. “I’m hungry as a working mule. It’s still early, and with a little luck those sticky buns will be right out of the oven and just waiting for us. It’s Monday; we could stroll into Cuisine by Rachelle for coffee before you open the Fox.” KiKi gave me the
critical auntie
stare. “But we can’t go anywhere with you looking the way you do.”
“The missing eyebrows and clothes are a bit much, huh?”
“And your hair.”
“Hair? This is the first I’m hearing about hair.”
“I figured there’s just so much unpleasantness a body can deal with at one time, and the no-eyebrows thing sort of took precedence. Bet you’ll look right smart with one of those pixie cuts. Some aloe on your face might be in order, too.”
I touched what used to be a curl by my cheek, realizing it felt a little crispy. KiKi gently peeled a flake of skin from my nose. “Think of it as having a sunburn in November.”
I stifled a sob.
“If you use a bottle or two of conditioner, I just bet it’ll flatten out that kink. You might have to cut off a few burnt ends here and there, but short hair is in, right? Tell you what. I’ll take my little Precious to the vet and stop back for you in half an hour. I just ordered him a satin bed off Amazon this morning and some toys. I figure since I’m having his jets cooled, this will make up for it.”
Personally, I didn’t think there was a male in all of Christendom who thought a satin bed and toys made up for having the family jewels deleted. At least my hair would grow back.
KiKi left, and I headed upstairs. I sucked in a deep breath, clenched my fists, glanced in the mirror, and screamed.
Twenty minutes later I ran out to the Beemer idling at the curb and took shotgun. “How’s the cat?” I asked KiKi.
“His meow will be two octaves higher from here on out, but he’ll be better off for it. Nice hat. Looks like you fell asleep in the sun and you got a really ticked-off chicken sitting on your head.”
“It’s an Angry Birds hat. I took it in on consignment two days ago, it’s all I had, and it looks a million times better than what’s underneath. None of the stores are open yet, but I’ll get something else later on. Maybe one of those bucket hats would work.” My voice cracked, another crying jag threatening. I pointed out the windshield. “Just drive.”
KiKi put the Beemer in gear, and we motored off toward Cuisine by Rachelle, located near City Market, the hub of Savannah tourist action.
“I know you’re in distress,” KiKi said to me, “and I hate to add to it, but have you given any thought to what you’re going to tell your mamma?”
“Mamma,” I said on a whisper, my stomach cramping. That’s what happens when you are absolutely positive things can’t get worse. They do!
“She’ll know about the explosion,” KiKi continued. “One look at you and she’ll put it all together. She’ll want to know what’s going on and have a fit that you’re poking around and nearly getting blown up.”
KiKi stopped for a light and tuned to me. I gave her a sly grin and wiggled my brows . . . well, what would have been my brows if I had any. KiKi stared back for a beat then held up her hands as if warding off a charging bull. “No way. Uh-uh. You wouldn’t do that to your favorite little ol’ auntie.”
“You’re not old, and you’re my only auntie, and it’s your turn. You take Mamma this week. Keep her busy, have her help you with dance lessons.”
“Holy mother of God!” KiKi’s eyes bugged. She put her hands back on the wheel, and we moved through the light. “You think your displays are bad; Gloria Summerside can’t dance for beans. Not one lick of rhythm in her whole body. Miracle the woman can walk upright.”
“You can have her help out with the teens, offer some free introductory lessons at the senior centers.”
“Like those people don’t have enough afflictions in their lives already.”
“It’s your turn.”
KiKi turned onto Saint Julian, her eyes steady, lips pressed together. “Fine. You get till Friday, and then I’m sending her back to the Prissy Fox. I can set up a few things at the kindergarten classes and day cares. Those little kids don’t have so far to fall to the ground. She can teach the chicken dance and the Hokey Pokey.”
“I really think you should let her have a crack at the teen class. Bet Linton Parish would simply love dancing with a judge.”
“Linton give you a hard time?”
“Linton Paris is a letch with pimples.”
City Market was just gearing up for business at nine
A.M.
with Lolly’s Trolley and other tour trolleys lining up to collect early bird tourists and propel them around our fair city. The carriage drivers hitched up horses, smoke curled into the air from the stone ovens over at Vinnie Van Go-Go’s, and Cazy Ledbetter hustled off the trolley and booked it hard down the sidewalk right past us.
“Did you see that?” I asked KiKi as she took a left onto Barnard. “It was Cazy Ledbetter dressed in a karate outfit, and he had on a black belt.”
“Guess he needs something to hold up his pants so they don’t slide off his bony behind.”
“Not that kind of black belt, but the one as in hi-yah tick me off and you die. Pull over.”
KiKi tucked into the curb. “Cazy? Sounds more like Chuck Norris.”
“I saw Lolly’s Trolley back at City Market. Lolly was driving, and Cazy got off. I thought Cazy Ledbetter was this mild-mannered, harmless guy who wouldn’t hurt a flea, but then we had this discussion about Seymour, and he went a little ballistic and nearly drove his trolley right into a pole. I think there’s another side of Cazy, the crazy-Cazy side.”
“You really think Cazy Ledbetter has it in him to knock off Seymour? It’s a mighty big stretch from whacking boards and doing some fancy kicks to out-and-out murder.”
“He told me how Lolly followed Mamma and the bottle of honey bourbon to Seymour’s. He knew what was going on, and he really hated Seymour. We should follow him. Maybe he just wears the outfit to feel important.” I chewed my bottom lip. “I suppose we could just ask Cazy where he was when Scummy was murdered.”
That got me the
evil eye
stare. “These here people have been friends of your mamma’s for as long as we’ve all been on this earth. You can’t just out and out accuse them of murder, and if your mamma found out we did such a thing, she’d blow a gasket. We’ll just snoop around and see where it takes us. Now let’s get a move on.”
KiKi joined me on the sidewalk, and I said, “We need to blend in so Cazy doesn’t see us following. If he is the killer, we don’t need him thinking we’re on to him.”
“Unmannerly?”
“Unhealthy.”
KiKi’s eyes rolled up. “That blend-in part’s gonna be a tough one with a red chicken on your head.” Before I could stop her, KiKi whipped off the hat, her eyes rounding to half the size of her face. She gulped and pulled the hat back in place. “Right, we’ll blend in. We can do this.” She took my hand and pulled me down Jefferson.
“There,” KiKi whispered, nodding up ahead to a dingy gray clapboard storefront with a Ken’s Karate Klub sign in the window and a picture of two dudes kicking at each other. “That’s got to be it, and I got us a plan.”
“It involves me, doesn’t it? You’ve got that look. I’m the guinea pig.”
“I got a good use for that there hair of yours. The Lord provides.” Before I could ask about the Lord providing what, KiKi ducked into the Klub, a bunch of Japanese sounding words echoing out from a back room.
“She needs lessons,” KiKi said to a guy behind the counter as she ripped the hat right off my head. “Look what somebody did to her. She needs to learn how to kick butt so this doesn’t happen again.”
“Holy crap, who did this to you?” The guy was young, dressed in a white karate outfit tied in front with an orange belt of thick material.
“She needs to be one of those black belt people,” KiKi explained.
Orange belt guy gave a patronizing smile. “That takes years and years of practice.”
“Can a black belt really whip someone’s behind if they have a mind to?” KiKi asked.
“Karate is all about discipline and respect and honor.”
“So if someone dishonors and disrespects you, then what?” KiKi asked.
“Then you can whip his butt.” Orange Belt pointed to a room off the side, and I caught sight of Cazy looking mean and determined and kicking the beejeebers out of some imaginary guy in front of him.
“You need to be real fit,” Orange Belt said. He pointed to a shelf of white plastic bottles off to the side. “We recommend taking vitamins to keep your body strong and healthy. Karate is very demanding if you do it right. We set the dosage. Take too many, and you’ll get sick as a dog. You learn a lot of things when you take karate. The good stuff to put in your body and the bad stuff to stay away from.”
I picked up a book titled
When Enough Is Too Much
with a picture of a bunch of pills on the cover. I cut my eyes to Cazy to make sure he hadn’t spotted KiKi or me. If he was the killer, I didn’t need Mr. Black Belt visiting me in the middle of the night like Dozer did, thank you very much.
“When would you like to start?” Orange Belt shoved a clipboard with papers attached in my direction and studied my hair. “If someone did that to me, I’d have it in for them big-time.”
“We’ll think about it,” KiKi said, both of us inching back toward the door as Cazy headed into the hallway. “Maybe we’ll just get a dog.”
