Gone With a Handsomer Man (28 page)

His hips moved against mine. Something hard pressed against my hipbone. I gently sucked his tongue and the taste was pure yellow. I’d never thought of love being a color, but here it was, a sweet taste in my mouth. Banana pudding, pineapple fluff, lemon ice, meringue pie.

“Yodelayheehoo!” Red Butler called.

We broke apart. Coop drew back and folded his arms. I started for the back door, wiping the edges of my mouth. I stepped into the garden, moving through the heavy night air. It smelled like rain was on the way. Coop shot ahead and grabbed one of the iron patio chairs and waved, indicating I should sit.

“How’d it go, Boss?”

“The signature was forged,” Coop said. “I need you to get the dirt on Natalie Lockhart.”

“Oh, I
have
been digging.” Red Butler shrugged. “She moved to Charleston five months ago. Got a job at Jackson Realty.”

“You talked to the other real estate agents?” Coop asked.

“They don’t want to touch this while Miss Lockhart is still working at the agency. You’ll have to depose them.”

“What about the redhead?” I asked.

“Who?” Coop sat down next to me.

“Faye Carr?” Red Butler said. “The other naked badminton player. Teeny busted the gal’s nose pretty bad. Anyhow, this Faye works for an escort service. I doubt that’s her real name. But that’s as far as I got. The stuffed dog incident derailed me. Plus, Teeny got a threatening call.”

“Another one?” Coop asked.

“Yeah, only this time they said, ‘Die.’” Red Butler bit down on a cigar. “You mind?” he asked me.

I shook my head.

Coop put one hand to his temple. “We need to file a police report.”

“Relax. Already did. The dicks are looking. Should be easy peasy to see who called Teeny.” Red Butler smoked fiercely for a few seconds. “But they aren’t the only ones listening in to her calls. The boys found a line running down the front of the house. It went to a shitty box from Radio Shack.”

“Somebody other than the police have tapped the phones?” I cried.

“Looks that way, girlie.”

“Did the police remove it?” I cried.

“Not till they find out who put it there,” Red Butler said. “They’ll come back. If I had to bet, I’d say it’s that Loonhart dame. She set you up. Now she’s keeping tabs.”

“We’ll nail her, Teeny,” Coop said.

“What if she ain’t working alone?” Red Butler blew a smoke ring. “Maybe some badass guy is her accomplice.”

“He’d have to be tall,” I said, thinking of that chandelier. “Whoever killed Bing was there when I arrived. I got tased. Why didn’t she—or he—just kill me?”

“Who knows what happened that day? Don’t question the angels, girlie.” Red Butler glanced at my neck. “You wasn’t tased. Or you would’ve saw.”

“Saw what?” I asked.

“It would’ve paralyzed you, but you would’ve been conscious.”

“Teeny’s marks were consistent with a stun gun,” Coop said.

“What’s the difference?” I asked.

“An 800,000-volt stun gun will knock out a man for twenty minutes,” Red Butler said. “How much you weigh, Teeny?”

I gave him the stink eye. If I was on my deathbed and doctors wanted to know my weight to adjust my medicine, I’d just have to pass away. What I weigh is nobody’s damn business. Not that I was fooling anyone with my vanity, but if I didn’t say the numbers, they weren’t real. So I changed the subject.

“Maybe the redheaded girl was involved?” I said.

“Nah, I’m thinking she was a hired whore,” Red Butler said. “Brought in for your benefit. To make sure you broke up with your boyfriend. They wanted you out of the way.”

I repressed a shiver. Whoever had killed Bing had planned it carefully. They were smart, and I was naive.

Red Butler leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knees. “If the redhead
was
hired, then Natalie had insider knowledge. She knew you’d catch them.”

“That means she knew my cake decorating class was canceled,” I said. “What if she was in Bing’s house when the teacher called?”

Red Butler shrugged. “She could’ve checked your mail or checked the answering machine.”

“Or Bing may have told her,” Coop said.

“Doubt that.” Red Butler said. “No man wants to get caught in a slutfest. Who else knew about your cake classes?”

“No one.” I glanced at Coop.

He jiggled his car keys. Even if I was cleared, the taint would stick to me, and to him. At some point, we’d have to leave the bedroom and look for friends. Here in Charleston, coupling up was a normal thing. It was probably normal everywhere. Easy solution: move. But hadn’t he already been through this with Ava?

Coop’s cell phone buzzed. A female voice drifted up, British. “Wait, he killed it?” he asked, then paused. “Damn. Where are you now?”

Red Butler bit down on his cigar and tipped back his head. Coop was making sympathetic noises. “Hang on. I’ll be right there.”

He dropped the phone into his pocket and turned. “That was Ava.”

“Who got killed?” Red Butler asked.

“A skunk. T-Bone killed it down in Edisto.”

“Sheeit,” Red Butler wrinkled his nose. “Did he get sprayed?”

“Yeah, big time.”

“What was Ava doing in Edisto?” Red Butler asked.

“Looking at property.”

“Harebrained idea, if you ask me.” Red Butler waved his cigar.

What was harebrained? And why was T-Bone with Ava? I was nervous about the time line. Coop had left my house at 9:00 a.m. this morning to meet with the handwriting expert. When he showed up tonight, he said he’d just gotten back. If he’d been in Columbia all day, how had T-Bone ended up with Ava? Simple, either Coop had left a key under the mat or he’d gone home to meet her.

I was breathing too fast—where had I put my inhaler? “What kind of property is Ava looking at?” I asked, not caring if I was prying.

“She wants to build a house on the Edisto River.” Coop stood and grabbed the back of the chair, his fingers curling around the iron spindles. “She’s been looking for land.”

Right. A house. She was putting down roots. She hadn’t come back to South Carolina on a romantic whim. I pressed a hand against my midriff. My lips felt tingly, and I couldn’t get a satisfying breath.

“Ava’s frantic,” Coop said. “I should go.”

“For a dead skunk?” Red Butler snorted.

“The realtor is making a big fuss.” Coop kept jiggling his keys. “Apparently the woman’s married to a veterinarian. She said skunks don’t come out in the daytime unless they’re rabid. She started making phone calls. Now the health department is involved. Some guys showed up and cut off the skunk’s head.”

“Jesus on an emery stick,” Red Butler said.

“They took T-Bone. Quarantined him.”

“Did the skunk bite T-Bone?” I wrapped my feet around the chair’s legs.

“No, but the vet is saying that rabies is transmitted by body fluids. And T-Bone bit the skunk.”

“Ain’t he been vaccinated, Boss?”

“Last August. It was a three-year vaccine.”

“So he’s covered, right?” I said.

“It’s not 100 percent. Dogs are supposed to be vaccinated annually.”

“A damn racket.” Red Butler snorted.

“Yeah, miss one, and it’s a misdemeanor,” Coop said.

“Can’t they test T-Bone and see if he’s infected?” Red asked.

“They’d have to cut off his head.”

“Screw that,” Red Butler said.

“If the skunk’s rabid, they’ll euthanize T-Bone.” Coop released the chair and stepped back. “I’ve got to find his health record and drive to Edisto. I’ll call later.”

Before I could untangle my feet and rise from the chair, he’d shot into the hall, his footsteps echoing over the hall floor. I sat there a minute, wondering if I should run after him or head to the kitchen and make Bitter Peach Pickles. It called for lots of vinegar, chopped onions, alum, and peaches, of course. I wouldn’t feed them to Ava or Natalie. I’d eat them myself.

“Hey, Teens,” Red Butler said. He was leaning in the doorway, giving me the eye. “Stop thinking bad thoughts.”

“I’m not.”

“Right. You’re easy to read. You’re hoping a tidal wave hits Edisto and washes Ava out to sea.” He spread his hands wide. “Gone with the surf. An act of God.”

“Wrong.” But he’d seen the truth. If I couldn’t control my tell-all face, I’d just have to wear a mask. I started into the house, but he was right behind me.

“Boss can’t help this. He and Ava worship that dog and vice versa. She’s T-Bone’s mama. And Boss is the papa.”

“I know that. I like T-Bone, too.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But if you want the boss, you better get with the program.”

“What program?” I said irritably.

“You don’t know what you’re up against,” he said. “You better get a strategy.”

“For what?”

“Ava is a beautiful pain in the ass. Competitive, impulsive, exciting. Going in fifteen directions at once. Boss is a rock. She needs his stability. The way he follows the rules and thinks things through. If she’s with a man like herself, it’s a disaster. She can’t be with nobody but the boss.”

“What about him? Can
he
be with anyone else?”

“Jury’s out on that one. You’re the first woman he’s dated since they split up.”

I blinked, trying to decide if this was due to heartbreak or lack of time.

“Boss ain’t perfect. He won’t take risks. Just once Ava wants to see him put his neck on the line for her. But he won’t.”

“Yes, he will. He saved that drowning girl.”

“But that girl wasn’t Ava. You can love someone and not give them what they want.”

“How do you know all this? Did Ava tell you?”

“Lots of times. I don’t know what it is about me, but women tell me their problems. Always have. I ‘get’ them. I know how their freaking minds work.”

“How does Ava’s work?”

“She’s a man’s wet dream. She flies planes and digs up thousand-year-old bones. A little on the skinny side, but her tits make up for it.” He gestured at his chest. “And you’re the homegirl. Cute. Not too skinny. Great hair. Big heart. Not too educated. Homegirl talks tough, but she’s a softie. A little frightened on the inside but tries like hell to hide it. Men need a homegirl. She’ll watch your back. She’ll be there for you.”

“Right now, I’ve got to be there for The Picky Palate.” I walked past him, into the kitchen, and began setting out flour, sugar, and a bowl. I was stirring the batter when Red Butler appeared in the doorway, his thumbs tucked under his armpits.

“The boss is pulled between you and her. He’s attracted to the differences. Ava’s brave. You’re skittish. You can cook. She eats men. You’re local. She’s foreign. Which girl gets the happy ending?” He shrugged. “It’s a tough call.”

“Ava wants happiness, too.”

He pointed to the mixing bowl. “You’re crying in the batter. You’re gonna ruin the cake and your life. Hand me the spoon and go wash your face.”

thirty-six

The worries took hold with a vengeance while I baked and iced those cakes. History was repeating. I understood what was happening much better this time around, but a part of me was still seventeen years old, sitting on Aunt Bluette’s porch swing, planning to bake a sunflower cake for Coop, and dithering over the icing. I struggled to move beyond my selfish heart. What if Coop hadn’t found T-Bone’s health records? The state would hold the dog. I worried that the skunk was rabid. If so, Red Butler said everyone who’d come in contact with T-Bone after his encounter with the skunk would get rabies shots—and T-Bone would be put to sleep.

The next morning, I still hadn’t heard from Coop. Red Butler and I made a delivery to The Picky Palate. Jan gave me an order for a dozen more red velvet cakes. “They’re for one person,” she said. “Apparently they had a fit over your other cakes. Can you have them ready in forty-eight hours? If you can, I’ll do sixty-forty.”

“Deal,” I said.

*   *   *

Red Butler parked on Adgers and I dragged a laptop computer from his van. He grabbed another armful of cookbooks. When we reached the intersection, I spotted Eileen’s catmobile at the corner. For all I knew, she’d tapped my phone and hung the stuffed bulldog.

“Bing’s sister is back,” I said.

He dropped the cookbooks and took off running. The Winnebago’s brake lights turned bright red and a plume of smoke drifted from the tailpipe. The RV blasted toward the Battery.

He came back and showed me numbers he’d written on his hand. “I got the bitch’s license number. You got wireless Internet?”

“I think so. If not, there’s a phone jack below the desk. What you looking up?”

“First, I’m going to find this cat fanatic. Then I’m doing a background check on Natalie.”

He set up his laptop on the kitchen desk. I leafed through my books and found a red velvet cake recipe that could be doubled. I wanted to make good use of Uncle Elmer’s double convection ovens before I had to move. I mixed the ingredients, poured the batter into six greased pans, and slid them into the ovens.

“I hope you find plenty,” I said.

“Before Miss Loonhart moved to Charleston, she lived in Savannah. Worked at a bank. Divorced in 1998 from a used car salesman. He claimed she tried to kill him, but the charges didn’t stick. Anyways, she got herself another bank job, a loan officer. Started fooling around with one of the married VPs. Big scandal. He got divorced and married Natalie. A year later, he died in his sleep.”

“How old was he?”

“Fifty-two.”

“That’s young.”

“She could’ve screwed him to death. The Savannah coroner said it was a heart attack. But get this, the banker had a $500,000 life insurance policy. Natalie went to live with her aunt. Alice E. Wauford. I’m checking her out next.”

The doorbell chimed. I patted Red Butler’s shoulder. “Maybe that’s Coop. Keep an eye on my cakes?”

“You betcha.”

Sir was right on my heels as I grabbed the key and stepped into the corridor. A man and woman stood on the other side of the iron grille. “Can I help you?” I called, folding my arms. Sir must have picked up on my tone and body language. He ran to the gate and barked.

“Sorry to disturb you,” the woman said, “but we’re the Randolphs. We met the other day? We’re buying the Spencer-Jackson House?”

“I remember you,” I said.