Demise in Denim by Duffy Brown Page B

“You got to realize that the Plantation Club might be all proper decorum on the outside, but underneath it’s pretty much the Wild West show and last-man-standing mentality.” She expertly caught a drip of sauce with her tongue. “Did you happen to find Mercedes’s mystery man?”
    â€œHe was that guy at the funeral in the cowboy hat. He nearly ran me over in the parking lot with his white pickup.”
    KiKi stopped the rib bone halfway to her mouth. “Built like a fireplug? Mustache? Crazy eyes?”
    â€œOne of your dance students?”
    â€œAngie Gilbert’s husband. She’s my canasta partner and she’s a nurse. She used to visit Conway at his house and give him B-12 shots and a little personal attention to rev up his heart, if you get my drift.”
    I licked sauce off my pinky. “Well, the old boy saw fit to kill Conway a second time; do you think he has it in him to do the deed the first time?”
    KiKi shook her head. “He was out of town, a flight to New York. He goes every other week like clockwork. Angie timed her B-12 visits that way.”
    â€œHe could have doubled back.”
    â€œIt’s a 747, honey, not a Honda.”
    The stalker event killed my appetite. It was a rotten ending to a rotten day when even Walls’ didn’t look good to me. I packed up the greens and ribs for later.
    â€œAre you okay?” KiKi asked with a hint of concern.
    â€œToo many windmill cookies, is all. So,” I added fast, to keep KiKi from asking more questions, “that takes Angie’shusband off the table for killing Conway, and Mason Dixon doesn’t fit either. Why would Dixon kill the guy who was paying him off? The gold-digger sisters were angry with Conway and Boone, but murder’s a big leap. Tucker hated his dad, but why kill him? Just don’t return his phone calls and don’t invite him for Thanksgiving dinner. Any other gossip floating around?”
    Auntie KiKi slurped her martini, the perfect accompaniment to ribs or in KiKi’s opinion anything else. “Some guy is trying to buy the Tybee Post Theater, and no one’s much liking the idea.”
    â€œThat’s Grayden Russell; he’s staying at the Old Harbor Inn. I met up with Steffy Lou Adkins in the little girls’ room at the Slumber, and she said Russell was after Boone.”
    â€œSteffy Lou and you chatting it up?”
    â€œShe liked my purse.”
    KiKi snagged a napkin, mopped herself up, and then finished off her martini. “You know, I haven’t been to the Old Harbor Inn in years, and this Russell person seems to be sittin’ right in the middle of all this mess.”
    â€œThat’s a stretch.”
    â€œHoney, all we got is stretch. I hear tell the inn serves up a mighty fine breakfast.”
    â€œBreakfast there is only if you bed there.”
    â€œWe’ll improvise. Mess up your hair, wear your bunny slippers, and dream up a room number. I’ll have the Batmobile fueled up and ready to fly at eightsharp.”

Chapter Seven

    â€œW HAT do you mean, KiKi can’t make it?” I said to Chantilly, both of us not quite awake, which was proven by the fact that we were staring blankly into my empty refrigerator at seven thirty in the morning.
    â€œThat’s why I’m here,” Chantilly said. “KiKi is having an attack of tummyitis and wants me to fill in even though I didn’t get to bed till after two from catering the Adkins wake, and why don’t you ever have food in this house?”
    â€œI have SpaghettiOs and hot dogs.”
    Chantilly stifled a burp. “KiKi said something about breakfast at the Old Harbor Inn. I thought you had to bed at the inn to breakfast there.”
    â€œYou do; KiKi and I were going to breakfast-crash.” I gave Chantilly a hard look, as what she had just said about KiKi started to sink in. “A tummy problem? Well, that explainswhy I can’t