Monument to Murder (13 page)

CHAPTER   19

Mitzi’s emotional wires were crossed when she returned from lunch.

The conversation with Jeanine had been soothing but only to an extent, and Mitzi’s contribution to their light banter toward the end of lunch had been forced. Her father, too, had been comforting. She knew him to be a man of action. He’d do whatever he could to blow away this unwelcome intrusion into her structured, satisfying life.

But alone in her study—and without their dismissals of her fears to hang on to—the feeling of dread that had consumed her earlier in the day returned, and memories of twenty years ago dominated.

•  •  •

She was seventeen years old on that hot, humid summer night in Savannah. She’d told her parents that she was going to spend Saturday night at Jeanine Montgomery’s house but failed to mention that Jeanine’s parents would be away overnight and wouldn’t be back until Sunday.

She and Jeanine had been close friends since grade school. Mitzi’s mother often joked that the girls were joined at the hip, like Siamese twins. Their parents were also friends. Ward Cardell had made a fortune in Savannah real estate. Warren Montgomery was a successful banker, although most of his wealth had come through an investment firm he headed. The Cardell and Montgomery families were scions of Savannah society, movers and shakers, powerful forces behind elected officials. Numerous civic organizations listed Montgomery and/or Cardell on their letterheads, and their yearly financial contributions to area charities were unfailingly generous.

Their parents approved of the relationship between the girls, each of whom was an only child. Mitzi tended to be somewhat flighty, a nervous young girl with a sweet disposition who tended to talk fast. Jeanine was a cooler head, more sophisticated than her bosom buddy yet appropriately immature at eighteen. Their parents considered them exemplary examples of young southern womanhood, well mannered and bright, their outlook on society properly shaped by their parents’ staunchly conservative politics. Most of all, the girls were considered levelheaded, at least when compared to other female teenagers who the Montgomery and Cardell families considered prime examples of wasted youth, those who hung out with the wrong people at places like Augie’s, an infamous teen hangout. Ward Cardell had tried to have the club shut down and almost succeeded. But some slick legal maneuvering by the club’s attorney staved off the closure and it continued to draw large crowds each night.

Mitzi had dinner with the Montgomerys at their home on that Saturday. After dinner she and Jeanine went to Jeanine’s bedroom to listen to a Black Sabbath album that Jeanine had bought that day at a local record store. They played the music at a low volume, knowing how much Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery disliked that sort of “decadent” music. But once Jeanine’s parents had left the house, the volume was raised and the girls played air guitars and sang along with the musicians before getting down to more serious matters, like whether Miss Farnsworth, who’d never married, had ever had sex. The cutest boys were dissected, the most nerdy girls verbally devastated. It was all great fun, but the night was young and they were brimming with restless energy.

While Jeanine had supplied the music, Mitzi had provided the evening’s other stimulant—four marijuana cigarettes she’d bought that afternoon on a Savannah street corner. Mitzi wanted to light up in Jeanine’s room but Jeanine didn’t want to leave behind the telltale odor. They went to a gazebo in the expansive rear yard and puffed awkwardly on two of the joints, claiming to be higher than they were. Savannah’s infamous sand gnats, “no-see-ums,” were out in force that night; the smoke from the joints provided something of a barrier against them.

“Want the other?” Mitzi asked.

Jeanine shook her head as she crushed the butts in a piece of foil she’d brought from the kitchen. “Want to go to Augie’s?” she asked.

Mitzi giggled. “Yeah,” she said, “I know. You want to see if that cool guy is there again.”

On a previous trip to Augie’s, Jeanine had struck up a conversation with a good-looking man in his mid-to-late twenties. He told her that his name was Allan and that he was a talent scout for a major theatrical agency in Atlanta, who was spending time in Savannah in search of new talent. Jeanine didn’t necessarily buy his story but it didn’t matter. She was smitten with his curly black hair that hung down over sleepy bedroom eyes, a three-day growth of beard, his nonchalant persona, and most important, his overt interest in her.

“Think my dad would like him?” she asked playfully.

“Your daddy would shoot him,” was Mitzi’s reply.

“You know, I believe he would,” Jeanine said.

Augie’s was officially off-limits to the girls. But the club represented an adventure, a forbidden place where those “other” kids hung out, many of them African-Americans who symbolized danger, another world to explore in “officially” integrated Savannah.

Jeanine drove her father’s Cadillac convertible; he was a car buff and owned six automobiles of various makes. When they pulled into Augie’s parking lot they were surprised at how many cars were already there. Rock music, mixed with raucous laughter, spilled through the club’s open door and into the lot, where a dozen teens smoked cigarettes or pot and sucked on cans of beer.

The girls found a space, got out, and approached the club. They expected to have trouble getting in because of their age but a hefty young man charged with checking IDs was busy chatting with friends, and the girls slipped by.

Inside, the recorded music was loud, the conversation even louder. They found space at the bar and ordered beers. The bartender eyed them suspiciously but didn’t question their ages, just plopped the bottles in front of them and told them how much they owed.

“I feel like I’m dressed funny,” Mitzi said.

Jeanine agreed. Their designer casual clothes were out of place in the club where ragged jeans and T-shirts were the norm.

Their attention went to a small area in front of where a DJ played music. Two black couples danced. As they watched, a young black girl wearing a green miniskirt, a low-cut yellow sleeveless blouse, and sandals came up to them.

“Hi’ya doin’?” she slurred.

“We’re doing fine,” Mitzi said. She squinted against the room’s smoke and garish lighting and looked more closely into the girl’s reddened eyes. “I know you,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“You were at a retreat at CVA once. I remember.”

“Yeah?”

“Your name is—”

The girl laughed. “Can’t sometimes even remember my name,” she said dreamily. “Louise. You got any money, buy me a drink?”

Jeanine and Mitzi looked at each other.

“Sure,” Mitzi said. “Order what you want.”

She ordered a brandy and soda from the bartender, whose expression said he knew this girl named Louise only too well and didn’t think much of her.

Jeanine turned away from them and focused on the bottle of beer in front of her. The tap on her shoulder startled her. She looked up into Allan’s face. “Hey, glad you came back,” he said.

“Oh, hi.”

“You’re with your friend again.”

“Mitzi. Her name’s Mitzi.” She realized that her voice was shaky. He was leaning against her; she could smell aftershave or cologne, and beer on his breath.

“Buy you a beer?” he asked.

“I already have one. Thank you.”

Jeanine split her attention between him and the conversation Mitzi was having with Louise. “I get by,” she heard Louise say, “doin’ a little of this, a little of that. I don’t see you in here much.”

“We don’t come much,” Mitzi said. “Our parents—” She didn’t want to appear to be an overprotected white girl.

“Feel like a walk?” Allan asked Jeanine.

“Oh, I don’t know. I—”

“You lookin’ for some good weed?” she heard Louise ask Mitzi.

“I don’t think so. We have some.”

“Good weed, the best, better than what you get on the street. I got some snow, too.”

“Snow?”

“Coke. The Big C. Snort it up. Take you up to heaven.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. But thanks.”

“Come on,” Allan said to Jeanine. “Let’s get some air.”

Jeanine indicated Mitzi. “I’m with my friend and—”

“What, she can’t be alone for a few minutes?”

She liked his deep voice.

“So?” he said. The feel of his hand on her bare arm was blissful.

She said to Mitzi, “I’m going out for some air. It’s stuffy in here.”

Mitzi gave her a knowing smile, which prompted Jeanine to punch her arm before getting up and following Allan outside. They walked through rows of cars until reaching a secluded corner of the lot where a metallic-blue Mustang convertible was parked. “It’s mine,” Allan said.

“It’s beautiful. My father is into cars. He has six of them.”

“He must have some loot, huh?”

“He’s—he’s a businessman.”

“Yeah? So am I.”

“It must be exciting discovering new talent. Is there anyone I know who you—?”

His answer was to pull her to him and kiss her hard on the mouth. She struggled against him as he ground his pelvis against hers.

“Hey, cut it out,” he said as she pulled back. “Come on, you want it. You know you do. Get in the car.”

“No, I won’t. I’m going back inside.”

One hand went to her throat. He pushed her back against the car, her head pressing into the soft convertible top. With his other hand he reached into his pocket. He withdrew a switchblade knife and clicked it open, held it up in front of her eyes. “Don’t make me use this, baby. Just get in the car and—”

Jeanine brought her knee up into his groin. He grunted and doubled over but continued his grip on her neck. The knife came up again, this time the point of its blade was at her throat. “No!” she shouted as she grasped his wrist and twisted with all her strength. Now the knife was pointed at his midsection. She pushed against it and felt it cut through his skin and penetrate his chest cavity.

“Jeanine!” a female voice shouted.

Jeanine heard Mitzi but was too shocked to respond. She felt as though all life had been drained from her. She leaned back against the car as he slid down, his hands on her in search of something to grab, down to his knees, and then keeled over to one side.

“Jeanine!” Mitzi said again as she arrived at her friend’s side. “What—?”

Jeanine collapsed against Mitzi, who kept her from falling.

“Oh, shit!” Louise Watkins said.

Jeanine looked down at her pale blue blouse, which was stained with his blood. Her hands shook uncontrollably and her breath came in spasms.

“We have to call the police,” Mitzi said.

“No,” Jeanine said. “I can’t—”

Louise bent over the body. She grabbed the knife and pulled it from him. “Got to get rid of this,” she said, more to herself than to them.

“Please, let’s go,” Jeanine said. “It was an accident. He tried to rape me.”

She leaned on Mitzi as they headed for their car. Louise followed, muttering about not wanting trouble. When they reached the car, Mitzi opened the passenger door and pushed Jeanine onto the seat. She turned to see Louise climbing in the back. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Just get me out of here,” Louise responded.

Mitzi got behind the wheel. “The keys,” she said to Jeanine. “Give me the keys.”

Jeanine fumbled in the little purse she carried, found the keys, and handed them to her friend. “My father will kill me,” she said.

“He doesn’t have to know,” Mitzi said.

“But the police,” Jeanine said.

“Forget any police,” Louise said from the backseat. “Come on, get movin’.”

As they left the parking lot they passed a couple walking in the direction of where Allan’s body lay.

“Oh my God,” Jeanine said, sinking down in the seat and wrapping her arms tightly about herself.

“Got to get rid of this knife,” Louise said.

“Your blouse,” Mitzi said.

Jeanine loosened her arms, looked down, and emitted a tight whine.

“Take a right there,” Louise said as they approached an intersection. A minute later they came to a narrow bridge over a tributary from the sea. “Stop!” Louise said. Mitzi hit the brakes. Louise opened her door and tossed the knife over the low concrete railing. A second later a splash was heard.

“Take off your blouse,” Mitzi said as she hit the accelerator. Jeanine absently did as instructed. “Give it to Louise,” Mitzi said. Jeanine obeyed. “Where can we get rid of it?” Mitzi asked Louise.

Louise gave Mitzi directions. They arrived at a Dumpster behind a department store. Louise got out and dropped the blouse into the Dumpster, leaning into it to scatter garbage over the bloody garment.

“Where are you going?” Mitzi asked Louise.

She gave her the address of a run-down two-story apartment building on the edge of downtown.

“You live here?” Mitzi asked.

“Sometimes,” Louise said. “You got any money?”

“Yes, I—” Mitzi handed Louise all the cash she had. “Jeanine, money,” she said. Jeanine fished cash from her purse and handed it into the back.