Demise in Denim (4 page)

“You take the bones out of the chicken?” Chantilly gave me a concerned frown.

“Of course I take out the bones. How'd our mutual mac-and-cheese lover look?”

“I'm just the delivery person. Pillsbury says if you get involved in this they're going to lock you in a closet and throw away the key, and you should know you got a really dopey look on your face.”

A customer left without buying anything as two more entered, looking at the sale rack in the front by the counter. Chantilly pulled me over to the jewelry display table and picked up a pearl brooch. “Who's Dixon?” she asked, holding up the brooch as if to admire it.

“You're going to rat me out?”

“You saved my behind when everyone thought I knocked off Simon . . . not that the jerk didn't have it coming. So now I'm going to help you. If Pillsbury finds out what we're up to, we'll both be locked up in that closet.” She put down the brooch and picked up some black beaded earrings. “So who do you think pulled the trigger on Conway?”

I picked up a matching bracelet to the earrings. “There's a guy who knifed him after he was already dead, two sisters who don't like him or Boone, and Boone's brother who's a complete jerk, though knocking off his own father seems a bit of a stretch.”

Chantilly rolled her eyes, shook her head, and tried on a string of faux pearls that looked pretty decent considering they only cost ten bucks. “A lunatic, two women, and a ticked-off brother, is it? Walker is so screwed. Who's Dixon?”

“Mason Dixon, VP over at the Plantation Club. Conway was the president, and Dixon wanted the position and he owed Conway money. I know what you're thinking, that
doing in Conway gets rid of the debt and he gets the presidency. The thing is there's no tie to Boone, and Boone was framed for a reason.”

“Walker must have found something important about this Dixon guy or he wouldn't have told you to steer clear. I say we need to talk to Dixon.” Chantilly took a yellow scarf to the checkout counter and I started to write up the sale. “What do you think about me going to the Plantation Club and asking about a membership?”

I snapped my pencil. “I think we're headed for that closet.”

“Pillsbury's at an accounting seminar in Atlanta; he won't find out. The club doesn't allow many of my particular skin tone in as members, and I have to be recommended. I dated the cook a few years back, but I don't think that's what they have in mind. While Dixon and everyone else is doing their best to be politically correct, that will give you a chance to poke around in his office.”

“Boone and I tried that, and Dixon barged in on us. But it is a good idea. If I can find an IOU or something that proves Dixon owed Conway money, that might give the cops someone else to consider besides Boone.”

“You're right, it is a mighty good idea.” A devilish smile tripped across Chantilly's lips. “I'll get off for an hour tomorrow afternoon. I'll be obnoxious and irritating. I'll wear something slutty.”

“I wonder how big that closet is?”

At six I closed up the Prissy Fox. I fed BW his daily hot dog, which was now low-fat so he'd keep his manly physique. I put two scoops of Canine Cuisine in his bowl, then
straightened the shop for tomorrow. I hung up clothes left in the cute little dressing room that used to be my pantry until I painted it yellow and hung a curtain in front of it. Since I'd only ever used it to house a few cans of SpaghettiOs and maybe green beans for when I had a health food attack, I really didn't miss the space that much.

I opened the door to let BW do his evening sniff-and-sprinkle routine. He bolted out the door like getting shot from a cannon and tore across the street. Dang! Every once in a while this happened, usually when I least expected it. What did he see: a rabbit, a squirrel, a cat? BW was on the hunt and now I had to find him, and the fact that I'd had less than four hours of sleep didn't matter to BW one little bit.

“Why are you staring at the street?” Auntie KiKi wanted to know as she came out the front door of Rose Gate, her lovely white-and-blue Victorian that had been in the Vanderpool family since Sherman and his buddies showed up. It was Tuesday night, canasta night, and KiKi had on her lucky tiara. KiKi killed at canasta, so I guessed the tiara worked.

“BW is on a run after some critter.”

“Please, Lord, do not let it be a skunk,” KiKi lamented. We exchanged looks, both remembering last month and that skunk encounter and the twenty cans of tomato juice to get rid of the odor.

“My guess is one way or the other he'll wind up at Boone's house looking for a snack,” I said.

“I'll take Drayton and you take Lincoln and we'll meet up at Boone's.”

“What about the Tuesday night canasta girls?” I pointed to the tiara.

“We decided to call it off. Steffy Lou Adkins plays with us, and it didn't seem right to be swilling pink margaritas and eating red velvet cake without her there and considering Conway's wake is tomorrow night and all. Steffy Lou is such a sweet girl, and Conway's passing hit her real hard. I was taking the tiara out for a spin so as not to break the lucky streak it seems to have going. Now we best get a move on before the dogcatcher snags BW and it costs you a pretty penny to get him out of jail.”

KiKi backed the Beemer out of the drive and slowly motored down Gwinnett calling, “
Here, doggie, doggie, doggie
.” I got BW's leash from inside along with Old Yeller and snatched up two hot dogs to bribe BW away from whatever got his attention in the first place. A soft warm glow settled over the city as streetlights blinked on and office lights faded to black. I searched alleys, front yards, and a few Dumpsters, but there was no sign of BW.

I cut through Troup Square, checking the doggie fountain there, one of BW's fave watering holes. A lot of canines were out for an evening stroll but no BW. I cut across Charlton. The big oaks shaded the street by day and filtered moonlight at night. With the cobblestones and perfectly restored old homes, the street was pretty much as it was a hundred years ago, and right there on Boone's porch that happened to be connected to one of those lovely old homes was Auntie KiKi with BW. Guess that tiara really did have lucky powers.

“You know,” KiKi called to me as I climbed the wrought-iron steps to the porch, “if you had a cell phone I could have told you we were here.”

“You are a bad dog,” I said to BW, shaking my finger at
him. In response he wagged his tail, sniffed at my pocket, sat, and gave me his paw. I gave him a hot dog. What can I say? I'm a puppy pushover. I clipped the leash to BW's collar as KiKi peered into Boone's window.

“There's not much to see,” I said to KiKi, knowing exactly what was inside since I'd sort of finagled my way in a few months ago. “Boone's house is all
Southern Living
on the outside and college dorm on the inside. I don't think he realizes he has a dining room.” I scooped up the junk mail overflowing from the mailbox and stuffed it in Old Yeller. “It's like advertising to the world,
No one's home, come rob me
.”

“Somebody already got the message,” KiKi said in a sharp whisper. “I saw a flashlight moving around on the floor inside.”

“Maybe it's a reflection off the streetlight.”

I got the
get your behind over here
auntie scowl.

“I'm coming, I'm coming.” I crept over to the window. “Boone?”

“He'd never chance it, too risky. Whoever it is, they're up to no good or they'd have the lights lit like a normal person. I got an idea.” And before I could stop her KiKi cleared her throat and said in a loud voice, “Now that we found our doggie all safe and sound, we should be going home and have some nice hot chocolate.” KiKi stomped down the steps, motioning for me to follow her.

“Hot chocolate?” I said in a low voice as I trailed behind. “Where'd that come from?”

“Seemed to go with finding a lost dog.” When we got to the bottom we continued on down Charlton.

“What are we doing now, oh great cocoa lover?” I asked KiKi as we moseyed along.

“We'll pretend we're leaving all nice and peaceful-like, then we'll sneak around to the back alley. With someone in the house I'm betting the door is already unlocked. Since Boone got his gun stolen and it was used to frame him, maybe it's the same person planning more trouble.”

“Do you really think there's a need for more? And think about this: If it
is
the killer, he knows how to use a gun.”

KiKi gave a wicked little laugh and patted her Prada purse as she hitched it up on her shoulder. “Oh, honey, he's not the only one you can count on for
that.”

T
HE
three of us—Auntie KiKi, BW, and I—turned for the alley. Keeping to the shadows, we doubled back to Boone's house and slunk up to the rear door, and KiKi turned the knob. It opened with a little click and KiKi gave me an
I told you so
look. Inside the only sound was BW panting and pawing and my heart pounding at the thought of KiKi packing God knows what in her purse.

I pulled my flashlight from Old Yeller; the beam landed on the stove, refrigerator, and Formica table and matching vinyl chairs. In another house they could pass for vintage chic décor, but I knew Boone. These were hand-me-downs from Pillsbury or Big Joey. I followed KiKi into the hallway and past the dining room as my light picked out what had to be the ugliest table east of the Mississippi.

“Previous owners left it,” I whispered to KiKi.

“Good idea.”

The only things in the living room were Boone's chair and desk piled with papers, a leather couch worn to comfortable, and a small TV sitting on a bar stool. KiKi faced me, palms out in an
I don't know where our burglar went
gesture.

The floor creaked behind us and before I could turn around KiKi got shoved hard into me. I stumbled backward, tripped over the desk chair, and fell on my butt, with KiKi landing on top of me. Old Yeller skittered across the floor in one direction and the flashlight in the other, outlining a pair of terrific purple heels running off, their clack-clack-clack fading down the hallway toward the back door. Any woman who could run in heels like that deserved my undying respect. BW in his wonderful watchdog way lay down beside us and licked KiKi's face.

“BW!” I screeched. “Bad guy. Get him . . . her.” Yeah, like that was going to happen.

KiKi rolled off to the side and pointed to the hall. “Go.”

I scrambled to my feet and tore for the back door till I tripped over BW running beside me. In the world of dog, all was play and games and
is it dinnertime yet
. I landed flat out like a squashed bug, and BW yelped and added a puppy whine for good measure because I probably stepped on his paw.

“Oh my stars and garters, this is terrible, are you okay?” KiKi wailed. With flashlight in hand she darted right by me, stopping at BW. She knelt down, raised his adorable little puppy paw, and patted his head. “Oh, you poor little sweetie. Did you get a boo-boo?”

“What about poor niece?” I whimpered in a burst of self-pity, my hands and elbows skinned and raw.

“If you're bleeding, try not to stain Walker's hardwood floors, dear,” KiKi said, still looking at BW's paw. “I think they're original pine.”

“God forbid I stain the floors! Did you happen to see who pushed you?” I levered myself to a sitting position, rubbing my knees.

“Maybe we should get BW to the vet and get him checked out. He's holding his leg up and looking downright pitiful. You went and broke your poor doggie's foot, of all things.”

I limped over to KiKi and BW. He jumped up on me, paws to shoulders, and licked my face. He looked back to KiKi, dropped back on all fours, and held up his paw and whined. “I think we're being conned.” I caved and gave BW the other hot dog that he knew I had, and then we all trooped back to the living room.

“I wonder what our burglar was after? This place isn't exactly the Telfair Museum.”

I retrieved Old Yeller by the couch, and KiKi stood in a patch of moonbeams slicing through the front windows. “Well, there's sure not much to burgle here, I can tell you that,” she said, gazing around the room. “The TV might bring five bucks on a good day, and the desk might be an antique but it would take two men and a crane and not a woman in heels to get the thing out of here. We were standing right by the desk when we got pushed,” KiKi said, coming my way. “See if there's anything worth stealing there.”

I flipped on the desk light and we both stopped dead, staring at Boone's business card impaled on a white satin stiletto. “The man sure does lead an interesting life,” KiKi said with a laugh.

“Looks like a wedding shoe. I wonder what Boone did to deserve this?” I rifled through the papers in a folder on top, and KiKi pulled open the side drawer.

“Boone's got a dentist appointment on Friday,” I added. “His water bill is due and his gym membership is due but they'll give him a discount if he renews by his birthday next month. I didn't know Boone belonged to the gym.” And I didn't know his birthday till now.

“Honey, a man doesn't get a body like that pushing a pencil across a legal pad, and I say we pay the bill on behalf of every female in the city who . . .” KiKi stopped midsentence and held up a photo. “And what do we have here?”

“It's a young guy in jeans and wearing one of those monogram sweaters in style back in the day,” I said. “The girl's around maybe nineteen. I'm guessing they're a family since she has a baby in her arms.”

KiKi pointed to the gazebo in the background. “This is Wright Square and there's a ‘CA' on the sweater. Conway?” KiKi and I exchanged looks. “I think it's Conway with more hair and less muffin top. He was darn good-looking.” KiKi flipped over the photo and we both sucked in a quick breath as we read,
Conway, MaryEllen, and baby Walker
.

“Lord have mercy,” KiKi said in a hushed voice. “It's Walker's mamma and daddy. Oh, honey, if Walker had this here photo he knew all along that Conway was his dad.”

KiKi plopped down hard in the desk chair. “This is terrible bad news. I wish we'd never found it. It goes to motive of Walker coercing Conway into changing his will and leaving him the Old Harbor Inn, then killing him before he could change it back. It's just as Tucker said.”

“First of all, I wouldn't believe anything Tucker Adkins said if he swore to it on a stack of Bibles.” I snapped up the picture, my brain racing. “And I'm sure Boone didn't know Conway was his dad till last night when I came to warn him that the cops were on their way to arrest him. He was a total mess trying to make sense of the idea. No way he knew before that.”

KiKi waved the photo in the air. “But he's got this picture right here. We knew right off this guy was Conway, so Walker had to know, too. It's not just some random picture.”

“That's just it, I don't think he did have the picture. I doubt if he's ever seen it. I think someone left it in the desk to make Boone look guilty. Bridezilla with the satin shoe didn't have any trouble getting in here, and neither did we. These old houses aren't exactly Fort Knox. The picture wasn't buried under any papers or stashed out of the way, it was right here on top and easy to find. Someone left it.”

“Bridezilla?”

“She's ticked off that she didn't walk down the aisle. This picture is personal against Boone, wanting to frame him for murder. The cops haven't been here to look around yet or they'd have that yellow crime tape across the door, but it stands to reason they'll come snooping soon, and someone wanted to make sure they find this picture.”

“I'm guessing Conway had it in his house and whoever killed him went through his things and found it to plant here and, and . . . oh, Lordy, Reagan, honey, we got ourselves another little problem.”

“We should put that on T-shirts,” I said, searching the desk in case there were more pictures.

“The cops are here.”

My head snapped up to strobing lights bouncing off the interior walls. “That's why no yellow crime tape on the doors. Create a false sense of security? The cops were hoping Boone would show up. How dumb do they think he is?”

“They're desperate to find him, is all. You should hide and take the picture with you.” KiKi shoved it into my hand along with the shoe. She snagged BW's leash.

“What about you?” I asked.

“I'm not the TV celebrity wanting to get even with Boone. The cops will think you're here stealing stuff. Besides, I've got my trump card to play. Go hide in the pantry.”

“What pantry?”

“Old house, big kitchen, there's a pantry.” KiKi clipped her tiara in my hair, and I snagged the flashlight and scurried down the hall. I said a quick prayer to anyone listening and pulled on the first door I found.

“Police!” came the muffled voice from the living room. “Hands up and stay where you are.”

Boone clamped one hand over my mouth and yanked me inside to what was obviously the pantry. Carefully he closed the door and turned off the flashlight, casting the crunched space of shelves and food products into total darkness. “You're stepping on my toe,” I whispered. “You smell like peanut butter.”

“You're stepping on my toe and I'm hungry.” Boone shimmied one way as I did the same, our legs now twining together. My chest was now fused to his, my hand on his arm, his on my butt. My heart did the slow heavy thud, my mouth went totally dry, and I could hardly breathe. It had nothing to do with the cramped space of the pantry and
everything to do with Boone being in it. I should have taken my chances with the cops.

“Oh, I'm so glad to see you, officer,” KiKi said in the lovely exaggerated Georgia lilt she brought out for special occasions as the conversation drifted in from the living room. “I do believe I'm about to have myself a little spell right here on the spot.”

Boone shifted again to get more room, with my forehead now pressed to his scruffed chin and his arm sandwiched between my boobs. My heart kicked up a notch; actually it kicked up three notches, and my insides were on fire.
Think of something else besides Boone
, I ordered myself.

“What are you doing here?” the officer said. I recognized that voice, and it didn't conjure up happy memories. Deckard! It was the cop who pulled me over when I was driving Boone's car. See, I could think of something else besides Boone . . . until he scooted left and I realized I wasn't the only one affected by our present close situation.

“I'm rescuing my poor little puppy here,” KiKi said. “We were walking along like we do every night about this time, and lo and behold if he didn't pull away from me, the little rascal.”

Holy cow. If KiKi said the back door was open, Deckard and his merry men would search the house and find Boone and me and the peanut butter crackers.
Think, KiKi, think
, I sent out in mental telepathy.

“He pushed on the back door and he ran in,” KiKi said. “Mr. Boone lives here, you see, and gives my dear doggie treats, and now that the poor man is on the run, I figure puppy just misses him something terrible and came in
anyway.” KiKi's voice warbled and she added some sniffing for good measure. Auntie KiKi, the queen of bull.

“The dog pushed on the door?” Deckard asked in a not-convinced tone.

“He's a strong pup, and I'm betting the back door was ajar all along. You know how nothing fits quite right in these old houses,” KiKi said. My guess was she was gearing up to play her trump card that could get her out of any and all sticky situations, especially with the fifty-somethings born and raised on Savannah cuisine.

“Well, I best be going now,” KiKi added. “I've got to get back home to my wonderful dear husband. Maybe you know him? Dr. Vanderpool, but we all call him Putter.”

“Doc Putter? The cardiologist? Yes, indeed, I sure do know the man,” Deckard said, his voice now sweet as Auntie KiKi's peach cobbler. “He carries that putter with him everywhere. Fact is, he did a triple bypass on my mamma last year. She's better than new, I tell you. Lord be praised and alleluia. You go on home, Mrs. Vanderpool, and the boys and I will lock up. Tell the doc that Deckard sends his best now, you hear? Sure is a cute little puppy you have here.”

There was a scurrying of footsteps that drowned out the rest of the talk, followed by doors closing, and then more doors closing, and then dead silence. It was best to wait to make sure no one was in the house and that no one came back, but I'd been divorced for two years and not had the pleasure of male companionship for longer than that, and here I was front to front with Walker Boone, hands down the most handsome guy in Savannah, who had kissed me senseless one day ago.

I opened the pantry door and jumped out with Boone right behind me. I took one look at him, moonlight in his hair, broad shouldered, narrow hipped, and silhouetted in the patch of white. A girl could stand just so much temptation. I threw my arms around his neck and dove in for a kiss till Boone took my arms and set me back.

“Did you read the note I sent over with Chantilly?” he asked. “What happened to
stay out of my house
? Have you been eating in the car?”

“All you can think about is your car?” I pointed the heel of the satin shoe at myself. “What about me?” I twitched my hips, jutted my boobs, and held out my arms. “What about
this
? I got pretty good
this
, you know.”

Boone swallowed and looked pained. “You ate chocolate in the car, didn't you?”