Southern Poison (8 page)

“Thanks,” I said. “I clean up well.”

We ordered fish tacos for an appetizer and an entrée of paella—chicken, clams, and spicy sausage cooked in rice—plus a couple of icy Land Shark Lagers to cut the burn. A group of construction contractors all similarly clad in work jeans, tees, and baseball caps were just finishing their end-of-day happy hour and spotting them was a sure sign of good food and cheap beer. Fishy Fishy butts up to the water and its small bar serves double duty by opening to the outside docks and to the indoor clientele. We chose to sit on the outdoor covered pier to take advantage of the water view, as pelicans swooped in to claim a post.

When our beers were served, we clinked to Jimmy Buffett’s marketing prowess, as he partnered with Anheuser-Busch to produce the Land Shark Lager under the Margaritaville Brewing Company label. The beers were light and smooth and quite good. Then again,
I’ve never tried a new beer I didn’t like. John took another swig, drawing my attention to his missing piece of ring finger. “What happened to your hand?”

His expression froze in distaste, as though I’d asked something very personal. After a few beats, he held up his hand, fingers outstretched and palm toward me. His hands were huge and the fingers thick with muscle, like a football jock. “Lost it in an accident. No big deal.”

“Okay. I don’t mean to pry, John. I was just curious.”

He studied something invisible to me, something hanging in the air, a vivid flashback maybe. “We grew up on a small farm. When we were teenagers, my brother was feeding stalks of corn through the chopper and his shirt got caught. Almost pulled him in.”

“So you saved him?”

John drank, nodded. “Back then, not all machines had emergency shutoffs, and there wasn’t time to do anything other than cut his shirt away to free him. I didn’t even realize I’d hurt myself until we saw the blood. He said I was his hero. And he was real upset that a piece of my finger was cut off.” John drank a third of the bottle with one tilt. “What he didn’t realize is that I would have gladly lost my entire hand, or even my arm, to save him.”

I nodded. “Where does he live?”

John’s eyes cut sharply to mine. “He doesn’t. He’s dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” John didn’t want to talk about it so I didn’t push.

Our appetizer arrived and we ordered a second round of lagers. He spooned one of the grouper-and-avocado-stuffed flour tortillas onto a small plate for me before serving himself. “Since we’re learning a bit about each other, tell me, Jill. Who do you really work for?”

“Excuse me?” My hearing is fine, but he’d caught me completely off guard.

“My guess is Homeland Security, even though you don’t look the type.”

I showed him my puzzled smile. “You think I work for Homeland Security? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Why would you say that?”

“Just a guess. But what I do know is that the temp agency you supposedly work for doesn’t exist. Mama Jean gave me the number when I stopped by to bring her flowers. I need to hire some laborers to do a renovation project at my condo, but when I called, the person on the other end of that number said she was short staffed and didn’t have anyone available, even though I told her I was flexible on the days. What’s more strange is the fact that there is no business listing anywhere in this area for the temp agency.”

“You’ve got quite an imagination. Besides, the temp agency is brand new.”

John smiled and the skin around his eyes crinkled, giving his eyes a friendly, almost mischievous appeal. I noticed that the hair at his temples was slightly gray, but on him, it looked distinguished. “I don’t believe you,” he said.

“Why not?”

“The miniature cameras mounted beneath your truck’s overhang, for starters. Most people would never bother to look, much less recognize them as digital recording devices. But I’m trained to notice things.”

I brushed my hair back and styled it with my fingers, unconcerned. “That’s weird, because I’ve never noticed anything even resembling a camera anywhere on Mama Jean’s truck.”

“I oversee day-to-day security for MOTSU. I know pretty much everything that goes on. And I’ve seen several new additions in personnel that happened all at once.” I started to interrupt but he stopped me with an upheld hand. “Plus I was instructed to have my men on alert for anything unusual and report any deviances—regardless of
how slight—from normal operating procedures. Security measures are tighter than before. It’s obvious that a potential threat has been detected.”

My eyes went wide. “What kind of threat?”

“Don’t know, wasn’t told.”

I gave him my brightest smile. “Well anyway, I just sell food from a truck to earn a little lipstick money. For something to do, really. I lead a simple life.”

He reached across the small table to take my hand. “You are anything but simple, Jill. If that’s your real name.”

Our paella arrived and he let go of my hand. “Regardless of who you work for, it’s clear that we are both in the business of keeping people safe. Maybe we can help each other out by sharing information.”

I’d have to notify Ashton of John’s suspicions and there would be hell to pay for somebody. Probably the genius who first made contact with Mama Jean and created my undercover role. “Jill is my real name. And, sure, I’m all for sharing information. That could be fun. Whatcha got for me?”

“Nothing right now. What do you have for me?”

“Nothing right now.”

He nodded to himself. “Well then, I guess there’s nothing to do but eat and enjoy each other’s company.”

We did just that and my thoughts only strayed to Ox two or three times. John was entertaining, but I would have rather been sitting across from my best-friend-turned-lover. Ox loves spicy food as much as I do. And we might have started playing footsies under the table again.

Napping isn’t my
thing, but that’s exactly what I was doing when Lindsey awakened me by pounding on the door.

“Lindsey, hey, what’s up,” I said, letting her in, not believing I’d been asleep on the sofa for more than an hour.

“Can I stay here for a few days?”

I stretched my sleepy muscles as her request sunk in. “Sure, I guess, if it’s okay with your dad. But why don’t you want to stay where you are, at his place?”

She opened the refrigerator and peered at the contents for a full minute before selecting a bottle of water. “Mom showed up this morning. Flew in on the red-eye.”

My stomach balled up. “Louise is here, in Wilmington?”

Lindsey gulped half the water with one tilt of her head. “Yep. She was all stressed out because one of the gifts she brought in her carry-on had broken, and then they confiscated her hair trimming scissors at the airport, and then the flight was delayed. But that’s just Mom. She’s easily excited, you know? Anyway, she had Dad
put her luggage in my room and made a big deal about how she’ll sleep in there, with me. Like I care which bed she crawls in. But I think she wants to try and work things out with Dad. She probably got sick of cooking all that tofu and seaweed shit for Albert.”

“You shouldn’t use that kind of language, doodlebug,” Spud said, coming into the kitchen with a yawn. He’d just awakened from his own nap. “Although I ate tofu chili one time, and it did taste like shit.”

“Anyway,” Lindsey continued, “Mom is all, like, emotional or something and I don’t want to be in the middle of that little dog-and-pony show, you know?”

Before I had a chance to answer Lindsey’s request, Ox knocked once and punched in the security code to enter. “Thought I might find you here, Lin.”

“Hi Dad. Jersey said it’s cool if I stay here.”

I had?

Lindsey plowed on. “It’s actually closer to the high school and besides, I’d see you every day, right?” She and Ox both knew that I loved the girl like my own family. Of course she could stay with me, just as she had a few times before. This time, though, the reason for her request was already gnawing a tiny hole in the lining of my stomach.

I felt Ox’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t look at him. The passionate hours we’d spent together just a few days ago were fresh and vivid, and I didn’t want to contemplate the possibility of Ox reuniting with his ex. “Sure, Lindsey can stay here as long as she’d like if that’s good with you, Ox.”

“Thanks, Jerz, that’s perfect! Maybe I can even work at the Block a few hours a day, after school.”

“Lindsey, honey, why don’t you and Spud play some cards while Jersey and I go downstairs to talk?”

“No problem.” She practically skipped to Spud and gave him a
hug. “Hey, teach! Will you show me how poker side cards—I mean kickers—work?”

Chatting it up like old buddies, they plopped down at the kitchen table and Lindsey expertly shuffled a deck of cards, just like my father taught her. I watched, thinking about what it would have been like for me to spend time with Spud, back when I was Lindsey’s age. And why, I wondered as self-pity turned my bones to rubber, why did Ox’s ex-wife decide to come after him now, when she’d never wanted anything from him before except money? Life suddenly sucked and my soul felt flat, deflated. Wordless, I walked through the door while Ox held it open. We headed down the stairs, to the Block’s outdoor patio.

“Louise said she had to divorce me to find herself,” Ox said, once we’d settled ourselves into swiveling chairs. “Now that she’s learned she can survive on her own, and now that she’s sharing the house with this Albert fellow, she realizes that she can open herself up to someone again. Become half of a couple, she said.”

My abdominal muscles relaxed and I realized I’d been holding my breath. “That’s good, right? If she marries her live-in, you won’t have to pay alimony any longer.”

His eyes held mine for so long that I could see the pupils dilate and constrict as they focused. “She flew here because she had to see me. To be sure.”

My stomach contracted again. “To be sure that she is completely over you?”

“Yes.”

I wrapped my mind around his single-word answer and thought about the laws of reciprocity. “And, you? Do you need to find out if you’re completely over her?”

Ruby sashayed by our table to see if we wanted anything. Neither of us did. Sensing the conversation to be private, she kept moving.

“Jersey, the other day with you was incredible and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it—and you—since. What we might be, if we decide we want to be together. But I can’t just turn Louise away.”

Yes you can
, I thought.
She dumped you and broke your heart.

“We had a lot of good years together and she’s the mother of my daughter.”

A daughter who will be college-bound in a few more years.

“We don’t talk about it, you and I,” he continued, “but we both know that we love each other. We’ve been tight since high school and our relationship is something special, something magical. I’d do anything in the world for you.”

Apparently not anything, since you’re letting Louise barrel her way back into your life
, I mused.

“Say
something
, Jersey. Say anything. Talk to me.”

I breathed deep and corralled my emotions into a small place where I hoped they’d stay dormant. “There’s nothing to say, Ox. You have to do what’s right for you. Lindsey is welcome to stay here. And as for me, I’m off to have a chat with Lady Lizzy.”

“Want me to ride along with—”

“No, thanks,” I interrupted. “I’m all set.”

I left before he could protest, thinking that the dynamics of our relationship were irreversibly damaged. Ox and I were no longer tuned to the same frequency. Being around him suddenly felt clumsy and awkward. I didn’t even bother to ask what information he had planned to trade with Lady Lizzy, to get her to tell all about her calendar. I had something of my own to use and didn’t need his help. Or maybe I did need it, but I damn sure wasn’t going to ask for it.

The
gossip columnist agreed to meet with me at the Thalian Hall/City Hall complex in Wilmington, a venue built in the mid-1800s that includes a three-level theater—one of the oldest in the
country. Visitors find it odd that the historic structure serves as both a cultural and political center, but locals love the building enough to have fought for its preservation. Simply approaching the stately, ornate entrance made me feel dignified and I reflexively checked my posture. Head up, shoulders back, boobs out, weapon snugly holstered.

Standing tall, I found Lady Lizzy in the ballroom, which is not only the regular meeting space for the Wilmington City Council but also an elegant, two-story room for rent that is well known to wedding planners. The famous columnist reminded me of Joan Rivers on speed: more flamboyant than the original, louder, and flaunting perhaps twice as many plastic surgeries. Her eyes held a perpetually surprised expression. She was covering tonight’s celebration of matrimonial bliss for some reason and I hoped to find out why, especially since it just so happened to be one of the starred dates that Soup rooted out of her computerized calendar database.

“Dahling.” She hustled my way with petite steps. “You must be Jersey!” She leaned in to do the double air-kiss thing on my cheeks. I hate the double air-kiss, but I can pretend otherwise.

“Lady Lizzy,” I gushed right back, “it’s so
fabulous
to meet you in person. Just love your column.”

Not
, I thought. I’d never even read her column, but I could suck up when necessary.

“I don’t have much time because the guests will start arriving soon and I’ll have to make the rounds. It’s rumored that Dale Earnhardt, Jr. will be here, since he’s friends with the groom because they grew up together around Kannapolis!” Her eyebrows bobbed up and down as she spoke. “Plus I’ve got a definite that Sharon Lawrence is coming! She played Sylvia Sipowicz on
NYPD Blue
, you know. Family friend of the bride! But you’ve got me all to yourself for ten or fifteen minutes!”

The woman was a walking exclamation point. Ten or fifteen
minutes would be all I could handle. We sat at a linen-covered round table that was topped with an arrangement of bright flowers and miniature candles. There were about twenty other identical tables, but ours had a direct view of downtown through huge Palladian windows. Caterers scurried about, attending to last-minute details. A server wearing black and white stopped to ask if we’d like a glass of champagne.