Demise in Denim by Duffy Brown

never getting them back on. They give a whole new meaning to
tight
.”
    I took the keys, but she didn’t let go. “Be careful, okay? I love this car.”
    â€œI’m a good driver.”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    I slid behind the wheel and Chantilly levered herself, her heels, and her hairdo into the passenger side. Cherry House and Rose Gate were in the Victorian district of Savannah, and we headed for the historic district and the Plantation Club. Deciding a Jeep was not in sync with Chantilly’s outfit, I parked a block away and we hoofed it to the club, causing two accidents along the way.
    â€œMy friend here would like to talk to Mr. Dixon about membership in the Plantation Club,” I said to the gal behind the reception desk. “Think he can spare a little time to explain things to her?”
    â€œHe’s busy.” The receptionist, in a navy suit and white blouse, gave Chantilly a disapproving stare. “You’ll have to make an appointment, and he’s really busy for the month, maybe the next two months or even three.”
    Chantilly waved her hand in the air. “Why, I just bet he’s tied up with all sorts of important things that go on around here, so I’ll just wait out front of this fine establishment till he can squeeze me in.”
    â€œOut front?” The receptionist jumped out of her chair. “Like on the sidewalk out front? Sweet Jesus save us, you can’t be doing a thing like that.”
    â€œWell now, don’t you worry your pretty little head about me.” Chantilly tsked. “Of course I can wait by the door. It’s a fine day, not a cloud in the sky.”
    The receptionist shagged Chantilly by the elbow. “No need to go outside, you can wait in the Robert E. Lee room and I’ll find Mr. Dixon right quick.” Chantilly teetered on her spike heels and gave me a little finger wave over her shoulder as she followed the receptionist down the hall. Since the club watchdog was now preoccupied with Chantilly and her sequins and had forgotten all about little ol’ me, I headed off in the other direction and made for the back service stairway, which I knew about from when Boone and I were trying to get information.
    â€œHey,” a waiter called to me as I ran up the steps. “What are you doing back here? This isn’t for guests.”
    â€œI’m . . . a new hire,” I said, flashing a bright smile. “And . . . and I’m looking for Mr. Dixon because . . . some floozy wants to talk to him about being a member. She’s threatening to wait outside till he finds time to meet with her. We can’t have that now, can we? What will people think is going on around here? The receptionist told me to check Mr. Dixon’s office, and maybe you can look for him in the bar area? He’s not picking up his cell.”
    â€œGate crashers is what we call them around here,” the waiter said with a big smile. “I’ll get on it.” He hurried off and I panted my way up to the third floor, making a solemn promise that if I didn’t have a heart attack I’d take up a morning activity other than eating doughnuts.
    Peeking around the corner, I spotted Dixon getting into the small elevator, and as the door slid closed I made for his office. I let myself in and gently closed the door behind me. If Dixon owed Conway money he’d have a record of it, something signed and dated. He could keep the information athis house, but more than likely any money transactions between Conway and Dixon happened here. From what I’d heard, Conway and Dixon didn’t have a
let’s do lunch
kind of relationship. It was more likely that the reason Conway lent Dixon money was to lord it over him. Those two deserved each other.
    Dixon was a neatnik with things all nice and tidy. A calendar of events for June sat next to a stack of invitations for the annual summer ball, and