A Premonition of Murder (10 page)

“Even if we find the thief, it doesn't mean he murdered Abigail,” I reminded her.

“No, but it's a step in the right direction.” She paused and glanced at her watch. “Want to stop by and see Gideon and Andre? I need to borrow some china.”

I snapped my fingers. “Got it! You're going to pretend you need an appraisal from Angus. Another way to rope him in.”

“Yes, I need to find something that might be high-end or might be a fake, and I bet Gideon can find just the right thing for me.”

11

Gideon and Andre are two of Ali's closest friends in Savannah, and they took me under their wing when I first moved here. They own Chablis, a high-end shop in the Historic District, specializing in European antiques.

Every time I see the outside of their shop, I'm struck by its beauty. The Victorian-era frame building is painted a pale lemon yellow and the shutters are cobalt blue. As we climbed the front steps, I admired the fiery bougainvillea on a trellis made of twisted branches arching over the doorway. The front stoop is crowded with overflowing pots of ferns, dusty-rose hibiscus, and pale pink begonias. Chablis reminds me of an enchanted cottage. Two giant porcelain umbrella stands filled with pampas grass flank the front door, which is a vivid shade of purple.

Gideon enveloped me in a bear hug as soon as we stepped inside. Ali had called to say we'd be stopping by and had told him a little about our mission.

“So,” he said with a wide grin, “do you need a little help with your latest caper?” Gideon is a wickedly handsome man in his midthirties and a former soap opera actor. He still has some of his theatrical ways, and his voice is deep and commanding.

“Gideon played a detective on
Secret Passions
, so you made the right choice,” Andre offered. Andre, Gideon's partner, is a former set designer from Hollywood who moved to Savannah to make his home with Gideon. They're a good match and have been wonderful friends to both of us.

“I promise not to take up too much of your time,” Ali said as Gideon guided us to a little sunporch at the back of the shop. It was cool and leafy, and he'd already arranged sweet tea and éclairs for us.

“Don't worry, we have all the time in the world. The antique business is slow this month,” Gideon said. “The days are hot and the tourists are browsing instead of buying. Andre and I were just going over the inventory and planning some road trips.” He pushed some maps and guide books off the table and I realized I'd forgotten to tell Ali about Sophie and the travel book I'd found stashed in her tote bag.

“We're off to Bar Harbor and Cape Cod in two weeks,” Andre said. “So your timing is perfect.” I knew that Gideon and Andre often drove up and down the East Coast, scouting out antique fairs and estate sales, hoping to make a killing.

“Tell me what you need,” Gideon said. “You want something that looks like it could be expensive, but isn't?”

“Yes, that would work perfectly,” Ali told him. “Such a good imitation that even a trained eye might be taken in at first glance. Do you remember that casserole dish with the rabbit on top—the one you kept Lucinda Macavy from buying? It looked like an original but was a fake. You showed me how to spot the tiny details that make all the difference.”

“I remember that day at the tag sale.” Andre nodded. “I still think we should have let your friend buy the rabbit. It was kitschy, but she liked it, and at the end of the day, that's all that counts. If something brings a smile to your face, you should take it home with you. You were meant to have it. That's my motto.”

“And Andre practices what he preaches,” Gideon said ruefully. “You wouldn't believe how many times some old dear falls in love with a tea set or a porcelain vase and doesn't have the money to pay us for it. Andre practically gives the item away, because it makes him happy to brighten someone's day.”

“Guilty as charged,” Andre said, pouring tea for us. “I can't stand to see people disappointed, so I tell them it's been marked down and we forgot to change the ticket. That way they can afford it and their pride is still intact. Southerners are very proud, you know. Gideon is the number-cruncher and I'm the creative guy. Hey, it works, so don't knock it,” he added with a grin.

Interesting. That's a little like Ali and me.
Ali always has grandiose plans for the candy store (her favorite saying is “Go big or go home”) and I have to rein in her flights of fancy and remind her not to be so extravagant. Now that we have Dana as our assistant, it's a little easier to make Ali focus on the bottom line, but some days I really have my work cut out for me.

The store is finally operating in the black, but I don't take anything for granted, and I keep a keen eye on the receipts. Ali had never heard of ROI (return on investment) until I pointed it out to her. I guess to a creative type, ROI is a difficult concept.

“I think I have just the thing for you,” Gideon said, handing me a cardboard box. “I picked it out from the storeroom after you called me. Take a look and tell me what you think.”

I peered inside and lifted out a miniature tea set sitting on a tray. “Why, it's charming,” I told him. “Is it intended for a child's room?” It was porcelain with delicate blue, pink, and yellow flowers. There was a tiny teapot, along with two teacups and two saucers, a sugar bowl, and a cream pitcher.

“It could be for a doll's house or a collector's item. This particular one is a dead ringer for a Meissen tea set that was auctioned off at Sotheby's for six figures,” he said. “I remember you said once that your building used to house a day care center, so you could pretend you found it in a closet. It's possible someone could have donated a child's tea set and not recognized its true value. At least that's the story you can use.”

“But it's not really valuable, is it?” I turned the teapot upside down to see the mark. It was navy blue but blurry and hard to decipher.

“No, it's an imitation. A rather nice one, but not the real thing.” Gideon passed the éclairs, and after a moment's hesitation, I took one. Savannah is a dangerous place to be a foodie—fantastic treats can be found everywhere.

“Will it fool Angus?” Ali asked.

“Only for a moment, if he's any good,” Andre answered. “In fact, it will be a good test of his skills. I'll be interested to see what he comes up with.”

We tucked into our éclairs and greeted Bibelot, a large black cat, who wandered onto the sunporch and headed straight for an oval bed on a sunny patch of tile floor.

“There's no news on the case?” Andre said tentatively. “There hasn't been much newspaper coverage on it. I think they're keeping it deliberately quiet.”

“I suppose so,” I said. “Sad that she's gone; it seems like the end of an era.”

Gideon nodded. “And then there were none,” he murmured.

I nearly dropped my fork in surprise. “What did you just say?”

“And then there were none,” he repeated, shooting me a puzzled look. “Of course, that isn't accurate. I should have said, ‘And then there was
one
.' I was referring to Laura Howard and the tontine, of course.”

“What's a tontine?” Ali and I chorused.

“And who's Laura Howard?” I asked.

Gideon gave me a level gaze. “Well, now that Abigail is gone, rumor has it that Laura Howard is the last surviving founder of the Magnolia Society. With Abigail's death, it's winner take all. I'm sure Laura will have some years left to enjoy the prize, the tontine.”

“Tell me about the tontine,” I said, trying to ignore Bibelot, who had left his cat bed and was sitting next to my chair, looking up at me imploringly with his brilliant green eyes. Bibelot seemed to sense there was some delicious food on the table, and even though cats can't have chocolate, he probably would have enjoyed the cream filling inside the éclair. Not that I had any intention of sharing!

“The tontine is a prize that goes to the last surviving member of a group. You have to contribute to it, of course. Everyone contributes an equal amount, and if you outlive the others”—he raised his eyebrows and splayed his hands out in front of him—“you've got quite a nice windfall.”

“You mean everyone contributes money every year,” Ali asked. “And then the winner gets the pot of gold?”

“Not quite.” Gideon bent down to scoop Bibelot onto his lap; the cat had been making the rounds, hoping someone would invite him to the party. The cat perched comfortably on Gideon's knees and placed his two front paws on the table, watching me. “It wasn't money, in this case. It was land.
Everyone tossed in a lot of hard cash to buy a pretty parcel of land. It was a steal back then; now it's worth a fortune.”

“All the women in the tontine already had their own fortunes,” Andre pointed out. “They didn't really need the money; I think it was more of a game to them. Money attracts money.”

“It only rains where it's already wet,” Gideon said with a chuckle. “My great-aunt told me that a long time ago.”

“And the land,” Ali said softly, “is it right here in Savannah?”

“Yes, a pricey parcel of land indeed. Prime real estate that some developer would give his eyeteeth to acquire.” He turned to Andre. “You know that nice piece of land east of Forsythe Square? The one that's never been developed? That's it.”

“I know the one you mean. It's right at the end of a cul-de-sac, and I can't even guess how much it's worth. But the whole idea of a tontine seems rather odd to me. There's something strange about winning a prize just for outliving your friends,” Andre said thoughtfully.

I smiled. Sometimes Andre's insights are memorable.

“I know what you mean,” Ali offered. “It's not like winning the Nobel Peace Prize or coming up with a cure for cancer.”

“How do you know about the tontine?” I asked Gideon. Gideon reminds me of the Harper sisters in that he always seems
au courant
with the latest gossip, and he can reel off the past history of anyone who's noteworthy in Savannah. He has a wide circle of friends from all walks of life, from politicians to playboys, and he throws lavish parties. That may be partly responsible for his knowledge of Savannah society, but I also think he's a good listener, and he stashes away every tidbit he hears.

“It's supposed to be a closely guarded secret,” he said, “but my great-aunt Thelma went to church with one of the ladies who was involved with the tontine. Regina Porter. One day they went out for breakfast after church. Mrs. Porter was getting up in age and for some reason, she decided to confide in Aunt Thelma that day. A couple of years later, Ms. Porter died, and then, as I recall, there were just three women left in the group. And then two, and now just Laura Howard.”

“It's a fascinating story,” I said.

“Do you think it has any bearing on Abigail's murder?” Andre asked.

“I don't know,” I said slowly. “I suppose it could.”

“Taylor, of course it does! Don't you remember? The tontine appeared in Lucinda's dream!” Ali was so excited the words came out in a rush, tumbling over one another. She grabbed my arm. “Lucinda described a group of women standing in a circle. And they all had their eyes on a gold box. It was some sort of prize.”

“I do remember,” I said, blinking. “The women kept disappearing one by one . . .”

“And the last one standing walked over to the gold box and opened it. That was the prize, the tontine!”

Andre looked baffled. “A friend of yours dreamt about the tontine?”

“A member of the Dream Club,” I said hastily. “It could mean anything—”

“No, it couldn't,” Ali interrupted me. “Honestly, Taylor, the truth has to come up and smack you in the face before you recognize it. It was the tontine; I know it was. That was the prize in the gold box.” She turned to Gideon and Andre and gave a small eye roll. “Didn't I tell you my sister is a skeptic? The dream symbolism is so
obvious
, and yet she hates to admit it.”

“All right, I give up.” I held up both hands, palms out, in
a gesture of surrender. “I agree. Lucinda might have been dreaming about the tontine, I suppose. There are some similarities.”

“And . . .” Ali prompted.

“And this could put a whole new spin on the investigation,” I said.
This could be a game changer.
Noah always said to follow the money. If someone stood to profit—big-time—from Abigail's death, this was a lead we had to pursue. Now we had a new suspect in our sights. Laura Howard. I hoped we'd meet her soon, because I had a lot of questions to ask her.