Lies in Savannah: The Southern Sleuth, #4

By Harper Lin

Savannah, Georgia, 1922

 

Becky Mackenzie is certain she knows who poisoned the judge in a pie-baking contest at an annual festival in Savannah. After a bit of snooping, she's shocked to learn her father is mixed up in all of this. Could it also be true that he has been stepping out on her mother?

 

On top of that, there's trouble in paradise with Adam. Becky has bad luck. Even Madame Cecelia is afraid to tell her what her latest Tarot card reading means. All of her relationships are in shambles, and even the ghosts in the cemetery are avoiding her. Can Becky get out of her jams in time to solve another creepy murder?

 

From USA Today Bestselling Author Harper Lin, The Southern Sleuth historical cozy mystery series is set in the Jazz Age of speakeasies and flappers in beautiful and gothic Savannah, Georgia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harper Lin Books
• Release date: Oct 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393832843

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

It was the annual Savannah Dog Days and Firecracker Festival. Everyone from Savannah and the surrounding counties was in attendance. The sun shined brightly the first day of the festival, and already at eleven in the morning, the thermometer had passed the eighty-degree mark. Thankfully, there was plenty of shaved ice, lemonade, and root beer to be found across the acres of attractions.

Becky Mackenzie strolled the grounds with her mother Kitty and Cousin Fanny, happy to feel the sun on her face and have dozens of delectable treats within arm’s reach. At the moment, she was enjoying the sticky delight that was a nest of pink cotton candy in a paper cone.

Mama, would you like a taste? Becky offered the cone to her mother, who she knew had no willpower when it came to sweets of this nature.

I really shouldn’t. Kitty looked longingly at the candy her daughter offered.

Oh, Mama. It’s once a year. It’s not like you sit around all day eating cotton candy. You won’t have another taste of this heaven until next summer. Becky smiled as she tore off a feathery chunk and handed it to her mother.

When you put it that way… Kitty chuckled and happily took the candy, folding the entire piece into her mouth before licking her fingers.

Cousin Fanny, would you like some? Becky asked. She had been making an extra effort to be kind to her cousin since they had gotten into a pinch of trouble with a gangster and his girl a while back. Of course, it had been Fanny who had gotten them into the trouble to a certain degree, and Becky hadn’t forgotten that if her cousin had gone home like she’d been instructed to, the whole mess could have been avoided. But there was no reasoning with Fanny.

Oh, no thank you. I don’t like being sticky, she replied without looking at Becky. Why would she look at Becky when she was too busy smiling at every gent that passed by? That was the thing about Fanny: she was a ripe tomato. And there were plenty of farmers who wanted nothing more than to pick her from the vine.

Becky shrugged. It was too exciting a day to let Fanny ruin it with her weakly veiled jabs. The sound of the clinking metal of the rides accompanying the howls of people being swirled around on a spinning plate or lifted high in a swinging bucket was like a siren’s song. There was so much Becky wanted to run off and inspect that she hardly knew where to start. Instead of dashing around from attraction to attraction, she observed every tent and booth and ride and made a list in her head of what she wanted to see when she came back later. Then the sun would be starting to set, and the cooler air would be circulating, and she’d be on the arm of her favorite fella, Adam White.

Becky, did you hear what I said? Kitty asked.

I’m sorry, Mama, I was daydreaming. What? Becky replied.

I said, your father is expecting us to stop by the Jolly Corks tent, where he and the rest of the Elks Club will be doing their minstrel show, Kitty said. I do hope we can find it in time to see him on the stage.

I can’t believe Uncle Judge is going to get on stage. Fanny laughed as she put her hand to her cheek.

Your uncle can be quite the ham when he wants to be. Kitty giggled back.

Remember my third-grade talent show? Becky replied. Daddy was my assistant when I did a couple of magic tricks. If it weren’t for him, my silly game of hide the peanut under the cup would have been a complete disaster. He did ham it up, didn’t he, Mama?

Kitty was laughing hard, nodding as she went on to explain to Fanny how Judge had scratched his head, stroked his jaw, and screwed up his face like he was totally perplexed by his eight-year-old daughter’s stunt. By the end of the yarn, all three ladies were laughing.

Just then, Becky saw a familiar figure sitting at a table inside a dark-blue tent with its flaps folded back. Over the opening in gold lettering were the words Fortune-Teller. The woman inside smiled.

I’ll catch up with you girls, Becky said. I’m going to say hello to someone.

Who? Is it a young man? Kitty asked, making Becky stare at her as if she had just sprouted a horn in the middle of her head.

She’s going to see that old Gypsy, Fanny said as she jerked her chin in the fortune-teller’s direction. Why you insist on associating with such a flimflam artist is beyond me. In Paris, if anyone mingled with the street people that way, they’d soon find themselves ostracized from all the dignified families in town.

Oh, Becky, are you sure that’s such a good idea? Kitty worried.

Mama, Madame Cecelia was at Martha’s birthday party. If the Bourdeauxes found her and Count Ernesto worthy enough to do business in their home, surely my visiting her tent won’t cause any permanent damage to the Mackenzie name, Becky replied. I’ll find you at the Jolly Corks tent.

All right, dear, Kitty replied. Don’t be too long.

As soon as Kitty turned her back to continue walking, Becky stuck her tongue out at Fanny, who huffed and quickly kept up with her aunt.

I see you are still entertaining your cousin, Madame Cecelia said as she motioned for Becky to take a seat on the other side of the table.

She should take a long walk off a short pier. I don’t think she’s ever going to leave. Truthfully, I don’t think anyone wants her, Becky replied as she watched Madame Cecelia shuffle a large deck of cards with silver moons on them. I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Summer is much busier than I expected it to be.

Does your mama have your schedule filled with perspective husbands paying you visits? Madame Cecelia winked. Her long black lashes made her eyes look like those of an exotic cat. Since they’d met at Martha Bourdeaux’s birthday party, Becky and Madame Cecelia had become fast friends. Becky never had to tell Madame Cecelia about her gift of gab with those from beyond the grave. The Gypsy recognized her talent instantly and, even more important to Becky, accepted it as if it were no different from having red hair and brown eyes.

Thank goodness, no. She’s slowly coming around to the fact that I have my sights set on a fella who isn’t from the South, Becky said. I think she’s given up trying to find a husband for me.

Madame Cecelia chuckled, arched her right eyebrow, and slowly began to deal out the cards in a square pattern in front of her. "Maybe the cards will tell us something. Perhaps you’ll be hearing wedding bells. Or soon, you’ll be free of that pain in your fanny."

Becky laughed and nodded. But it didn’t take long for Madame Cecelia to become very serious. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the pictures on the tarot cards. She shook her head, looked outside the tent to the sea of people passing by, scooped them up, and reshuffled. With steady hands, she began the process all over again. But the same expression fell over her face as she realized the same cards were popping up. One in particular kept pulling her eyes to it.

What’s the matter? Becky asked. Let me guess. Fanny’s not leaving.

Uh, well, no. It doesn’t look like she is, but… Madame Cecelia looked up at Becky with a serious expression. I don’t think this is such a good reading. We shouldn’t do it today. I am probably picking up vibes from someone else who is about to stumble into my tent. Let’s do this at the apartment some time. Not here.

Now you’ve got me intrigued, Becky insisted with a smile.

I think my mother should do your reading. She’s so much better at this than me. For the locals, I can give a quick reading without much detail, and they are quite happy. Right now, I am feeling like this is totally wrong and… Cecelia could tell by Becky’s expression that she wasn’t going anywhere until her fortune was read.

What’s wrong? Becky asked.

After a deep breath, Madame Cecelia shook her head and finally began to speak. She pointed to a card showing a skeleton wearing a black cloak and carrying a scythe. It was a scary-looking card.

"Don’t let the image fool you. The Death card does not indicate someone will die. If you only knew how many people run out of the store thinking they had ten minutes to live after seeing this card. It really means change. There is going to be a very big change in your life." She tapped the card with her red fingernail. Then she pointed to another card showing a woman on a throne with ropy vines growing all around her and an upside-down chalice over her head.

What does that mean? Becky asked.

Your cup is empty, Madame Cecelia said matter-of-factly.

Becky shrugged and shook her head. If it meant she was going to have fewer parties and gin joints to go to, that was all right. With the hot weather during the day, who had the energy to dance all night? Fall couldn’t arrive soon enough.

And in addition to that, you have the Fool, who is in conflict with the sleeping queen. I just… Madame Cecelia shook her head. I’m not even confident this is your reading, Becky.

Cecelia, if I knew something was not right with you, would you want me to let the cat out of the bag? Or would you rather keep your head in the sand? Becky leaned forward with her elbows on the table.

The chances of you knowing before me would be so miniscule that I don’t think the issue would ever pop up. Madame Cecelia tapped the cards and smirked.

You know what I mean, Becky replied.

Madame Cecelia took a deep breath and focused on the cards. She squinted, tilted her head, and studied each image as if there might be something she was missing before she opened her mouth to speak. I see someone close to you. I can’t see the face or if it’s a man or woman. Just a shadow. But this person is close to you. They’ve turned their back, leaving you. Someone else is waiting for them. That’s all I can see. Madame Cecelia’s eyes held sadness. She didn’t like giving her friend this kind of reading. But it was so clear and so strong that she knew it belonged to Becky and not someone who was just passing by.

I don’t know what you could be talking about, Becky replied. She pushed herself back from the table as if the cards might be contaminated.

I’m sorry. I just read what they tell me, Madame Cecelia said.

Does this person die? Becky’s heart was pounding, and her temper was rising.

I don’t know. All I know is they are leaving, Madame Cecelia replied. The cards looked up at both of them, showing off their intricate designs and worn edges while leaving their meaning no clearer than a rain puddle in the Mackenzie tobacco field.

And have you ever been wrong? Becky huffed.

Of course I have. And I probably am now. Who knows what the cards are trying to tell me? Becky knew Madame Cecelia was lying to spare her feelings. I think it’s for someone who will be visiting my tent any minute now.

Becky looked at the open flaps of the tent, but no one walked through. What do I owe you for the reading? she asked and opened her small coin purse.

I don’t charge my friends.

Madame Cecelia hoped after this that Becky was still her friend. Sometimes her gift was more of a curse. But she couldn’t lie. She’d learned long ago that trying to say the cards said something they didn’t would be even more devastating.

I’m sure it’s nothing, Becky said with a shake of her head and a weak smile. I don’t know about you, but it’s as hot as a Louisiana pepper out there. I’m going to go get back to Mama and Cousin Fanny.

Madame Cecelia took Becky’s hand before she left and squeezed it tight. Come see me at the apartment. Soon.

Becky returned the squeeze and nodded before leaving with a wave. It felt a hundred degrees cooler outside the stuffy Gypsy’s tent, and Becky was able to clear her head. With a few deep breaths, she felt her senses returning as she looked at all the people who were milling around, holding bags of popcorn or peanuts, laughing, and pointing at all the colorful sights and attractions. All of a sudden, a man and woman, holding hands and giggling, went into Madame Cecelia’s tent. There it was. The reading that made no sense was probably for them. The seer had been right.

Becky! Kitty was waving madly from the entrance to the Jolly Corks tent. It was a bright-yellow and red canvas that looked as gay and inviting as if Mr. Barnum himself had set up the structure. Becky shook off Madame Cecelia’s tarot card reading and hurried over to her mother.

Is he on? Becky asked.

Not yet. It will be about fifteen minutes. But Mr. Rockdale is doing the most fantastic juggling you’ve ever seen. Kitty laughed. I didn’t even know he could juggle. Can you imagine, after all these years of living next door to the Rockdales, that this skill would have gone unnoticed?

Where’s Fanny? Becky asked.

Oh, well, Fanny saw Teddy Rockdale and went to say hello. Kitty cleared her throat. It was a well-known fact to all involved that Teddy was Martha Bourdeaux’s beau, and someday wedding bells would be ringing for the two of them. That never seemed to be of any concern to Fanny though. She emerged from behind a tent with a huge bouquet of pink cotton candy in one hand while holding Teddy’s arm with the other.

Doesn’t like getting sticky? Becky muttered.

Behave yourself, Rebecca Madeline, Kitty whispered as she waved to Teddy.

Don’t I always? Becky batted her eyes at her mother.

The pie contest is right next door. Did you know that Gertrude Peabody is entering this year? Kitty asked Becky. She says she received a recipe for blueberry pie from her great Aunt Rose, who swore to never give up the recipe to anyone.

So why did she finally give it to Gertrude? Becky asked.

She finally died. Kitty shrugged. Oh, that’s her boy Brian over there. It looks like he’s carrying that very priceless pie. Brian Peabody, what are you doing with your mother’s blueberry pie?

Hi, Mrs. Mackenzie. Brian was thirteen years old, tall, lanky, and awkward like every boy that age. Mama’s not feeling well. Her ankles swelled up something awful from the heat, so Aunt Genevive is over taking care of her. I said I’d deliver her pie for the contest. She made four pies before this one. Dad says he hopes he never tastes another blueberry pie as long as he lives and was glad to see this one go.

That was mighty nice of you to help your mama that way. Becky chuckled. You sure have grown since the last time I saw you. Looking like a regular John Gilbert, isn’t he, Mama?

Thank you, Miss Becky. Brian blushed a dozen shades of red. I better deliver this pie.

The pie contest is right over there. Becky pointed around the Jolly Corks tent to a set of picnic tables with a white tent behind it. Brian gave a quick thank-you to Becky and walked quickly but carefully toward the tables.

I can’t believe how tall he’s gotten, Becky said.

Oh, he’ll be a wiry one like his father. Not a hint of meat on his bones, Kitty replied.

Teddy Rockdale, what’s this I hear? Your father is an expert juggler, and you kept that a secret from all of us for how many Fourth of July parties? Becky teased. And here we were being subjected to your singing and piano playing.

I thought you liked my singing and piano playing, Teddy huffed before giving Becky a peck on the cheek.

After three champagne cocktails, I’ll like a tomcat’s singing and a two-year-old’s piano playing, Becky teased.

Teddy, I just love seeing you play the piano, Fanny gushed as she daintily ate her cotton candy. I think I’d just love to…

Just then, the most horrifying, high-pitched scream cut through the fair. It was heard over the rides and the laughter and appeared to have brought the entire fairgrounds to a halt for several terrifying seconds.

What happened? Teddy asked.

There was another scream. It came from the pie tent. Everyone stopped, turned, and looked.

CHAPTER TWO

At first, Becky thought that something had happened to Brian Peabody. Everyone nearby took off in that direction and saw the boy standing at the entrance of the tent in front of a sign that read Pie Tasting in Progress—Judges Only. He was holding his mother’s pie but had gone slack-jawed as he stared inside the tent.

Brian? Are you all right? Becky asked as she got to the boy.

A half dozen other people had rushed to the scene. That was when Mr. Clem Foxworthy, wearing his Elks Club fez and a short-sleeved button-down shirt, staggered toward the door. Becky thought he was three sheets to the wind until she watched his face turn blue in front of her. His steps were wobbly and pigeon-toed, and his hands went to his throat. After that, he froze, his eyes bugged out, his tongue came out, and he whirled around before he collapsed onto the table holding all the blueberry pies, sending everything sliding into a giant purple pile of goo. Everything was tinted purple, from the fez on his head to his shirt to the white tablecloth and even the grass.

Someone call a doctor! Is there a doctor in the house? Becky heard from the crowd. She stood next to Brian, her hand on his arm as they both watched two other members of the Elks Club rush to Mr. Foxworthy’s side. They lifted him and carried him to the picnic tables, where they laid him out.

What happened? Becky asked.

I-I don’t know, Brian stuttered. I saw Mr. Foxworthy take a bite of pie, and then he-he-he just started choking.

Brian, go on home. You don’t need to stay here for this, Becky urged.

What about my mom’s pie? he said innocently.

I think you can tell her that the pie contest was canceled. Becky smoothed the boy’s hair and gave