Gone With a Handsomer Man (19 page)

“Not yet.”

“And I don’t guess the police returned your clothes?”

I shook my head.

“Don’t those idiots know a thing about a woman and fashion?” She looked up from the bowl. “You’ll need a sedate dress for the funeral. And not that ugly brown sack you wore in court. The service will be graveside. The Episcopal priest will say a few words. Don’t be shocked if Bing’s girlfriend shows up. Trash like that always makes a scene. Just ignore her.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. Oh, say, around nine?” She frowned. “And please make your cute lawyer stay home—unless you want the gossips to think you killed Bing for a handsomer man.”

*   *   *

Later that morning, I drove the Mustang to my favorite thrift shop. The beige Camry followed at a discreet distance. I shot them a glance as I opened the door. With Ava’s supermodel attire firmly in mind, I found a simple black dress for five dollars. I also found a white blouse and straight black pants, two dollars each.

Next, I went to the big dollar store and bought baking staples for my ghost cooking job, along with cute black-and-white shoes. Then I hit the condiment aisle, loading up on cooking oils, spices, and extracts.

As I drove toward the Battery, I felt the pull of the Spencer-Jackson. The house was creeping up on me, seducing me with iron curlicues, secret alleys, rose petals on cobbled walkways, and the tolling bells of St. Michael’s.

Lord, I loved it all. I loved the play of light on the stucco and how it changed from ice pink to peach to Pepto-Bismol. I loved the buildup of purple clouds over the harbor. I imagined myself coming down the oval staircase in a white, frothy gown with Coop waiting at the bottom. I could raise a family here, and I could almost hear the light, tapping footsteps of children and dogs as they ran across the heart pine floors. It was straight out of a forties movie. Girl meets house, girl loses house, girl falls in love.
Miss Templeton Finds Her Dream Home.

I set the groceries on the island and stepped into the garden for lavender. Uncle Elmer had installed speakers all over the house, even on the patio, and the doorbell was hooked up to it. Now, it rang with a vengeance, with gongs reverberating all over the yard. I liked those bells. No one could sneak up on me. Sir tipped back his head and howled.

Still holding the lavender, I ran back into the house, grabbed my keys from the bowl, and hurried into the brick corridor. It was always cooler out here. A breeze rippled over my blouse as I walked toward the iron gate.

A woman with long brown hair stood on the other side. She reached up to adjust her floppy white hat. The draft caught her dark hair and blew it away from her shoulders. It was Ava.

twenty-five

I stared through the iron bars into Ava’s face. God, those cheekbones. I’d been hoping a sandstorm had come up in the night and buried her house. Despite the heat, my arms broke out in gooseflesh.

“Hello, Teeny,” she said with a cut-glass English accent. The wind lifted the edges of her long white linen dress, showing firm, tanned legs. She lowered her sunglasses and smiled. Despite the noon heat, she looked like a bride who’d just emerged from an air-conditioned limousine.

I unlocked the gate and stepped onto the sidewalk, blocking the corridor.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asked, looking amused.

“You’re Ava.” I glanced down the street but didn’t see her motorcycle.

“Is this a good time for a sit-down?” she asked. Her accent cut through me like a pâté knife slicing into foie gras. Miss Dora had served that at the engagement party, and Bing had explained what it was and how to pronounce it. I’d spit it out when he wasn’t looking, thinking of the duck that had sat in a cage, force-fed until its poor liver swelled, only to end up at Miss Dora’s party.

I blinked at Ava, certain that she suffered no food qualms. Her full lips parted, showing straight white teeth. Even if she’d had pancake lips and eyes no bigger than capers, she’d still be gorgeous. I drew my lips over my teeth, mindful of the gap, which now seemed like the Grand Canyon of dental flaws, and wondered how I could get rid of her—not a literal riddance, like with rat poison, just a temporary one.

“Can I take a rain check?” I waved at the corridor, as if chaos lurked behind the stucco walls. Even to my ears, I sounded rude but I didn’t care.

“It’s frightfully important,” she said.

As she strode past me, I smelled musk and mock oranges with a touch of lily of the valley—a potent poison, by the way, even in minute quantities. She tossed her hat onto a bench. Her face was all eyes and cheekbones, the lips full and natural, with a hint of gloss. She had what Aunt Bluette used to call “presence.”

I sighed, wondering if I should show her to the pink living room, with its cushy chairs, or into the kitchen. The kitchen, definitely. I opened the pocket doors and led her into the dining room, past the sun-slashed walls, into the butler’s pantry, with its tall white cabinets filled with china, every imaginable serving piece. I opened another pocket door and walked into the kitchen and set the lavender on the counter.

“I just got back from the grocery,” I said, waving at the mess on the island.

Ava peeked into a bag and lifted a bottle of olive oil. “Two dollars for extra virgin?” Her right eyebrow moved up. “You’re quite the bargain shopper, aren’t you?”

So, this was how it was going to be. I pulled the bottle out of her hands. She stared at her empty palm, then at the bottle, as if she could mind-bend it out of my grasp. In the back of my head, I could hear Aunt Bluette clucking her disapproval, reminding me that Jesus not only forgave His enemies, He fed them.

“Can I get you a cold drink?” I set the jar on the counter.

“Whiskey would be lovely.”

A drinker, I thought gleefully. I opened a cupboard and poked around. “I may not have any alcohol,” I said. “I haven’t lived here long. Care for a Diet Coke instead?”

“May I have a glass of water?” She pronounced water like “porter.” Her bracelets tinkled as she leaned across the counter. Her arms were toned and tanned. I imagined her lying on a striped beach towel, the wind streaming through her hair. Then I imagined her wearing a halter top, digging her way from Egypt to South Carolina.

Now what? A heart-to-heart about Coop or a discussion about extra virgin oil versus regular? I looked past her, at the French door, where Sir was pawing the glass. “Are you enjoying Sullivan’s Island?” I walked to the door and opened it. Sir ran to his water bowl.

“Quite.” She smiled at the dog.

Quite? What kind of badass, short word was that? I dumped a bag of flour on the counter, and white powder drifted up. “How did you find me?”

“Don’t look so frantic. I haven’t stalked you. Well, perhaps a little. Red pointed me in your direction.”

She got to call him Red?

“Please don’t be annoyed,” she continued. “He and I are old friends.”

I could’ve guessed that. Her reflection floated in the granite counter.

“Mind telling me why you’re here?” I asked.

“Well, since you asked.” She smiled. “Are you shagging my husband?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Well, I could, but Cooper hates emotional chitchat. It took him forever to admit he loved me. I don’t imagine he’s professed his devotion to you, has he?”

I shoved a bag of frozen peas in a cabinet, then I pushed a flour sack into the freezer.

“Didn’t think so.” She folded her hands, her fingers moving like a daddy longlegs. “By the way, is there a reason you keep frozen peas in the cupboard?”

“They’re defrosting,” I said. Lie number fifteen.

“And the flour?” She traced her finger along the counter.

“Keeps the bugs out.” Not a lie, but I marked it up as one anyway. Number sixteen. She was baiting me. Anything I said would be used against me; then it would be used to hook Cooper. It was awful tempting to give a few X-rated details, but Aunt Bluette had taught me the value of silence. She used to say, “Loose lips sink ships.”

I stared back at Ava and smiled a mysterious smile. Let her stew, let her wonder.

“Possum got your tongue?” she said in a faux Southern accent.

“Not in a while,” I said. She looked like the type who’d crush a man’s balls and replace them with neuticles.

“Have you known my husband long?” she asked.

Soon-to-be–ex-husband, I almost said but caught myself in time. “All my life,” I said. “I grew up in Bonaventure, Georgia.”

“Are you the majorette?”

“Nope,” I said. “Wrong girl.”

“Glad we got
that
sorted.” She pushed away from the counter. “If you’re shagging him, don’t worry. I won’t break your knees. Or throw fruit.”

“That’s a relief.” I blinked. So, she knew about the incident in Bing’s yard. Damn Red Butler Hill and his big mouth.

“Although the idea of throttling you
has
crossed my mind,” she said.

“Back at you.”

“Backatyou?” She looked puzzled.

“Ask Red Butler. He’ll know.” I paused. “Let’s be really real. Why are you here?”

“I want to save my marriage.”

“You’re talking to the wrong person.”

“No, I’m not.” Her eyelids fluttered. “The Bar Association frowns on attorney-client shagging, doesn’t it?”

“You should know.”

“You’re a bright spark. I see why Cooper likes you.” She winked. “This could end with handbags at dawn.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a British saying. A duel of sorts.” She pushed away from the counter. “Surely it won’t come to that.”

“Hope not.” The bitch was scaring me.

“If you cross me, I’m a formidable enemy.” Her eyes narrowed for an instant. “I never lose.”

*   *   *

That afternoon, I found a broom and swept the corridor, wishing it was this easy to push Ava from my mind. I was just getting into a rhythm when a masculine voice called, “Yodelayheehoo.”

I looked toward the gate. Red Butler stood on the other side of the iron bars. I set the broom aside and started toward him.

“Have you noticed that Winnebago?” he asked and pointed over his shoulder at a huge RV with a bumper sticker that read
MY CAT IS SMARTER THAN YOUR HONOR STUDENT
.

“Once or twice,” I said.

“It was parked on East Bay last night,” he said. “Know who it belongs to?”

“No.” I unlocked the gate and we walked into the house.

“Hey, girlie,” he said. “Your ex’s funeral is tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“You going?”

“Of course.” I opened the pocket doors and stepped into the kitchen. While I found two mugs, he started lecturing about funeral protocol, insisting that I should act proper and ladylike and not make a scene.

I was so insulted, I couldn’t keep my hand steady as I poured coffee. But if I blasted him, I’d prove I was uncouth. Aunt Bluette hadn’t raised me to be ill-mannered.

I set out cream and sugar and sliced some coffee cake. Red Butler reached for a hunk and chomped down. When a man is chewing, he’s almost as vulnerable as when he’s making love. I decided to pounce.

“Ava stopped by,” I said. “But I guess you know that.”

He swallowed, then tipped the sugar bowl over his mug. “I figured she would,” he said.

I slipped a small bite of cake into my mouth and tried to frame my words. I knew they’d be repeated to Ava, but I couldn’t control myself. “Why is she in town?”

“Ask her yourself.” He set down the empty sugar bowl and reached for the cream. “Any more questions, girlie?”

I stuffed a bigger piece of cake into my mouth to keep from asking if Coop still loved Ava and if I should just give up and find me a kick-ass woman lawyer who wouldn’t hire a biased gumshoe to watch over me. I washed down the cake with a swig of coffee, then I said, “Tell me about Ava.”

“You’re the PD’s top person of interest, and you want to know about another woman?” He laughed. “She’s not one of them women who say, ‘What are you thinking? Are you mad at me? Do you love me?’” He lifted his mug. “You that kind?”

“You don’t like me, do you?”

“Why you think that?”

“You don’t call me Teeny. You call me girlie.”

“I’d like you a whole lot better if you’d quit tempting the boss with your no-no parts.” He dumped cream into the mug. “He’s a damn good man, and a sharp lawyer. I don’t want him disbarred because of a cute lawyer-banger.”

“Is that what you think?” I lowered my mug.

“You jumped into his bed, and you barely know him.” He studied the back of his hands. “Plus, you got over Bing Jackson mighty fast.”

“I have a history with Coop.”

“Yeah?”

“We grew up together in Bonaventure, Georgia. He was my first love.”

“And your first lover?” Red Butler’s eyebrow went up.

I shook my head.

“So, he was the handsomest man you never fucked?”

“That’s a crude way of putting it.”

“I don’t care if you was blood brothers,” he said. “Quit messing with him.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“Do what you want. I’m out of here. And by the way, girlie, your coffee ain’t worth a shit.” He slammed his mug on the counter and walked toward the pocket doors. From behind, his broad chest tapered to narrow hips.

Just like a bulldog
, I thought. “Hey,” I called. “Was it something I said?”

“Fuck you,” he said over his shoulder.

“Not even if you begged,” I called back. He answered by slamming the door.

twenty-six

The next morning, I lay in bed, staring at the toile wallpaper. Then I pushed the covers aside and got ready for Bing’s funeral. My thrift-shop outfit was a far cry from the brown dress that I’d worn in court. I put Sir in the upstairs bedroom with his KONG toy and walked downstairs. I went through the rigmarole of locking the doors, but these precautions were useless if someone had stolen the key chain.

I tried not to think about crazed repairmen as I walked outside and waited for Miss Dora. The RV was parked across the street. The top of the vehicle was crammed with camping gear, all of it tied down with rope. The sun glanced off the chrome and sent up a blinding glare. One large bumper sticker caught my attention. It showed an X-ray and the large caption read
HERE
’
S WHAT DECLAWING WOULD DO TO YOUR HAND
.