“No way,” I said, my eyes going wide with surprise. “You did it.”
“I sure did,” she said. “I’ve been open a full week now.”
Rosemarie’s new business was gorgeous. Savannah was steeped in tradition, and you could throw a penny in any direction and hit someone who was considered “old money.” They were picky about the places they did business, but if they liked you, it was like hitting a gold mine.
The floors were original and had been sanded and stained, and there were expensive rugs scattered about. The room was divided into two sections. On the left side was a conference table with large binders opened and different fabrics and place settings. The room could be closed off with pocket glass doors for privacy, but she had them pushed most of the way open.
There walls were old brick, and the rafters were exposed, and on the right side of the room was an old fireplace with a decorative plaster mantel. There was a sitting area in front of the roaring fire—two black velvet settees facing each other and black velvet armchairs with silver pillows.
I wasn’t one to pry into people’s personal finances, but Rosemarie had taught choir at James Madison High School in Whiskey Bayou. Teachers in Whiskey Bayou got paid slightly more than minimum wage and slightly less than the whores down on River Oaks Road.
“I can’t believe you got the shop next to Krazy Cakes,” I said. “That’s prime historic Savannah real estate. It must’ve cost a fortune to get everything set up so quickly.”
“It did, but I had some money saved up from when my great aunt Pearl died a few years ago. She owned a trailer park in Augusta and struck oil when they were digging the community pool. Made a fortune. I was the only one in the family she ever liked, so she left me a nice chunk of change and donated the rest to Apocalypse Now.”
“The movie?” I asked, confused.
“No, it’s a doomsday prepper group. They mostly live in underground bunkers, eat food out of packages, and use their poop to fertilize their gardens. It takes a lot of money for self-sustained living.”
“Huh,” I said, reaching for an apple fritter.
“And I got a real good deal on this space,” Rosemarie said. “Suzanne owns four of the shops on this block, so she called the second the renovations were done and offered it to me. I’m leasing from her. This is wedding row. We’ve got cakes, a wedding planner, a florist, and a photography studio. And then the hair salon is down on the corner.”
I was very familiar with the hair salon on the corner. Chermaine had chopped off my long locks into a cute pixie cut, and she’d put about thirty-two pounds of extensions in Aunt Scarlet’s hair. Chermaine was a hair wizard.
“This is perfect,” I said. “And you’re going to do great. It’s like one-stop shopping.”
“That’s the idea,” she said. “I’ve already got a few weddings booked. I’m going to kick wedding ass, and then I’m going to take all my money and roll around on it naked and send pictures to my ex-husband. It’s the least he deserves.”
I’d known Roger Valentine only by reputation. He was a lot older than me in school, but he was a bully, an abuser, and philanderer. And everyone knew it. I’d always wondered why someone as sweet as Rosemarie had married him, but she’d never told me, and I’d never asked. But the ink on their marriage license had barely dried before they’d divorced, and Rosemarie had been single ever since. He’d clearly left an impression on her.
“My mother said last she’d heard he’d moved to Atlanta and had contracted syphilis,” I said.
“I heard that too,” Rosemarie said, nodding. “I wish I felt bad about that, but truth is I hope it rots his genitals off and buzzards scavenge his corpse.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s some imagery.”
“I was an English minor,” she said.
It was important to have goals, and I hoped Rosemarie achieved hers—both in her wedding planning venture and the demise of Roger.
“I didn’t realize you’d come back from your honeymoon,” she said.
I took off my rain boots and left them in the rack by the door, and I hung my jacket on the coat hook.
“We just got back,” I said, not letting her know how long we’d been back so her feelings didn’t get hurt. “Scarlet wanted cake for breakfast, so we thought we’d take a ride into town.”
“Why is Scarlet in town? What happened to her cruise to Australia? I was supposed to visit her in November. I got my tickets and everything.”
“You might check on a refund,” I said. “I’m pretty sure Scarlet burned her ship down and now she’s banned for life.”
Rosemarie pouted and then blew out a breath. “Well, I suppose these things happen.”
“Really?” I asked. “’Cause I can’t imagine they happen very often.”
I heard a thunk and Rosemarie screamed and put her hand to her chest. I turned and saw Scarlet on the other side of the door, her fur coat covering almost her entire body, and two big cake boxes stacked in her hands.
“It’s just Aunt Scarlet,” I said, going over to help her inside.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Rosemarie said. “I thought it was a sasquatch.”
“You got two cakes?” I asked Scarlet, taking the boxes from her. The scent of warm sugar wafted from the boxes and my mouth started watering. I was reminded I hadn’t put anything in my stomach other than tea, and I was feeling much better now that the nausea had completely subsided.
“One is a cake,” Scarlet said. “The other is pastries. Suzanne said you looked like you needed them.”
“It’s true,” Rosemarie said. “You are looking a little peaky. And you’ve got dark circles under your eyes.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking the box of pastries over to the settee. “I’m so glad I used ridiculously expensive concealer to not cover them up.”
“You must be having a girl,” Rosemarie said. “They get