Southern Fried (25 page)

it wasn’t Granny’s mansion, so if there was hired help about,

I didn’t run into any of them. Still, when I went into a room, I

locked the door behind me, just as Stella had advised.

Upstairs was the master bedroom, a guest bedroom, and

a study. Big rooms, richly appointed. Clearly, Robert E. didn’t

believe in scrimping. Then again, this was old southern money,

and I guessed he’d inherited much of what I was looking at. And

look I did, under beds, in closets, in drawers, behind, under, to

the side of every place I could imagine he’d hide anything. Sadly,

there was nothing to find, not even a dust-bunny.

That is until I made found myself inside the study.

See, here’s where my background came in handy. And, no,

not the gay dude who can shop like a demon at a Bloomingdale’s

one day sale kind of background. I mean, my southern rooted

background, growing up in a mansion, surrounded by furniture

that came down through several generations.

Now then, if you’ve ever watched
Antiques Roadshow
on PBS,

you’ll know exactly what I’m getting at. But, since I don’t know

you well enough, I’ll assume you’re not as culturally gifted as, say,

moi. Or as conceited. In any case, back before safes and metal

filing cabinets, back in the days during and just after the Civil

War, which both my family and Port’s go back to, documents

and things of value were concealed in furniture, hidden behind

spring-loaded wooden doors or in desk or cabinet drawers that

couldn’t easily be seen by the naked eye.

Naturally, I moved to the metal filing cabinet first. It was

unlocked, as I thought it might be. See, back in the day, as in way,

way back, you’d make it easy on the thief so that they’d think

they got away with something and stop looking for what you

were really hiding. In other words, I had access to Robert E.’s

filing cabinet and I might stop looking for anything else. Only,

of course, I didn’t.

162 Rob Rosen

The filing cabinet, I was quick to discover, just had his day to

day papers. Bills, deeds, general paperwork, a few old cases of his,

nothing having to do with my family or with Beau. His computer

wasn’t so open to me, however. It was on, but locked behind a

password. In any case, if he was really up to no good, like behind

my parent’s death, then his computer isn’t where he’d store the

information. That’s the first place the police would look, the first

thing they’d confiscate.

And so, with ten minutes left to spare, I moved my fingers

gently around his desk, which was easily a hundred years old, if

not a great deal older. Sure enough, you could slide a front panel

up to reveal a hidden drawer. Inside of this were several gold

pocket watches, old gold coins, a few pieces of Civil War items.

Things a thief would salivate over. Things a thief would steal and

think they hit the mother load, and then promptly skedaddle.

Only, I knew better. These were purposely put there just for

that very reason, I assumed. They were a ruse, a decoy. Cunning,

yes, unless you watched
Antiques Roadshow
. Like religion. Like,

again, moi. So I gently slid the hidden drawer out. Behind this

was a pine wood backing. But the backing wasn’t aligned with the

rear of the desk. In fact, there were at least two inches still to go.

Meaning, there was a hidden space. I knocked on the pine wood.

“Hollow,” I whispered, with a hushed giggle.

My mind raced through episode after PBS episode, until it

landed on just the right one. I smiled and removed the drawer

next to the drawer I’d taken out. Sure enough, I found a spring-

loaded latch. Flip the latch, and the pine backing I’d found could

be slid to the right. And, presto, there was one final drawer that

could be slid out.

No gold in this one. No gems or cash. Nothing but paper.

Stacks of paper, in fact, all neatly folded. With trembling hands

and my breath lodged in my throat, I unfolded the top sheet. It

took me a few seconds to realize what it was, havening never

actually seen one before. “A police rap sheet,” I whispered,

reading through it. “Betty’s.”

I shook my head, a spark rising up my back. See, Betty wasn’t

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a maid just like Jeeves wasn’t a butler. At least not by trade.

And Betty had belonged to the oldest trade around. Yep, prim

and proper and stiff Betty had served a year in prison for, of

all things, prostitution. And you could be a lot of things in the

South and still get ahead, but a prostitute wasn’t one of them.

And certainly not if you served time for it. Not even
McDonald’s

would hire you then.

And every sheet after that one was yet another rap sheet, at

least fifty of them. But I only had a few minutes left, so I quickly

eyed them all, looking for the names I recognized, namely Jeeves

and Roy. The latter I found soon enough. The gardener, as it

turned out, was a car thief with several arrests, all in his youth, but

the former wasn’t anywhere to be found in the stack. Meaning,

I assumed, Robert E. had something else on him; and since they

were college roommates, it must’ve gone all the way back to then.

Still, I knew what the stack of sheets meant. “The Pellinghams

must have people spying for them all over the city, the state,

the South.” All of them reporting back, I figured. And, if all

of them were working for powerful people like my Granny,

the information they had was way valuable. Enough to get you

elected and keep you elected. And who cared if a butler or a maid

tattled? Especially when they had a record. In other words, they

had all those poor people over a barrel.

But that didn’t explain my parent’s death. It didn’t explain

Beau’s animosity. It didn’t explain why I was kept away for so

long. All it told me was that we were up against a great pile of

power.

Which, of course, made me want to topple that pile all the

more.

Time was up, however. I returned the papers just as I’d found

them and raced back downstairs, my friends, minus Jake, already

at the designated spot. I piped in first and told them what I’d

found, Stella and Zeb shaking their heads back and forth. “What

did you guys find?” I asked, expectantly.

Stella sighed. “The kitchen and dining room didn’t yield

anything. Just a cook who didn’t even blink when I walked in.”

164 Rob Rosen

Zeb smiled, though. “Port must be living here now, when he’s

not using that apartment of his. He’s got a room in the back of

the house.”

I nodded. “Which explains why he answered the door. But

did you find out anything else?”

His smile diminished some. “Um, I hate PBS, Trip.”

“Uh, okay. And?”

“
And
Port has a desk that looks over a hundred years old in

his room.”

Stella’s sigh returned. “Meaning, you didn’t know about the

secret drawers, right?”

“Right,” he said, with a shrug. “But it stands to reason, if

there’s one secret drawer in this house, there’s more. Divide the

evidence up, just in case. Seems the smart thing to do, if you ask

me.”

“And these guys are assholes,” Stella added, “but they’re

definitely anything but dumb.”

Just then, Jake reappeared, suddenly shirtless, grimacing as

Port followed close behind. The lamb, it seemed, had been put

to work. Poor little lamb. Poor little, glistening, muscley, eye-

popping lamb. I cleared my throat and forced my eyes not to pop

as much. “Jake,” I coughed out.

“Marlene,” he replied, in between gritted teeth. “Looks like

the Pellinghams have a new pool man.”

Port’s grin blossomed. And, if I wasn’t mistaken, so had

the bulge in his shorts. “Yes, we do,” he eagerly agreed. “But

you ladies aren’t needed any further. My father already has a

contractor on call.”

“We’ll charge less,” I tried. “And do a better job.”

He shook his head. “Just Jake, thank you.”

“But…”

“Just Jake,” he echoed, louder this time. “Now, if you’ll excuse

me, I have work to do.”

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And with that, he promptly showed us out, the door slamming

behind us as we stood on the front porch.

“Why are you shirtless?” Zeb thought to ask, once outside.

Jake frowned and promptly put said shirt back on. “I’d rather

not talk about it. Suffice it to say, I have a new client once a

week, beginning tomorrow.” He started walking back to our car,

whispering over his shoulder, “Did you find out anything that

makes this dirty feeling I’m feeling at least worth something?”

We all got inside the car before filling him in. “So you can

come back tomorrow, but we can’t. And a pool boy snooping in

the den would look strange,” I grumbled.

We sat in silence, trying to think of something, anything, to

get us back inside. “Collard greens!” Zeb shouted, causing us all

to jump.

“Collard greens?” I couldn’t help but ask. “What, are we

heading back to Popeye’s for inspiration again?”

“No,” he/she replied. “Port loves collard greens.”

I sighed, flipping off my wig, which was starting to give me a

headache. Either him or it. Take your pick. “Less cryptic, please.”

He reached over to the glove compartment and pulled out the

horse tranquilizers again. “This less cryptic for you, Marlene?”

I laughed. “They sure do come in handy, don’t they?”

He nodded and drove off. “For a horse,” Zeb replied. “Or

someone hung like one.”

Jake coughed from the back seat. “Please, I don’t even want

to know.” He sighed. “God, I really do feel dirty. And not just

sweaty dirty either.”

Knowing Port as I now knew him, I knew what Jake was

getting at. And so, in silence, we headed back to Zeb’s. Stella

and Jake started toward her car when we got there, but then Jake

snapped his fingers. “Wait, I need to be at the Pellingham’s first

thing in the morning.” He turned to Zeb. “Will you have the

collard greens ready when we meet up here again?”

166 Rob Rosen

“Uh,” was all Zeb could say.

Jake frowned. “Let me guess. You don’t know how to cook

collards, right?”

Zeb shrugged. “Hey, I came up with the idea. My part’s over

with.” He poked Jake in his brawny arm. “Tag, you’re it.”

Jake turned to Stella. “You feel like a little shopping?” He

smiled and winked, causing my tummy to go all twisty.

Surprisingly, it looked like he had the same effect on my

handyman woman. “There’s a Piggly Wiggly not far from here.”

Again she headed to her car. “Hop in.” Then
she
smiled and

winked, and again my tummy went all twisty. Mainly because I’d

never seen her smile that brightly in the short while I’d known

her. Or at all. And it was sort of all black-widow-spider-scary. In

any case, he quickly hopped in and they tore off.

“Huh,” said Zeb, watching them speed down the road. “I

know that look.”

I squinted at him, fists on my hips. “Which one? Hers or his?”

He coughed. “Uh, hers?”

I socked him one in the arm. “Fucker.” Then I grinned. “He

does seem to have that effect on people, doesn’t he?”

He moved out of striking distance. “Yep.”

Then he led me back inside, both of us quickly in his

bathroom, cold-creaming all that make-up off. “I’m worried,

Zeb,” I quickly admitted.

He smiled. “Don’t worry, boss,” he giggled. “Just because you

like dressing up in women’s clothing doesn’t make you a tranny.”

I couldn’t help but giggle, too, especially as I unbuttoned my

blouse and unhooked my bra. “No,” I replied. “About them. Us.

This. I mean, drugging a senator’s grandson and breaking into a

senator’s son’s house, it’s not exactly what they taught us in the

Boy Scouts.”

He shimmied out of his skirt and pulled off his fake eyelashes.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” He rubbed the lipstick off my

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167

lips. “Still, there’s safety in numbers, Trip. And when you’re

drugging a senator’s grandson and breaking into a senator’s son’s

house, especially if it means bringing down that senator, then

four is better than two. Plus, there’s no other way inside now.”

I started in on his ruby lips, the red coming off in smeared

clumps. “Doesn’t make it any easier, though. I mean, if something

should go wrong…”

He put his fingers to my lips. “Nothing will go wrong,” he

said, with a smile. “The pills have worked twice now; they’ll work

this time, too. Worse thing that could happen is that we come

up empty-handed with that other desk. Best thing, we find out

something new. Something about Beau or your parents. Then we

bring those bastards to justice.”

His smile was contagious. As was his fervor. “Hard to argue

with a half-naked tranny.”

He leaned in and gave me a deep, soulful kiss. “That’s the

spirit,” he whispered.

And then we heard the car pull up. We quickly removed the

rest of our outfits and put on a couple of robes. Running to the