To Live and Die In Dixie Read Free

know that redbrick castle-looking place you can see from the MARTA train? That’s the place.”
    â€œYou mean Elliot Littlefield?” Edna asked. “I thought he was still in prison for that murder thing. Just how do you happen to know somebody like that?”
    She smiled and waved an imaginary fan in front of her face. “That was years ago. And anyway, Swannelle says he got off on a technicality. I met him at one of Swannelle’s last skirmishes. He’s the head honcho over Swannelle’s unit. When we were introduced, I mentioned where I worked, and I gave him a House Mouse card. He called me this morning and wants you to talk to him right away about cleaning his house.”
    Edna’s eyes had that glint. She pushed the phone across the table toward me. “Call right now,” she said. “That house, Eagle’s Keep, I think he calls it, is huge. I’ve always wanted to see the inside of it. I hear it’s loaded with gorgeous antiques. And you know they found the body in the tower bedroom in that turret. Call him and tell him we’ll both come over to give the estimate.”
    I reached for the scrap of paper Neva Jean held out and dialed the number.
    It rang once, twice, three times before the answering machine picked up. In the background I heard the first few tinny bars of “Dixie.” A man’s voice, deep and distinctively Southern, identified himself as Elliot Longstreet Littlefield, proprietor of Eagle’s Keep Antiques and instructed me to leave a message at the beep. Before I could do so, the phone picked up at the other end. “Wait,” the same voice said, live this time. “I’m here. Let me turn this godforsaken machine off.Just a minute.” I heard the receiver drop on the other end and then the sound of glass breaking.
    â€œDamn,” he muttered. “That was my last Steuben highball. I’m sorry. This is Elliot Littlefield. Who’s calling please?”
    â€œCallahan Garrity, of the House Mouse Cleaning Service,” I said crisply. “My associate Neva Jean McComb tells me you’re looking for some help.”
    â€œThat, dear lady, is the understatement of the year,” he drawled. “Beulah, the woman who has worked for me for years and my mother before me, has simply gotten too feeble to keep up with things. Now then, Miss…what was the name again, please?”
    â€œGarrity. J. Callahan,” I prompted.
    â€œYes, I remembered it was an unusual name. I don’t know if Neva Jean told you, Miss Garrity, but I’ve got a bit of an emergency here. The Eagle’s Keep is on the Inman Park Tour of Homes next weekend.”
    â€œNext weekend?” I said, relieved. “That’s all right then. We can have the girls out by, oh, Tuesday or Wednesday, if we juggle the schedule a little.”
    â€œYou don’t understand,” he said, interrupting. “I’m hosting the kick-off brunch for the Inman Park Festival tomorrow. I’ve got sixty people due at my front door for Bloody Marys and mini-quiches at eleven A.M. tomorrow and this place is a shambles. Can I count on you?”
    â€œJust a minute, please, I need to check with my office manager.”
    I covered the receiver with my hand and looked over at Edna. “It’s got to be cleaned tonight. Big party tomorrow, and the place is a mess. What do you think?”
    She wrinkled her brow in thought. Neva Jean shook her head emphatically. “Include me out, ya’ll. This ball is the social event of the season. Ya’ll just call Baby and Sister and them. I’m not working.”
    I turned back to the phone before Edna could answer. “Uh, exactly how big is the house, Mr. Littlefield, and how heavy a cleaning are we talking about here?”
    â€œEight thousand five hundred square feet. Three stories. I need the works. Wood floors waxed, stained-glass windows cleaned, silver buffed, that kind of