Hot and Irresistible (11 page)

“Edwina, dear.” Shipley took off his fedora and smoothed back his hair. “Perhaps this has gone on long enough. The necklace is gone forever. I think we should get on with our lives and give up—”

“Never,” Edwina hissed. “Those diamonds rightfully belong to us and I’ll not rest till we have them.” She pranced out the front door, Shipley following, Daemon Rutledge looked apologetic.

“A private investigator?” He shook his head. “More problems to deal with. I’m afraid this unfortunate incident is all my fault. The Raeburns wanted to visit the morgue and with them being guests at the hotel and all, I agreed, but I never in all my days dreamed they would let themselves inside without the Biscotti brothers present. They are rather…difficult guests and Miss Charlotte is at her wits’ end with them. The hotel will assume full responsibility for anything broken or missing. We don’t want any undue publicity. Our guests are like family to us and we do take care of family even if that particular family happens to be black sheep.”

Bebe took Daemon’s hand to reassure the man before he had a nervous breakdown. Donovan said, “I don’t think they took anything, though with the mess this place is in, who the hell would know?”

“Could it be that they went and found the necklace they were looking for?” Rutledge asked, looking truly concerned about the possibility. “It rightfully belongs to Miss Charlotte, you know.”

Donovan picked up a piece of molding pried away from the ceiling. “And the list of people wanting that necklace keeps growing.”

“Yes, it most certainly does.” Rutledge tipped his hat and left and didn’t even mention Bebe was decorated in pie. Always the gentleman. Donovan looked around at the torn-up floorboards and holes in the wall. “What the hell do you think is going on here? What kind of renovations are these?”

He turned around to Vincent and Anthony standing in the doorway looking jumpy as peas on a drum. Vincent asked, “Is there some reason you are in our home? Why are you wearing my pie?”

“You had intruders,” Bebe offered, making the brothers more nervous. “But no need to worry, except for the pie. They didn’t take anything. They were looking for that Shelton Kent necklace.”

“Kent Shelton,” Vincent corrected in an instant, but now looking as if he might have a stroke. Anthony rolled his eyes and Vincent let out a long sigh of exasperation. “Oh my, now I have done it and let the cat out of the sack. I am…how do you say…a dumbass.”

“What you are is an imposter,” Donovan said, nodding at a hole in the floor. “You know the right name of the necklace, you don’t like us being here, and not because the place is in such great shape. You’re not renovating anything, you’re tearing this place apart. What the hell’s this all about? It’s the necklace, no doubt, but it’s more.”

Donovan took a chunk of crust from Bebe’s shoulder and popped it in his mouth. “But you are damn fine cooks, that much is true enough. Let’s all go down to the station and you can tell us who you really are and what you’re doing in Savannah and at the morgue.”

“We have amaretto cake,” Anthony offered, temptation in his voice. “We could perhaps talk in the kitchen? And we have Colombian coffee and whipped cream with shaved chocolate. We do not want to make ourselves known to everyone, as we are on a mission.”

Without waiting for Donovan, Bebe trotted down the hall. “Did you say cake? What kind of mission? Sorry I destroyed your pie, it was great pie.”

“I can bake you another,” Vincent said. “If you do not lock us up in prison.”

Bebe sat at the heavy wood table and cast Donovan a quick look. Was that a blush creeping up his neck? Could be since last time they were in this kitchen she was on the table and being served something a whole lot more interesting than cake. Vincent pulled dishes from the cupboard, Anthony retrieved the cake from the pantry, and Donovan asked, “What the hell kind of police procedure is this?”

“The good kind on a Sunday morning,” Bebe said with a mouthful of cake she’d snuck right off the platter. “Sit down, it’s been a rough morning.”

“We are not criminals,” Anthony said.

“And you are not the Biscotti brothers, either,” Donovan said, eyeing the cake.

“That is true. We chose that name because Vincent thought Americans could relate to us because of the cookie and I must tell you I will never eat biscotti again. Every time we introduced ourselves we got,
like the cookie
. I am Anthony Mateo and Vincent and I are indeed brothers and we are here in Savannah because the missing necklace belongs to us.”

“Oh for the love of Pete,” Donovan said. “Two more to add to the list. We should get T-shirts made.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, then plopped down in a chair, grabbed a fork, and started in on the cake. Anthony continued, “We believe this Kent Shelton necklace is Frizzante Gioielli, the Sparkling Jewel that went missing from the local Sorano museum in Italy when our grandfather was the security guard many years ago. Our family has suffered much humiliation and what you here call bad mojo because of this. We want to return Frizzante Gioielli to the museum to redeem our family name.”

“How do you know it’s the same necklace?” Bebe asked while licking whipped cream and chocolate shavings from her coffee. “Lots of diamonds out there, guys.”

“Google. Anthony often searches for news on missing jewelry, and when the hotel owner here in Savannah, Otis Parish, died, there was a missing heir and news articles mentioned an unsolved murder and a missing necklace of years ago. Thirteen white diamonds and—”

“Thirteen yellow,” Donovan added around a mouthful. “Distinctive enough, I’ll give you that. So the necklace here is the same as your missing one. I’m guessing it was brought to the United States and sold at auction. They didn’t quibble over proof of ownership in the fifties. Who had it, owned it.”

“We believe the double thirteen has caused a curse and that is why the necklace is still missing for us and ruined our family. We need to break this curse and have summoned Miss Prissy. She is coming Monday night. She will then help us find the necklace and all will be well.”

B
rieAnn savored a long lick of the soft-serve peach ice cream cone she’d bought from the Candy Kitchen. River Street was crowded with tourists on a Sunday evening, but she looked forward to her first peach cone of the season no matter how busy the place got. It was tradition, like dyeing all the fountains in Savannah green on St. Patrick’s Day, getting kissed in the gazebo at Whitefield Square, and regifting that big purple bottle of bubble bath she, Prissy, Char, and Bebe had passed around for the last ten years never knowing who’d wind up with it next for a Christmas present.

And maybe the ice cream would help her forget about dinner at her parents’ with Lamont Laskin. Nice man but so not Beau. That was the real trouble. She didn’t need help forgetting about Lamont, she needed help forgetting about Beau. She wanted him, he seemed to want her and then he suddenly didn’t. He fizzled and she was permanently stuck with wanting.

She licked again, twisting her tongue one way, then the other, making it hard, then soft, than taking another long lick from bottom to top to the tip, her mouth suddenly covering the long twist of ice cream at the top. Except she wasn’t thinking ice cream. Lord have mercy, she was having oral sex with frozen dessert. How desperate was that?

She tossed the rest of the cone away. Too…erotic and too painful to think of what she wasn’t getting. Was she ever going to have sex with that man? Her body ached for him, her insides felt wet and squishy. Think of something else!

She focused on the boats that lined the public landing and the tourists boarding the
Georgia Queen
with the big red paddlewheel for an evening cruise. A water taxi from the Marriott across the Savannah River pulled up and unloaded guests and one of those long low cigarette boats was parked several blocks down the way by the Waving Girl statue. Ray Cleveland’s Donzi? Everybody knew his boat with the yellow and purple detail splashed across the side. There were only a few tourists down that way, but they stopped and admired.

Maybe she could talk to Mr. Cleveland about Beau? Maybe he had some advice on what to do with Beau. If he just wasn’t into her, she needed to know. But if Mr. Cleveland could shed some bit of light on her predicament of Beau having a bad case of BrieAnn-itus, she’d be eternally grateful!

“Yoo-hoo,” she called at Ray from the dock as she approached the Donzi. This was one of those boats where you strapped yourself in and rocketed across the water. Amenities were all below. She knocked on the fiberglass hull. “Anybody home?” There were drinks in the holders and footprints leading to the cabin door. Mr. Cleveland had to be here somewhere. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she grabbed hold of the railing and swung herself aboard. Gymnastics 101.

“Mr. Cleveland,” she called, heading for the doorway that led to the interior. She knocked again and the door swung open. “It’s me, BrieAnn Montgomery. I was hoping I could talk to you?” BrieAnn poked her head inside, her eyes taking a moment to adjust and…Oh, dear God in heaven! Someone was lying at the bottom of the steps. A man.

“Mr. Cleveland? Lord have mercy.” He must have tripped. What kind of a boat was this? “I’m coming. I’m coming. You’ll be okay now, you hear.”

Brie climbed down the three steps and gently turned the man over, him staring back, blank and cold and…lifeless! The good thing was that it wasn’t Ray Cleveland. The bad thing was she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see, and she was going to pass out on top of a dead man. A strange dead man.

She started to scream. No screaming, the gossip would be terrible. Mama would be mortified beyond imagination and the scandal of her daughter with a dead man could cause Mama to lose her first table seating at the women’s weekly bridge club.

Shaking her head, Brie slapped her face a few times, her heart beating so fast it was right likely to explode. “I will not faint, I will not faint,” she chanted as she fumbled her cell from her purse and speed-dialed Bebe. “If you don’t pick up I swear to God I’ll—”

“Hey, Brie, I can’t come to a party tonight, no matter what the cause. I have to clean up this place, you wouldn’t believe the mess and—”

“I’mwithadeadguyonMr.Cleveland’sDonziatthepubliclanding. Hurry.” She disconnected because no more words would come out and she had depleted all the oxygen in the cabin and the fainting was coming back. Taking the handkerchief with the embroidered yellow daisies from her purse, she fluffed it out over the man’s face. She said a prayer because that’s what Southern ladies do, though to be perfectly honest she didn’t know any in this precise situation.

Sirens sounded in the distance, then a car skidded to a stop outside followed by doors slamming and then Bebe’s face at the door. She’d never get used to Bebe the beautiful being a cop with a gun.

“Sweet Jesus,” Bebe said as she came down and put her arm around Brie. “I was hoping you just had one too many martinis and had drunk-dialed me from some bar. Nice touch with the daisies.”

“Martinis? Does this looked like I’m having a martini and it’s too early on a Sunday night to be drinking and I’ve never drunk-dialed in my life and you’re the one who’s supposed to find this stuff and not me. I do garden parties and sundresses and mint tea with blueberry scones and…This is not the first time I’ve recited this litany, my life sucks.”

“I know, honey, I know. Take a breath. Do you recognize him?”

“I recognize that he’s dead.” She grabbed Bebe’s hand. “I came here to talk to Mr. Cleveland is all and found the body instead. You’re going to have to keep this out of the papers. Mama will have a hissy-fit with me being on Mr. Cleveland’s boat with a dead guy.”

Bebe picked up a corner of the hankie. “Jimmy Waters. Local PI. I got a bad feeling about this.”

“I’m sure Jimmy does, too. Do you ever have good feelings about dead guys? How do you suppose he got this way?”

“I don’t see any bullet holes so I’m guessing blunt force trauma, meaning somebody whacked him.”

“I’m so glad I asked.”

Bebe held the man’s jaw, then moved his hands. “Dead between one to four hours, easier to tell if it’s not that long ago.”

“That you know stuff like this scares the bejeebers out of me.”

“What’s on the front cover of the spring Neiman Marcus catalog?”

“Bow peep-toe pumps and hobo tote from the Valentino collection.”

“We all have our gifts.” Bebe searched the man’s front pocket and pulled out a paper, unfolded it, and read. Her face stayed placid like those people on the CSI shows, but her eyes looked troubled. She stuck the paper in her own pocket. “When we go outside, don’t say anything. Let me do the talking.”

“What did the note say?”

“It said life is a piece of crap. Let’s get out of here.” She squeezed Bebe’s hand, and they went up the steps.

“Oh my, more police. Mama is not going to like this one little bit.”

“Say nothing, remember?” Bebe whispered. Ray Cleveland and Beau hustled down the dock toward the Donzi. Brie’s gaze met Beau’s and she nearly fell right out of the boat. That man seriously affected her equilibrium, no matter what was going on in her life, even bodies with trauma. She scrambled off the boat with more agility than she knew she possessed and flung herself into Beau’s arms.

“Hi, honey. What brings you down this way? What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” That got a weird look from Beau, but before he could continue, Mr. Cleveland said, “Miss BrieAnn, Miss Bebe. Gentlemen. Always nice to see everyone on a fine Sunday evening such as this, but I’m guessing this here little gathering isn’t a social call.”

Bebe said, “Jimmy Waters is dead in your cabin. Any ideas what he’s doing there?”

“I believe he’s a PI here in Savannah, but I can tell you I have no idea as to why he’s here on my boat. Do you happen to know?”

Bebe combed back her hair with her fingers, looking none too happy and worn out clear through. Working with dead bodies could do that to a girl. Brie snuggled close to Beau, his strong arm a protective blanket around her.

“This is a crime scene now,” Bebe said. “We can’t let you back on your boat, Mr. Cleveland. And please stay in Savannah for a few days in case we have questions. Can you tell me where you were for the last three hours?”

Beau stiffened; Brie could feel it in his whole body. “Wait a minute, Bebe,” he said. “Do you think my dad had something to do with this? Are you accusing him of murder? You know him better than that. You two are friends, have been since you were born. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m not accusing anyone of anything.” Bebe’s eyes said she was pained to her soul and Brie said, “Oh for heaven’s sake, Beau, she’s a police officer, she asks questions, that’s what they do. Don’t you ever watch TV?”

“This isn’t TV,” Beau groused and Mr. Cleveland folded his arms. “You might find this hard to believe, but I was taking a little walk around town. You see, I’m thinking of opening a martini bar over there on Bay Street and I was checking out the property. Surely you don’t think I’d be plum stupid enough to leave a dead body around on my boat when I could have just as easily gone out to sea and dumped it over.”

“And Beau was with you on your walk?”

“Yes,” Beau rushed in. Mr. Cleveland gave his son a grateful look. “Beau’s mistaken. He was with clients having dinner at Tubby’s.” Mr. Cleveland nodded down the street. “I ran the boat into town with them. We saw the sights. Beau drove his car in later on and took his turn with the entertaining. Big clients bring in big money for us, so we do our share of wining and dining, if you get my drift. Now if you don’t mind, Beau and I will be over at the Magnolia House for the remainder of this evening if you’re needing us for anything more.”

Mr. Cleveland started to leave when Bebe asked, “Were you in town two nights ago?”

Beau stepped away from her, and, taking Bebe’s arm, turned her toward him. His eyes were hard, his face the same, his expression more marine than Southern good-old-boy. She liked the Southern boy so much better and she didn’t like the way this was shaping up at all.

“What are you doing?” Beau asked. “This is my dad.”

BrieAnn took Beau’s arm. “And what are you doing to my friend? She’s your friend, too, you know.”

“She sure as hell isn’t acting like it.”

“Enough, you two.” Mr. Cleveland held up his hands. “You’re scrapping like roosters in the barnyard. I don’t mind answering questions. I was in town and again stayed at the Magnolia House. I was at their nice little bar for a while but went out walking, looking for real estate, just like I happened to be this evening.”

“Alone?”

“Alone.”

“You drove into town? The black SUV with the tinted windows?”

Beau raised his voice, anger in every word. “That’s it. We’re calling our lawyer. Don’t say anything more, Dad. I don’t like where this is going.”

The other uniformed police climbed onboard the boat and BrieAnn watched Beau and his dad head down the docks. “Well I never. How rude. What did I ever see in that man?”

“Great body, good hair, cute as hell. He’s protecting his daddy, Brie, and you’re protecting me, and I’m sorry you both got in the middle of all this. Like enough’s not keeping you two apart as it is.”

“And I’m thinking it’s permanent. We’re like those ships passing in the night. Close but not close enough to amount to anything.”

“I’m sorry, Brie. I truly am. There’s a cab down the way. Go home and stay there and do not talk to anyone about anything that’s gone on here and I do mean anything. I’ll say I went to visit Cleveland and found the body and you just happened along should anyone ask what you were doing there.”

“You’d lie for me?”

“It’s one of those white lies, honey, like when your Aunt Zinnia comes to visit from up Beaufort way and you say how happy you are to see the old battle-ax. Jimmy was dead for some time before you found him, so it doesn’t matter who did the actual finding.” She nodded at the TV trucks heading down River Street. “Get out of here now.”

For the millionth time Beau watched the flickering TV at Wet Willies roll news clips from the dock that evening. The bar was mostly empty and the people there knew enough to leave Beau and his dad be. “Bebe’s looking like an old hag these days,” he said to his dad.

“Don’t you be too hard on her now, you hear. She’s a pretty girl and trapped between a friend and doing her job and there’s no easy way out.” He took a swig of Moon River. “I do have to say the Donzi looks mighty fine on TV. Photographs right well.” He laughed. “I’ll give her that.”

Beau studied his beer and turned it in circles on the bar. “I’m worried about you, Dad. I’m betting that body’s got some connection with those missing jewels and that murder a long time ago. Dead bodies don’t just show up for the hell of it. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to frame you. Who the hell is this guy anyway?”

“He was hired by Edwina and Shipley Raeburn to find the necklace for them.”

Beau jerked his head around. “You know?”

Ray laughed. “Son, there’s damn little that goes on in this city that I don’t know about, usually before it happens. My guess is somebody who’s after that necklace didn’t like Jimmy snooping and dumped him on my doorstep. It sort of takes us both out of commission.”