Gone With a Handsomer Man (37 page)

“I never suspected her,” I said. Of course, I hadn’t suspected a lot of things.

“You ain’t the only one she fooled,” Red Butler said. “The bitch is a pro. After she killed the garden man, she shanghaied a lawyer. Old Savannah money. They got married and Dora bought a place on Hilton Head. A year later, he fell off his boat and drowned. She inherited everything.”

“I bet she stun-gunned him,” I said, thinking of what she’d done to Rodney Jackson and Uncle Elmer.

“According to the coroner’s report, the dude drowned. Whatever happened to him, he was alive when he hit the water. Maybe she bashed in his head, then pushed him overboard.” Red Butler cracked his knuckles. “The bitch was prolly refining her modus operandi. Just like any serial murderer.”

“I didn’t think women did that,” I said.

“Kill? Sure they do.” Red Butler shrugged. “All the time.”

“But a lady serial killer?” I asked.

“They’re rare,” he said. “Once some of them, they get a taste of it, they can’t quit. They’re like shoppers at Sam’s Club. When these dames kill, they do it in bulk.”

Ava and Coop laughed.

“Anyhoo, after Dora killed the lawyer, she got another makeover,” Red Butler said. “She moved to Charleston and married Rodney Jackson. I got this from the lips of Nataloon herself. By the way, she’s claiming Bing was in the shower when your cake school called. Nataloon took the message—so she knew your classes were rescheduled, Teeny. She and Dora hired the redhead so’s you’d be sure to break the engagement. Only it didn’t go like they’d hoped.”

“Then they got careless,” Coop said.

“So, I’m in the clear?” I asked.

“You bet, homegirl.”

“Except for one thing,” Coop said as he moved to my bedside. “Dora’s claiming you fixed her a poisoned mimosa. She says you knew she was allergic to sucralose.”

My heart monitor began to squawk. I remembered my deathbed promise. Even if I went to the pokey, I was coming clean about the Splenda. “I was trying to stop her from killing me,” I said.

Red Butler snorted. “Don’t say that too loud, homegirl. Dicks are in the hall.”

“Am I in trouble?” I glanced from him to Coop.

“No way, girlie.” Red Butler’s brassy hair fell into his face, hiding his eyes. “If Dora hadn’t been itching, her aim might have been better.”

“I wouldn’t worry about Dora,” Coop said. “But you need to explain something.”

“What?” I asked.

“Red found a strange cookbook at Natalie’s house.”

“You ever heard of the
Templeton Family Receipts
?” Red Butler asked me.

Something fell inside my chest, but I managed to nod.

“Damn thing’s full of handwritten recipes—poison ones.” Red Butler leaned forward. “You didn’t write them, did you.”

It wasn’t a question. I hesitated. How to explain I’d used these concoctions to soothe myself and my Baptist aunt had set me to doing it? “I wrote some recipes,” I said, then turned back to Coop. “But not all. Aunt Bluette and her sisters wrote most of them.”

I stared hard into Coop’s face, looking for his eyelids to flicker or his jaw to tighten, but his face was smooth and blank. He’d had too much practice in front of judges and juries to show how he really felt.

“
You’re kidding.
” Ava said, and I caught the tiniest look of surprise.

“It’s an old family joke,” I said and tried to explain. Even to my own self, I sounded crazier than Dora. But I’d promised Jesus, and I wasn’t messing around with Him.

Coop shook his head. “The Templetons and the Borgias,” he said.

I didn’t know what that meant, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t a compliment. My heart monitor shrieked, and the white dot galloped across the computer screen. “I never said I was a saint,” I said.

“Who needs one?” Coop grinned.

“It’s okay, homegirl,” Red Butler said. “We can’t have a vicarious poisoner going to jail. You might dream up bad stuff, but you’d never do it.”

I lifted my good hand and grabbed the edge of Coop’s shirt. “You
do
know I’m not dangerous, right?”

“Well, I believe you won’t poison me, at least,” he said.

My heart monitor began to whine. The white dot moved erratically. I felt sure it would fall off the screen and roll across the floor.

A nurse walked in, her white shoes squeaking against the floor. She fiddled with the machine, and the noise snapped off midsquawk. “How’s the pain?” she asked me.

“Not terrific bad,” I said—almost a lie, but not quite.

“If it gets worse, just press the red button.” The nurse pointed to the IV machine. “Don’t try to be brave. You’ve got to stay on top of the pain.”

“If I push the button, will it knock me out?”

“Definitely.”

Ava glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to run home and check on the dogs.”

“Give Sir a hug for me,” I said.

“Of course.” She smiled, then looked at Coop. “Ready to go?”

He glanced at me, then her. “Sure,” he said.

Oh, crap. I plucked the sheets with my fingertips the way Aunt Bluette had done before she’d died. Ava started for the door, but Coop lagged behind. He leaned over me. “When you’re feeling better, we need to talk,” he whispered.

I stiffened. “About what?”

“No more talking,” the nurse said, pointed to the door. “Leave, all of you.”

forty-eight

The next morning, when the hospital found out I didn’t have health insurance, they couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. The machine with the red button disappeared and was replaced by bitter, white capsules that made me woozy but cheerful.

The discharge nurse helped me into my clothes and put a sling on my arm. “Is somebody picking you up?” she asked, glancing at her watch. “Or should I call a cab?”

I eased over to the phone and lifted the receiver with my good hand. I started to dial SUE-THEM, but I kept seeing Ava’s face. She’d saved my life. The least I could do was stop chasing her husband. So I called Red Butler and told him the hospital was turfing me.

“Be right there,” he said.

The nurse gave me another pain pill and wheeled me down to the business office, which resembled an ultraexpensive hotel—tall windows, potted plants, and soothing background music. A darn good thing, too, because my bill came to $57,689.27. I all but signed a contract in my own blood, promising to pay monthly, then the nurse escorted me to the lobby.

Reporters from every Charleston news station waited outside, each one yelling my name.

“Miss Templeton!”

“Have the murder charges been cleared?”

“Who killed Bing Jackson?”

Red Butler’s van pulled up under the port cochere, and the nurse steered me past the electronic doors. Humid, gasoline-smelling air blew into my face. A reporter with a ginger-colored crew cut rushed forward and pushed a microphone in my face.

“Will you sue the police department for harassment?” he asked.

Red Butler shoved the man aside. “Want me to pull a Russell Crowe and start throwing shit?”

The reporter shrank back as Red Butler and the nurse helped me into the van. Cool air blew out of the vents, giving off salt water fumes, and the radio was playing an oldie, “MacArthur Park.” Mama would have paired that song with a recipe for key lime cake and Leviticus 7:12.

“Miss Templeton needs her prescriptions filled,” the nurse said, pushing white papers into my hand. From the radio, Jimmy Webb was singing about cakes being left in the rain, and I wondered if my own cakes had been confiscated by the police or if they were still sitting on the kitchen counter.

Red Butler climbed into the driver’s seat and, as usual, read my mind.

“Relax,” he said. “Ava and me delivered them to the store.”

Ava to the rescue. Again. Red Butler started the engine and drove off. I shut my eyes, and when I opened them again, we were parked outside the Rite Aid Pharmacy on Calhoun Street.

“Be back in a jiffy,” he said.

“Wait.” I did a one-handed reach for my purse. “Let me give you some money.”

“Forget it.” He climbed out of the van.

“I can pay for my own drugs!” I cried.

“It’s the least I can do, girlie.” He walked toward the pharmacy. The top of my head buzzed, a drunken dizziness that tasted like pinot noir. That damn pill. My eyelids dropped like heavy curtains. Then they changed into a silk prom dress that smelled of berries and vanilla. Vanilla, with its aphrodisiacal quirks. A pinot that pink cried out for grilled mesquite shrimp brushed with olive oil and bacon drippings, with a shot of chipotle and a hint of chives. Pile them on top of a deep bed of stone-ground grits and garnish with a wild onion and garlic salsa.

My mouth felt dry. If I had a bottle of anything, I’d drink every last drop, even though I wasn’t much of a drinker. What I needed was sugar, maybe a praline cheesecake with a dark chocolate drizzle and a triple caramel brûlée chaser.

Red Butler got back into the van and set a white sack in my lap. “The doctor gave you a new inhaler, but you won’t like it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s pink.”

I peeked into the bag. Sure enough, the inhaler was pinkish purple. “Bing died because of that color,” I said. “If only Dora had wanted a blue house, he’d still be alive.”

“If-onlys are like wild canaries,” he said. “Once they fly out of the cage, you might as well open the window and let them go.”

“It’s going to take me a while to let this go. I never once thought Dora was a killer.”

“Maybe by herself she’s not. But when you put a Dora with a Nataloon, you get a third entity.”

“A Doraloon?”

“Or a Natora.” He drove out of the parking lot and turned toward the historic district. “Soon as the paperwork gets settled, you’ll own the Spencer-Jackson and everything that goes with it. Maybe you can paint it yellow.”

“Wait, are we going to Rainbow Row?” I leaned toward the windshield.

“Yeah.”

“Drop me off at a hotel.”

“Why, girlie?”

“The Spencer-Jackson isn’t rightfully mine.”

“The trust says otherwise.”

“I’m splitting it with Eileen.”

“You been freebasing Raid?”

“I won’t take blood money.”

“It’s still cash. You got to eat, don’t you? And you need a house.”

“I’ve got one. Just as soon as Coop can fix things, I’m moving back to Bonaventure.”

“You’re talking crazy, homegirl.”

“Whatever. Just stop at the next hotel.”

“Okeydokey.” He hung a right onto Market Street. “But if I was you, I’d go see the boss.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He and Ava need time alone.”

“What the hell for?”

“To work things out.”

“What things?” His forehead puckered.

“She saved my life. I owe her, big time.”

“Come on, Teeny. If she hadn’t been with us, we would’ve tore out every wall to find you.”

“But she
was
there. And she loves Coop. She wants him back.”

“Sure she does. But it ain’t up to her—or you. The boss will pick who he loves.”

“That’s exactly what Jesus said.”

“Who?” Red Butler looked away from the road.

“Never mind.” I lifted my good hand and pointed to a hotel. “Here’s the Marriot. Pull over. Hey, you passed it! Dammit, Red Butler, turn back.”

“It’s Red to you, girlie.”

forty-nine

Red drove toward the Ravenel Bridge, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The pain pill dragged me into a white, gauzy place, and I didn’t wake until the van stopped in Coop’s driveway. His red truck stood next to a palmetto. I didn’t see Ava’s motorcycle. That was a good sign, right? Only I couldn’t trust signs. The last few weeks had taught me that life was quirky and unpredictable. Anything could happen in five minutes or five days—and it probably would.

Red opened my door and helped me out of the van. The briny air cleared my head as I walked crablike along the wooden stairs and crept up to the deck. Coop must have heard us drive up, because before we knocked, the front door opened and he stepped out.

“Teeny!” His smile morphed into a frown. “Shouldn’t you be in the hospital?”

“They kicked her out.” Red shrugged. “She didn’t have no insurance.”

“Why didn’t you call?” Coop asked.

“’Cause she called me.” Red gripped my good elbow and steered me into the sun-drenched living room. After I got settled on the black sofa, he set my purse and Rite Aid bag on the coffee table. Coop stood off to the side with his hands on his hips, but I couldn’t see his face, thanks to the sharp beach light.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” I said.

“Not at all,” he said.

From the hall came a jingling noise, accompanied by heavy panting. T-Bone skidded around the corner, his tail whipping against the furniture.

“T-Bone!” Red cried.

“My Lord Hugeness got kicked out of quarantine,” Coop said.

Before I could respond, a fainter set of toenails skittered in the hallway, and a second later Sir trotted into the room. When he saw me, he let out a yelp and ran to the sofa. He rubbed his stubby body against my legs, determined to scent-mark me. I lowered my good hand and scratched his ear.

“Poor little guy,” Coop said. “He missed you like crazy. He wouldn’t eat, so Ava fed him chicken and rice.”

I was grateful, but I couldn’t speak. My numbed brain was stuck between appreciation and angst, but I managed to look around for womanly touches. If Ava had been here, she would’ve left a mark. A hairbrush, lipstick, the latest
Vogue
. Everything was tidy except for law books, which were piled on the floor.

T-Bone pressed his nose gently against my hurt arm, as if sensing my mood. His mammoth chest vibrated as he smelled me.

“I just made egg salad for lunch,” Coop said. “Anyone want a sandwich?”

I’d forgotten his love for egg salad. I imagined him spreading mayonnaise on white bread—and not just any mayo, it had to be Duke’s—adding lettuce and a grind of pepper.

“I’ve got to run,” he said, “but Teeny’ll need something on her stomach. Give her a pain pill in three hours. If she gets winded, make her use the inhaler.”

My cheeks burned. He could’ve been my mother, dumping me in a stranger’s hotel room. I thought I’d gotten past all that. The pills had lowered my defenses, leaving me Teenified. Mama had been sick but she’d loved me. If she walked in the door, I’d put my arms around her, tell her I loved her, and cut her a huge piece of cake.