Free Iced Chiffon by Duffy Brown

would give me a chance to see if Cupcake stashed what she had on Franklin there. Not that I held out much hope on that score. With Hollis living there too, it didn’t seem likely I’d find much incriminating information lying around.
    “Did Dinah Corwin come to your place?” IdaMae asked as we stepped out onto the stoop. Little white petals from the crabapple tree at the corner fluttered over us like soft, fragrant snow. This was as close to snow as Savannah got, and that was just fine by me.
    IdaMae locked the door then added, “She came here looking for you, and when she said she needed a nice little black dress, I mentioned your shop. I heard all about your new place over at the Piggly Wiggly when I was waiting in the checkout line. Sounds like a fine idea, and the word is spreading. I think seeing it on TV when you went and found Janelle in the Lexus had something to do with it.”
    Well, I’ll be. Cupcake finally did something good for me
, I thought as IdaMae added, “Did Dinah Corwin invite you to her wake for Janelle? I never heard of such a thing in all my life. Janelle was nothing but a two-bit floozy, taking Hollis from you the way she did. I can’t say I’m all that sorry she’s out of the picture.” IdaMae bit her bottom lip. “I just hope Walker Boone can catch the real killer.”
    I wished IdaMae luck with her showing, then walked the three blocks to my place. It was a perfect spring day, with the whole city smelling like warm earth and sunshine. I took the steps up the front porch just as Chantilly pulled her UPS truck to the curb. “How’s business?” she called from the door, wide open for quick grab-and–go package delivery.
    I gave her a thumbs–up sign and retraced my steps down the walkway. I leaned into the cab. “I need clothes to sell,” I said to her. “I’m nearly out of merchandise.”
    Chantilly turned in her seat. She had on her brown shorts uniform in honor of the warm day, and I noticed a small rose tattoo on the inside of her leg. A UPS driver with pizzazz. She eyed my Parkers bag. “You wouldn’t happen to have a meat-loaf sandwich in there, would you? I could put out the word and get you some mighty fine clothes here real quick for a meat-loaf sandwich from Parkers.”
    I was so hungry that my stomach thought my throat was cut. I forced myself to hand up the bag. “Extra provolone.”
    “Is there any other way?” She peered into the bag, and I caught a whiff of warm beef and seasonings smothered in cheese. A hint of drool formed at the corner of Chantilly’s lips.
    “When you put out the word, say it’s a consignment shop—I don’t have money to buy things outright. What do youthink about a seventy-five, twenty-five split, with consigners getting the seventy-five?”
    Chantilly slid out the sandwich, unwrapped it, and took a bite, a chunk of provolone dropping on her leg. I swear it took every bit of self-control I had not to swipe up the cheese and eat it.
    Chantilly said around a mouthful, “That’s bad business, girlfriend. You need a fifty-fifty split. It’s their clothes but your shop, and you’re doing the work. You’ll have to come up with some kind of bookkeeping system and give people account numbers to keep track of what sells and how much you own them.”
    “How do you know all this?”
    She licked a glob of mayo from her finger, then pointed to the back of her truck. “It’s like the packages here. We keep track of where they go and who sends them by using numbers and accounts. We stick the information to the package and match it to delivery information we keep on file. We’re all computerized, but you can do the same thing with a notebook. You’ll have to devise a tagging system to tell what clothes belong to what customer, then mark the account when there’s a sale.”
    She glanced at her watch. “Lunchtime’s over.” She balanced the sandwich on her knee and put the truck in gear. She gave a little sandwich salute, then took off with