The Cane Mutiny (18 page)

T
he former beauty queen responded by backing up through the front door. “Get off my porch! Now! The both of you.”

“You haven't seen the last of us,” I said.

“I'm calling the cops!” She slammed the door.

By the time we got to the car, tears as big as wading pools rolled down my friend's cheeks. When a heart the size of C.J.'s breaks, it takes Hoover Dam with it.

“C.J., never mind her trash talk. She's Miss Sugar Tit, for goodness sake.”

“Abby, you don't understand. When we were kids, we were closer than cats and dogs.”

“Well there you go. I bet you hardly knew each other.”

When she shook her head, I was drenched in a shower of salt spray. “Abby, honestly, sometimes I think you must be a little slow. Cats and dogs get along wonderfully when raised from little on.
Trust me, because we had plenty of those. And that's practically how we were raised. On account of I had no parents, Granny Ledbetter always invited Tater Tot over to spend the summers. Sometimes even over the winter break. It was Tater Tot who taught me right from wrong. If it hadn't been for her, I would have grown up to be a hooligan.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Abby, it's true. I was tearing tags off mattresses when I was only six. Once when I was twelve I lathered and rinsed, but I didn't repeat. Tater Tot made me do it over again.”

“And it shows. I've always admired your hair. But C.J., I'm afraid it's possible your cousin, as much as you love her, might be a murderess.”

“Ooh, Abby, don't be so silly. Tater Tot wouldn't hurt a flea.”

“I think that's supposed to be ‘fly.'”

“We had lots of cats and dogs, remember?”

“There are some who think she murdered her husband and dumped his body into the Wadmalaw River.”

C.J. wiped her cheeks while she giggled. “You always were good at cheering me up.”

“How does me suggesting that your cousin is a killer cheer you up?”

Giggles turned into snorting guffaws. With my
pal momentarily distracted I backed out of Miss Sugar Tit's driveway and drove up Major Moolah Road a piece. But not as far as Mac Murray's tree house. If the ex-beauty really did call the police, at least I couldn't be written up for trespassing on anyone's property.

After a while C.J.'s snorts ebbed, as did her spirits. “Abby, you weren't joking, were you?”

“I'm afraid not. I have a witness who claims to have seen her dumping—”

“Abby, I mean you weren't joking about her being
married.
”

“Of that I'm almost certain. She told me herself he was a big-shot lawyer. That's why she can afford such an expensive house.”

“But we made a pact!”

“You what?”

“We were thirteen. In Granny Ledbetter's barn. We made a pinkie swear that we would be at each other's wedding. We even did a double Dutch toss.”

“What's a double Dutch toss?”

“There were these two neighbor kids who were originally from Amsterdam. We threw them off the hayloft. Abby, that kind of promise has to be kept.”

“But wait a minute. Until now you had no idea your cousin was living in the Charleston area.
That means you were going to break your oath as well.”

When C.J. extends her lower lip she is the envy of four-year-olds and teenagers around the globe. “Okay, so maybe I wasn't going to invite her. You know something, Abby?”

“I know a lot. But apparently not as much as you.”

“I think Granny Ledbetter was lying to protect me when she said that she didn't know where Tater Tot was. Just like when she told me Cousin Ordelphia died of pancakitis, instead of coming right out and saying that she got stepped on by a circus elephant. Because to tell you the truth, Abby, I haven't really liked Tater Tot since the day she was crowned Miss Sugar Tit.”

“Do tell.”

“The second the judge set that crown on her head, Tater Tot proceeded to put on airs. She didn't even want to associate with her kinfolk anymore. Especially the Shelby side of the family. Granny said that if Saint Peter gave Tater Tot a tour of Heaven, she'd ask to see the upstairs.”

“I can believe it.”

“And do you really believe she might have killed this Roberta Stanley? And this man they found in the Wadmalaw River?”

“Actually, the police never found a man in the
river. Not this time, at least. They were called out to investigate, but decided they didn't have enough evidence upon which to base a search.”

“Ooh, Abby, but they do have Roberta Stanley's body, and Tater Tot knew she was dead.”

“I know. And that got me going for a minute, too. But the longer I think about it, the less important I think it is. A wealthy woman like your cousin has got to be plugged into a zillion gossip connections. And let's face it, you two have a lot in common.”

C.J. gasped. “How did you know she has six toes on each foot? She wasn't wearing sandals.”

“
You
have six toes?” Come to think of it, I'd never seen her in sandals, and I for sure hadn't seen her barefoot. Even this morning, dressed in my brother's T-shirt, she was wearing shoes.

She nodded, a wistful smile spreading across her massive face. “I was on the swim team in college. We made the national swim team finals.”

“That's impressive.”

“Those were the good old days. Abby, do you ever miss your college days?”

“Sort of, but not really. I met Buford in college; that colors things a bit. Anyway, the point I was trying to make is that you and your cousin are both very bright. I don't think she'd let that
information drop accidentally if she had anything to hide.”

“So what do we do now, Abby?”

“We—I mean, I—swallow my pride and solicit help from a real detective.”

 

Greg could tell by the caller ID that it was me calling, but he still got points for picking up after the first ring. He sounded breathless, which probably meant I caught him on his treadmill.

“Abby!”

“Greg, I know I'm stubborn and have no business playing Sherlock Holmes. You are absolutely right not to want me—”

“Can we cut to the chase, hon?”

“I need a favor, dear.”

“Abby, you're going to have to work things out with your mother by yourself.”

“You're right. But that isn't the favor. What I'd like is for you to look in the phone book and see if you can find a listing for a James Aikenberg in Charleston. There might not be a residence number, so also please look in the yellow pages. He's an attorney.”

“With which firm?”

“He works by himself, I think.”

“Gotcha. What's this about, Abby?” Before I
could answer he spoke again. “I know, it's a long story and you don't have time to go into it now and yadda.”

“You need at least one more yadda, dear, and you're right, it is a long story. And I would really appreciate it if we could talk about this later. But in the meantime, did I ever tell you that you are the most wonderful husband in the world?”

“Every time you need a favor, hon.”

“Right. I love you, Greg.”

“Back at you, hon. Hey, before I forget, you got a message from a Ms. Wou-ki. That's spelled W—”

“That's all right; I know who she is. What did she want?”

“Something about you coming over to see her this morning.”

“Was I supposed to?”

“Beats me. She didn't say.”

“Shoot. I'm all the way out on Wadmalaw Island and—”

“She's on Kiawah Island, at her house. That's not too far out of the way, is it?”

“Her house? Why didn't you say so?”

“I just did, hon.”

“'Bye, dear.” I hung up before either of us had a chance to further irritate the other. I knew I hadn't made an appointment to see Hermione Wou-ki. If I had agreed to meet her at home, you can bet I
would have been thinking about it all morning. I love seeing other folks' houses, the way they decorate, and the way they live. I think I was born that way. Mama said that when I was a little girl I'd go up and down the block asking to use the neighbors' bathrooms. It wasn't that I had a bladder problem, either; I was just curious.

Driving down to Kiawah Island would not be a problem, except for the fact that the barrier island community is gated. One can't even get on the island just to drive around without a pass code. This meant I had to swallow some pride and call Greg back in hopes he'd been given the code.

They say that it is natural to gain a few pounds every year as one grows older. Believe it or not, I've been very careful about counting my calories to prevent this, but have added a few pounds anyway. Therefore I must conclude that this unwanted weight comes from swallowing so much pride in recent years. I called Greg.

“It's 9857,” he said, without even saying hello or waiting for me to ask. “Of course it's temporary; just for today.”

“Thanks!”

“You're welcome,” he said, and hung up.

Being justifiably annoyed is a luxury that must be savored. I had only a few seconds of this before the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hon, I forgot. You had another message.”

“Oh?”

“It's your mom. She said she smells big trouble ahead.”

“She always smells trouble.”

“Yes, but she told me to tell you that this time she means it literally.”

“Like how? I'm going to get hit by a Mack truck? Or maybe a grand piano's going to fall on me from a ten-story building?”

“Beats me. I'm just doing my part in passing it on.”

“Thanks, Greg.”

“Hon?”

“Yes?”

“This is going to sound weird, but I have a bad feeling this time too.”

All of a sudden I also had an impending feeling of dread. It was the proverbial goose walking over my grave. A two thousand pound goose wearing army boots.

A
bby. Abby. Abby!”

I started.
“What?”

“Are you all right?” C.J.'s look of concern was touching.

“No—I mean, yes. Sure I'm fine. Why do you ask?”

“You look as pale as my Uncle Fester.”

“I thought he was an Addams.”

“No, silly. That's just a TV and movie character. But come to think of it, my Uncle Fester was bald.”

“Did he wear a robe?”

“Only in the courtroom.”

“Your uncle was a judge?”

“Yes. Judge Knott. Have you heard of him, Abby?”

“I'm afraid not. C.J., I have to drive down to Kiawah Island. Would you like me to drop you back at your car?”

“No, Abby. I'm yours for the rest of the day.”

I was afraid of that. Well, at least I wasn't going to be lonely.

“Oh crap,” I said, thinking aloud. “I forgot to ask Greg for Hermione Wou-ki's address.”

“No problemo, Abby. I've been to her house oodles of times.”

“You have?”

“Ooh, Abby, she gives the best parties. Do you know Tara Lipinski?”

“No.” There was no use disguising the hurt I was feeling. And there is no denying that feeling hurt was really stupid of me, because I hadn't even met Hermione Wou-ki until yesterday, so I couldn't very well have been on her A list, now could I?

C.J., bless her heart, picked up on my feelings. “Don't worry, Abby, I'm sure that from now on she'll invite you to all her parties. And anyway, a party is just a party, unless of course Oprah throws it. Then it's more like a cruise—oops, did I say the wrong thing?”

“Absolutely not, dear. But at the moment I'm too busy recalling my fabulous weekend with Tom Cruise to pay attention. But when we get to Kiawah Island, and I need directions, I'll be all ears.”

“Ooh, Abby, isn't spending time with Tom wonderful?”

“The best,” I said, through gritted teeth.

 

The guard at the gate was very pleasant, if a bit irritating. “Good to see you, C.J.,” she cooed. “Where's that boy toy of yours?”

“Toy is invited to those parties as well?” C.J. chose to answer the guard first. “He's interviewing for a position at Grace Episcopal Church.”

“Wow,” the guard said, “that would be so cool if he gets it. My aunt goes there, and I visit sometimes.”

You can bet your bippy that as soon as we were granted permission to enter the stomping grounds of the rich and famous, albeit most were not as famous as Tara Lipinski and Tom Cruise, I was on C.J. like a hen on a June bug.

“What do you mean Toy is interviewing for rector of Grace Church? He hasn't even graduated from seminary yet. And do you
really
know Tom?”

“Ooh, Abby, don't be silly. Toy isn't applying to be rector. But eventually when he is ordained as a deacon, he will need a church to spend his apprenticeship in, and he wants it to be Grace. Then who knows? Maybe he
will
be rector of Grace Episcopal Church someday. Wouldn't that be wonderful?”

“Weird is more like it,” I said. “Then my mother will have to call her son Father.”

C.J. giggled. “Maybe I should call him father too. And so should you.”

It was time to change the subject. “So what about Tom? Do you party at his house a lot? Can you show it to me?”

“Abby, Tom doesn't live on Kiawah Island. Toy and I see him—oops, turn here.”

“But you said—”

“Now turn left.”

I did as C.J. directed, and after going through a second gate, soon found myself on a part of Kiawah Island that I never knew existed. The part of the island I was familiar with was home to the merely “comfortable.” That this new enclave was the playground of the fabulously wealthy was driven home when I passed a new Mercedes with the Merry Maids logo on the side.

“Abby, you better put your tongue back in before it gets caught in the steering wheel. That happened to Cousin Cornelius Culpepper once—”

“Where do these folks get their money?” I moaned.

C.J. shrugged. “Abby, you really wouldn't want to live this way, would you?”

“Try me.”

“But just think. They've probably never been to Wal-Mart, or Arby's, or to a garage sale. Think of all the fun they've missed.”

I stopped thinking about this fun when C.J. directed me to turn onto a property that looked like the movie set of Tara—and not the Lipinski variety—before the Yankees burned it down. Of course Scarlett's family didn't have their own helicopter pad.

I gave C.J. the honor of ringing the doorbell. Just as I had reached the conclusion no one was home, despite the plethora of cars, the door was opened by a butler in full livery who looked like he chewed nails as a hobby. But one glance at C.J. and his dour features rearranged themselves into an almost handsome visage.

“Good morning, miss.” He caught sight of me. “Deliveries around to the back door, please.”

“Ooh, you're so silly, Rufus. This is my best friend, Abby. We're hear to see Hermione.”

“Ah, yes. You must be Mrs. Timbersnake,” he said.

“Actually, it's—close enough. But now it's Washburn. I save Timbersnake for my business dealings.”

“I believe that's why you're here, madam.”

“Yes, of course.” If it wasn't for the fact that I was a lady, I might well have kicked him in the ankles.

Lurch—or Rufus—or whoever he was, led the way through cavernous rooms kept cool by thick
velvet drapery and furnished in early Victorian style in the English mode. If I caught a glimpse of the stout monarch herself, it would take a few seconds for me to register surprise.

Noticeably absent was anything Oriental. There was not even the occasional Chinese vase, something that would have been quite at home in the rather eclectic collections of that period. Since my mind was obviously getting easier to read as the day progressed, the dimness of these great rooms did not pose a challenge to C.J.

“Her mother was English,” she whispered, “and so was Mr. Wou-ki's grandmother. Trust me, Abby, their California home is very Chinese.”

“Keep reading, dear, you're not done.”

“Of course she doesn't have to work, silly. She works because she enjoys it. Wouldn't you want to keep busy even if you didn't have to?”

“Charities, or fun busy?”

“Hermione does lots of stuff for charity, Abby. But just like you might want to go bowling for fun, Hermione likes running her shop. That's what makes it so successful. Antiques are her passion, not just her business.”

“Bowling? I haven't been bowling in thirty years.”

“Granny and I used to bowl with cabbages,” C.J. said wistfully. “Then one day Cousin Cole
Ledbetter came to visit, and while Granny and I were off to church, he shot up all the cabbages with his double gauge shotgun. Splintered them all over the place. Granny was very practical, and when she saw all those shredded cabbages, she mixed what she could with mayonnaise and served it for Sunday dinner. ‘Cole's Slaughter,' she called her recipe. Well, the pastor and his family were eating with us that day, and before you know it everyone in Shelby was wanting to try this new dish. Soon everyone with a shotgun, and even a couple of people with axes, were busting up their cabbages. Over the years the name got changed to Cole's Slaught and then finally coleslaw. You can bet Granny about hit the roof when she learned that someone had sent her recipe into lots of different cookbooks and not given her credit.”

Rufus stopped abruptly, causing C.J. to plow into him, and me into her. Fortunately we all remained standing, so no real damage was done.

He cleared his throat. “Miss Cox and Mrs. Timbersnake to see you, madam.”

I peered around two sets of elbows. What I saw made me gasp.