Gone With a Handsomer Man (31 page)

My mouth was full of shortbread, so I couldn’t answer. But I felt the same way about cooking. I love the way dough sticks to my fingers. I love watching butter run down the sides of warm bread. I like taking something whole, like an onion, mincing it into tiny pieces and slipping it into a garlicky risotto. I don’t even mind the tears.

“I know you care for my husband,” she said. “But I want one more chance with him.” She lifted her finger. “Just one more.”

I swallowed and the cookie stuck in my throat. I reached for my mug and gulped milk, as if washing down her words. Her one chance was hampered by me. Coop couldn’t give full attention to a reconciliation if he was rescuing me.

“There’s no obfuscated meaning here. I’ve laid it out. I’m not the type to beg, but I’m begging you, Teeny.” Tears stood in her eyes. “I know it’s a big ask, but please let me try to patch things up. I love him beyond all else. And I’m quite aware of your history with him. The way I see it, I might lose Coop but gain a friend.”

“Me?” I leaned back.

“Sometimes the best relationships are forged when we meet someone who makes us want to be better than we are.”

I nodded. She was exactly the kind of woman I’d hoped to be one day. Still, I couldn’t see us shopping together at Big Lots.

She extended her hand. I knew if we shook, we’d be sealing a deal like wary politicians. But I didn’t want to seal it.

“I’ve got to think about it, Ava.”

“I’ll give you a day or two.” She wiped her eyes. “Then I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

Right
, I thought, and bit into another cookie. She’d take Coop into her hands.

*   *   *

Coop and Red Butler showed up at dusk. I cooked a tomato basil tart, red rice cakes, hoppin’ John, cornbread sticks, and lemon raspberry basil sorbet, made by stirring chopped basil and lemon zest into store-bought raspberry ice.

Ava helped me set the table in the garden with Uncle Elmer’s hunting dog china. Then I went to the kitchen and poured tea into brown crystal goblets. I wasn’t sure who took sugar and who didn’t. I was just pouring sugar syrup into a tiny pitcher when Coop walked up.

“How do you like your tea?” I asked him.

“‘In a glass, sweetheart,’” he said.

“Bogart said that in
The Big Sleep.
”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I didn’t think you watched old movies.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know, kid.” He winked.

I put the glasses on a tray, added the pitcher of sugar syrup, and followed Coop into the garden. Ava sat next to him and told stories about a haunted dig site in the Carpathian Mountains, her wedding rings sparking in the candlelight as she waved her hand.

After the meal, I passed out Market Street pralines and the talk shifted from archeology to murder.

“Natalie is still alive,” Coop said. “She’s out of surgery. A bullet hit her lung. If she makes it through the night, she’s got a fighting chance.”

“Let’s just hope she ain’t brain-damaged.” Red Butler crossed his fingers. “If she comes through, she can tell us who the shooter was. Prolly it’s the same person shot Bing. And Teeny will be in the clear.”

My future as a jailbird didn’t seem to interest Ava in the least. She touched Coop’s arm. “Any news on the skunk?”

“Not a word.” He patted her hand. “We’ve got twelve more hours. Then we’ll know.”

“We got worse problems than rabid dogs,” Red Butler said. “A serial killer is running loose in Charleston.”

Serial killer? I dropped the praline bag and they spilled onto the pavement.

“Aw, Teeny,” he said, “don’t worry. You’re gonna be safe. The police put an extra car outside. And I’ll be here.”

“Me, too,” Coop said.

“And me.” Ava smiled at me. Her eyes said,
He’s still my husband.

I know
, mine said back. I turned away before she saw the rest of it:
but I’ve loved him longer.
I had no business being in a love triangle. Besides, I owed Ava, big time. She’d helped me steal my cookbooks and she’d found discrepancies in Natalie’s documents. It was impossible not to respect her keen intelligence. She was interesting and courageous, but I still loved Coop.

I turned in early. The Spencer-Jackson House had six bedrooms, and I left my guests to puzzle out the sleeping arrangements. I went to the pink toile room and slipped into my prettiest dollar-store nightgown. If I was sleeping alone, I might as well do it in style.

Sir’s tags clicked as he pawed the side of the bed, pleading for a lift. I set him on the covers, and he dug into the linen to make his spot just right. Outside my door I heard three voices. I put my hand over Sir’s tags to stop the jingling. Coop told Red Butler and Ava goodnight. A door slammed. That was a promising sign, right? I heard the stairs squeak, and two sets of footsteps moved to the third floor.

I slipped beneath the quilt, and the weight of the day smothered me. I felt dozy-headed, as if I’d taken TYLENOL PM. I tried to take a satisfying breath, but it ended in a yawn—a sure sign that my nerves were in a jumble. Before paratroopers leap out of a plane, they’ll yawn. It’s nature’s way of calming down. So, my breathing troubles weren’t 100 percent physical. But how could I calm down when my boyfriend and his wife were having a sleepover? Sure, they were in separate bedrooms, but the weirdness of it had left me breathless.

I reached for my inhaler, breathed in the bitter fumes, and fell asleep.

thirty-nine

I awoke a little before dawn. My chest felt tight and I couldn’t get my breath. Sir curled up next to me and licked my arm, as if trying to sooth me. I lay there a minute, trying to calm myself, but it didn’t work. I groped on the nightstand for my inhaler and took a puff. The smell of Ventolin made Sir snort, and he rubbed his flat muzzle against the cover.

“Sorry, fella,” I said.

Now I was wide awake, and hungry. Sir and I headed down to the kitchen. I turned on the light. A man stood beside the sink. Even though my brain registered that it was Coop, I jumped a little.

“Hey, Teens.” He turned on the tap and water trickled into a glass. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me, either.”

“I was just going out to the garden to sit awhile.” Coop took a sip of water. “Keep me company?”

Would I ever. I shut off the alarm and we walked into the shadowy garden. Sir ran to the hydrangea bushes and lifted his leg. The sky was gray, edged with the grainy light that comes before dawn. A breeze rippled through the crepe myrtles, and fine white petals floated to the patio. I pulled out an iron chair and swiped my hand across the damp cushion.

Coop pulled off his t-shirt and laid it over the seat. “There you go,” he said.

I wished he hadn’t done that. Because it just made me love him even harder. He sat down beside me and traced his finger down my arm. I looked up at the house. Which window was Ava’s? Was she a light sleeper? And why did I freaking care? I hadn’t promised her doodly-squat. No, that wasn’t true. I’d told her I’d think about her proposal. I’d been thinking, all right, just not the way she’d hoped.

I wanted to climb into Coop’s lap and press my face against his neck and say,
I love you, O’Malley
. But I couldn’t do that because Coop was in trouble with the DA over that photograph.

To keep from touching him, I wedged my hands between my knees, stretching the nightgown until the bodice dropped lower. Coop’s eyes went to my breasts. I pulled my hands away and my bodice raised to a modest position. I didn’t trust myself to be around him. I was keenly aware of his gestures, and each one evoked a physical reaction, like an oyster responding to a foreign body, building layers of pearl.

“I hope Natalie wakes up and tells the truth,” I said.

“Even if she doesn’t, it’s clear you were set up,” he said. “The police wouldn’t have put extra men outside if they didn’t have another suspect.”

“But who?” My number one suspect, Natalie, was in the hospital. My number two suspect, the redhead, was dead. Just for a fleeting second, I saw my own death as clearly as I saw Sir nosing through the hydrangeas.

“The police traced those anonymous calls to a pay phone on Meeting Street.”

“In other words, they don’t know doodly-squat.”

“Exactly,” he said. Behind him, the sky had brightened to the color of a limpet shell with sharp, rippled clouds. A purple streak held over the rooftops. Sir growled and spun in a circle, chasing his stubby tail.

“He’ll wake up the neighborhood,” I said. “I better take him inside.” I got up and started for the kitchen door.

“Wait, Teeny.”

I turned and a gust of wind flattened my gown against my legs.

“Stay right there,” he said. “I just want to look at you in the light.”

Coop’s gaze dropped to my legs, then back to my face.

He got up from the chair, walked over to me, and picked up my hand. The heat from his body pooled into the space between us. My pulse thrummed in my neck when he moved closer, his mouth inches from my mouth. He started to kiss me, and I stepped back, thinking of Ava and the DA.

“We shouldn’t,” I whispered.

“But it’s almost over, Teeny.” His lips brushed the back of my hand, then he glanced up. “You’re worried about something else, more than the DA.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You sure? Did Ava say something?”

“No,” I said a little breathlessly. “Not at all.” Was this one lie or two? I decided it counted as one and raised my tally to seventeen. I’d promised to think about Ava’s proposal, and I had. But my thinking ran in circles, like Sir chasing his nubby tail. It always came back to one thing: I was going to fight for my guy. It was every girl for herself.

He pulled me around the hydrangea bushes, past the oleanders, into a secluded corner of the garden. I looked up and saw the shadowy outline of a balcony where Red Butler had stood the other day. Now, a pinch of light squeezed through the oak branches. The night was ending and the sky was the color of a pewter goblet—gray, a quiet, neutral color, that no-man’s-land between white and black, right and wrong.

Coop uncurled my fingers and kissed my palm.

“You know how to get to a girl.” I drew my other hand along his chin, feeling the rough stubble, then I pressed my palm against the back of his neck. His skin felt so warm. He let go of my hand and gathered up my hair.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered. “Do you think about me?”

“You don’t know the half of it, O’Malley,” I whispered back.

He released my hair and it fell between us. His mouth covered mine. Pleasure flickered up as I traced my tongue under the rim of his upper lip, alternately teasing and probing. The wind blew around us, smelling of roses and brackish water, and I was glad I hadn’t promised Ava. My teeth caught the soft swell of his lip and I sucked the edge. My hands knotted in his boxers as if clutching an anchor to that long ago summer at Lake Bonaventure.

“I want you, Teeny,” he said. “I’ve never wanted anyone this much.”

He picked me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He pushed up my nightgown and bunched the fabric around my waist, then his hand moved lower and lower. When he entered me, I tried not to make a sound. His eyes wanted to know the truth and nothing but the truth. I answered with my body, my hands in his hair, my thighs tight around his waist, my tongue drawing unspoken words over his lips. No matter what happened, he was the guy I’d never forget, the one I’d always love, and that was the truth, so help me god.

*   *   *

The sky had lightened to bone when we finally slipped into the house. Coop carried Sir up the stairs, cupping the dog’s tags so they wouldn’t rattle. Outside my door, he handed me the dog and traced his finger over my lips. Then he went into his room and I went into mine.

The mattress squeaked as I crawled into the center of the bed with Sir. He began his routine of circling and digging. Then he froze. He lifted his right paw and cocked his head. His bottom teeth pressed into his upper lip, and he growled. A moment later, one of the upstairs doors closed—not an outright slam but a loud clap, a purposeful sound that didn’t care who it woke, a sound that said,
You’re busted
.

Through the windows, light was breaking over the rooftops, morphing into a scarlet glow. Had Coop meant what he’d said, that he’d never wanted anyone this much? If this was true, where did that leave Ava? He’d wanted her at one time, right? But how much? He’d wanted her enough to marry her. I liked to think he was more than ready to move on, preferably with me, but it was too soon to tell.

Love was complex and had more than one layer. It was like an onion. You could chop it, dice it, and pulverize it, but the flavor would still be there, even if it stung your eyes.

I pulled the sheet over my head and tried to think of a soothing imaginary recipe. What I really needed was Smother Your Love gravy, poured over Forget Him pork chops, with a heaping side dish of He’s Better Off With Her pie. Whipped cream would be a nice touch. However, it’s fragile. All those peaks and swirls can separate into curds and water. Then you’ve got a mess.

To prevent your whipped cream from separating—and it will, after a while—add a stabilizer. Some people swear by powdered milk, others add unflavored gelatin. These products are flavorless, more or less, and won’t add unnecessary sweetness. Take care when adding new elements, such as fruit or liqueur. Despite the addition of a steadying agent, your cream is unsound and can dissolve without warning. Once it falls apart, you can’t put it back together.

forty

From a long way away, I heard ringing bells. I sat up and pushed my hair out of my face. The noise was coming from downstairs. The doorbell rang, and a deep voice yelled, “Police! Search warrant, open up!”

Sir’s head tipped back and he howled. I threw back the covers and ran to the window. Police cars blocked Adgers, blue lights swirling over the houses.

I pulled on a white blouse and black pants. Sir followed me into the hall. Coop was standing outside his door, stepping into his trousers. “Why are the police here?” I asked.

“I’ll find out,” he said.

Above us, doors slammed. Red Butler shot down the staircase in his underwear. “What the hell’s going on, Boss?”