A Teeny Bit of Trouble

by Michael Lee West

  I made up the beds, then I ran down to the kitchen. Coop was still on the phone, but Red filled me in. “Nine thirty this morning, a maid found Barb’s body hanging from the shower rod. I don’t know the actual time of death. But we should hear something soon. The Sweeney coroner is fast-tracking the autopsy.”

  “Why?” I sat down at the table and folded my hands.

  Red shrugged. “Apparently the coroner has a golf game.”

  Emerson burst into the kitchen. “Someone take me to McDonald’s right now or I’ll do something bad.”

  I didn’t want the dogs roaming around the house until I’d scoured the rooms for toxic items. When you own a pet, you have to dog-proof, because ordinary things like raisins and onions are fatal to canines. If T-Bone or Sir found my ancient stash of chocolate, I’d never forgive myself. I lured the dogs into the parlor. It was a cozy, old fashioned room. A carved settee. Piano. Old hi-fi. Nothing that could hurt a dog. I firmly latched the pocket doors, hurried onto the porch, and locked up.

  Ten minutes later, Red angled the van into the McDonald’s parking lot. Emerson dove into the backseat and grabbed Coop’s arm. “Daddy, will you sit next to me?”

  He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I was fixing to ask you the same thing.”

  A lot of guys wouldn’t be this accommodating to a bratty kid, even one who’d lost her mother, but Coop wasn’t just any guy.

  Emerson scarfed down two Happy Meals and a vanilla shake. In between bites, she quizzed us. “Which animal is not in the Bible?” she asked, dangling a fry over her head.

  “Hamsters,” Coop said.

  “Y’all need to go to church. Cats are the only animals not in the Bible.” She dropped the fry into her mouth.

  “What about mountain gorillas?” Red asked.

  * * *

  On the drive home, Emerson kept yawning. When the van pulled up to the farmhouse, she flung open her door and jumped into the gravel.

  “Wait, honey, the door’s locked,” I called, fumbling in my purse for the key.

  She ignored me and sprinted toward the porch. Coop helped me out of the van, and a gust of wind filled my striped skirt, shaping it into a bell.

  Emerson pushed open the front door and ran inside. The dogs trotted onto the porch and shot down the steps. T-Bone loped in circles, but Sir waddled over to me and rubbed his flat face against my legs.

  Red pointed at the door. “I thought you locked up, homegirl.”

  My stomach tightened. “I did.”

  “Maybe the wind blew it open,” Coop said, draping his arm around me.

  It was indeed a blustery night. The trees moved against the dusky sky, the heavy branches whispering like ladies in church. T-Bone’s ears perked and he gazed off into the shadowy orchard. I looked, too. A ripple of light cut through the tall buffalo grass. T-Bone padded into the clearing, his fur bristling.

  “Don’t you go chasing rabbits,” Coop told him.

  Red’s hand dropped to his holster. “That’s no rabbit.”

  Way off in the shadows, the light bobbed. A grainy shape darted between the trees. It was a man. And he was running toward the creek. T-Bone sprinted into the weeds. Sir was right behind him, but I drew him back. “You’re no match for a burglar,” I told him. Just saying that word made me sick.

  Red pulled out his Glock. In the distance, a human howl rose up. The light zigzagged violently, bouncing against the trees, then it dropped and went still. A few seconds later, the beam levitated from the weeds and moved toward the house in a quivering dazzle.

  “It ain’t the prowler,” Red said. “The light is too low.”

  A blinding radiance cut through the buffalo grass. T-Bone ran into the clearing with a flashlight in his mouth. He dropped it at Coop’s feet.

  “Sheesh.” Red shoved the Glock into the holster.

  Coop snatched the light and aimed it at the trees. No movement. Nothing.

  Sir twisted around, trying to escape. Coop passed the beam over the orchard again. “Teeny, you ever had prowlers before?”

  “Someone broke in last December. Aunt Bluette was in the hospital.” I let go of Sir and stood, brushing dirt off my skirt. “A guy stole her pain pills and a portable TV.”

  “I’m checking the backyard.” Red waved at the house. “Y’all go in and see if anything’s missing.”

  My heart pounded as I followed Coop to the porch. The dogs padded behind us, their nails scritch-scratching on the cypress planks. Coop bent down to examine the door. The lock was intact, and the wood didn’t have gouges or scratch marks.

  “You’ve got a spring lock,” he said, and pointed at the knob. “A credit card could pop it open.”

  We went inside and checked the rooms. Nothing was disheveled. Aunt Bluette’s Hummels and Precious Moments figurines were lined up in the curio cabinet.

  “Maybe he didn’t come into the house,” Coop said.

  “Yes, he did.” I pointed to the pocket doors. I’d closed them before we’d left and now they stood ajar.

  “I bet T-Bone nudged them open,” Coop said. “He’s an escape artist. I should’ve named him Houdini.”

  While Coop circled through the rest of the house, I went upstairs to check on Emerson. She sat on my old bed, unbraiding her hair. The stuffed hedgehog lay on the ruffled pillow. I glanced around the room. Either the prowler was a neatnik or he hadn’t entered this room.

  “Why was T-Bone barking?” she asked.

  The truth would scare her, but I didn’t want to lie, either. I felt my “oh shit” smile snap into place. “He was chasing something.”

  “Stupid dog.” Emerson sighed. “I’d love to chitchat, but it’s been a long, crappy day and I’m sleepy.”

  I knew she wanted me to go, but I lingered in the doorway. “You want a glass of warm milk?”

  “Ick, no.” She turned on her iPod and reached for the earphones. I wanted to put my arms around her and hold her the way Aunt Bluette had held me, but all I said was, “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

  “As if.”

  I found Coop in the kitchen. “Emerson’s fine,” I said, though he hadn’t asked.

  “But you aren’t,” he said. “You’re shaking all over. Should I get your inhaler?”

  “I’m fine, really.” Our eyes met. The air between us was spiked with electrical charges, and we stepped toward each other. Coop wrapped his arms around me. The heat from his body radiated through his thin cotton shirt, flooding me with a warm sweetness. I rested my cheek against his shoulder. It felt just right, solid and sheltering. And I knew that I’d already forgiven him for not telling me about Barb. Like Aunt Bluette used to say, “Nobody’s perfect. When you forgive others, you forgive yourself.” I think maybe she got that from Dr. Phil, but it was true.

  Footsteps clapped in the hallway. Coop and I broke apart. Red strode into the kitchen, his cheeks flushed. “You missing anything, Teeny?”

  “No. Everything’s fine.”

  “I bet it was a kid. He probably thought the house was unoccupied.” Red’s voice sounded blunt, as if he’d sanded the edges of each word. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and twisted off the metal cap. “Big day tomorrow. What happens after the DNA test, Boss? You and Teeny gonna stick around and wait for the results?”

  I walked to the sink and folded a tea towel. I wished I could be more like Red, moving effortlessly between prowlers and practical matters.

  I felt the pressure of Coop’s hand on my elbow. “What do you think, Teeny? You want to stay in Bonaventure?”

  “That would be nice.” I wasn’t in a hurry to get back to Charleston. I had plenty to think about. If Coop was Emerson’s dad, would I be a part of her life? Would she ever warm up to me? If so, I shouldn’t buy The Picky Palate Café. If Coop needed my help, I’d be there. Just deciding this made me feel calmer.

  Red took a swig of beer, then he sniffed his armpits. “Does this house have a shower?”

  “Upstairs,” I said. “First door on you
r right. Your bedroom room is across the hall. Hope you like Elvis. You’re sleeping with him.”

  “You got ‘the King’ hid in the closet, girlie?” He winked. Then he went upstairs.

  Coop put his arms around me. “Your heart is beating so fast. Are you still worried about the prowler?”

  “No.” It was the truth. My pulse always went haywire when I smelled pine, cotton, and Aqua di Parma.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “About what?” I drew back, expecting to hear more bad news.

  “Marry me,” he said.

  I stopped breathing. How many times had I fantasized about this? A ring dropped into a champagne glass, a band playing our song, a man on bended knee. He’d said the right words at the worst possible time. Barb was dead, and her daughter was upstairs in Aunt Bluette’s room.

  He pulled a black velvet box from his pocket and raised the lid, revealing the biggest diamond I’d ever seen. It was round, bracketed by two pearls.

  I glanced up. Something didn’t feel right about this. “You just happened to have an engagement ring in your pocket?”

  “It was in my suitcase. I fetched it when you checked on Emerson.”

  I stared back down at the diamond. “When did you buy it?”

  “I didn’t. See, it’s my grandmother’s ring. An O’Malley heirloom. I’d wanted to give it to you yesterday during lunch. But everything went crazy.”

  “It still is.”

  “We can’t wait until our lives settle down. Because they might not. When we find a quiet moment, we’ve got to take it.”

  My lips cracked into an “oh shit” smile. I wanted those moments, too. But I was scared that marriage would ruin all the good things we had. I was even more scared of myself, of all of the pits and holes and quirks that I kept hidden inside me.

  Before I could protest, he slid the ring onto my finger. The diamond swung around, heavy as an ice cube, and knocked against my pinkie.

  “Maybe you can wear it on a chain until you have it resized,” he said.

  A chain? My throat narrowed. I was totally going to ruin this moment. But I had to speak my mind. “I need to think about this,” I said in a croaky voice.

  “Take all the time you want. No matter what you decide, I want you to have this ring.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t. It’s an heirloom.”

  “I want you to have it. I’ll never love another woman the way I love you.”

  A question had been sitting in the back of my head since last night. “Why?”

  “Do you really have to ask?” A smile broke over his mouth. “I love how you hum to yourself when you ice a cake. I love how your hand feels in mine. I love your kind ways, and that little gap between your front teeth. I’m a flawed man, but I love you, Teeny. And I always will.”

  His hands skimmed my cheekbones. A shiver ran down my neck. My heart pounded against my chest wall. This ring was more than jewelry or an heirloom; it was an emotional U-turn for him. My Coop was moving deeper and deeper into gray areas.

  I wanted to say, Yes, I’ll marry you, but I couldn’t shape the words. My hesitancy wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about love. It was about me. Marriage wasn’t like a chicken casserole, a recipe you made every Friday night until you, or your partner, got sick of it. Then you cooked something more exotic, like Shrimp Belvedere. Unlike food, a marriage ought to last forever. That’s a lot to ask for nowadays, but I still wanted it.

  My mama would have said, Quit thinking about recipes. Shut up and kiss him.

  So that’s exactly what I did.

  six

  Early the next morning, clouds gathered over the orchard, and the air held a metallic bite. I didn’t want to lose Coop’s ring, so I put it on a gold chain that I found in my old jewelry box.

  When I stepped into the foyer, he lifted my hand. He didn’t ask about the ring, but I could tell he was worried.

  “It’s right here.” I reached inside my collar and lifted the chain. The diamond swung down like a wrecking ball. I’d just tucked it back into my collar when Red came down the staircase, smoothing his wiry hair.

  “Sheesh, I just lied to the kid. She thinks we’re going to McDonald’s for breakfast.”

  I stepped closer. “Maybe we should tell her the truth.”

  Coop caught my arm. “Lester said she’d run away.”

  “What the hell.” Red pulled out his keys. “It’s a lose-lose situation for everybody.”

  Ten minutes later, the four of us got into the van. I scooted across the backseat and leaned against Coop. Emerson climbed in next to Red. She looked spiffy in a red polka-dotted sun suit.

  “After we eat breakfast, let’s buy a satellite dish,” she said. “I’m missing Shark Week.”

  “We’ll see, kid. A muscle twitched in Red’s cheek. He turned onto Oglethorpe Square, where the Monday morning traffic moved sluggishly around a horse-drawn buggy.

  Emerson smoothed her pigtails. “Hammerheads eat squid.”

  “They also eat other sharks,” Red said.

  He drove over the metal bridge. Straight ahead, the pharmacy stood out against the leaden sky, the windows glowing with an eerie green light. The wind stirred the poisonous oleanders that lined the sidewalk in front of the store, and white petals skated down the pavement.

  A Georgia Genetics van was parked near the corner. Red pulled in beside it.

  “Why are we stopping here?” Emerson sat up straight. “You said we were having breakfast.”

  “We will.” Red squeezed the steering wheel. “Afterward.”

  “After what?” She spun around, glaring at me and Coop. “What’s going on?”

  “Your daddy asked us to bring you here,” Coop said.

  “Again?” She pounded her fist against the roof of the van. “You tricked me!”

  “I’m the one who lied, kid,” Red said.

  She whipped her head around. “You poo-poo head.”

  I squeezed Coop’s hand, a “quick, do something” gesture.

  He sat up straight. “Lester arranged a special test, one that will show if I’m your real dad. A technician will swab the inside of your cheek. Mine too. Don’t be afraid. It’ll feel just like a lollypop.”

  The fierce gleam in her eyes told me that Emerson Philpot wasn’t scared of Q-tips or strange men. She was petrified of not being loved.

  “I know lots and lots about DNA,” she said. “I better not be Mr. Philpot’s child. I can’t stand him. He takes me for granite.”

  Red’s lips twitched. “Granite’s a stone, kid.”

  “Don’t call me that. I’m not a baby goat. And I’m not letting anyone take my spit.”

  Red lifted her out of the front seat, ignoring her pitiful screeches. He carried her into the store. Two men in lab coats waited beside the old-fashioned soda fountain. One guy was bald and sunburned, and his hands hung down like boiled lobsters. The other man had flat, flounder-like feet.

  Emerson immediately hushed when Lester strutted down the aisle. He looked like an Abercrombie & Fitch advertisement. His khakis had knife-sharp pleats. His narrow face was dominated by a tall forehead that put mine to shame. His bulging hazel eyes zeroed in on Emerson.

  She curtsied, her fists extended. Then two index fingers jutted up.

  “Stop making those gestures,” Lester said.

  She tucked her hands behind her back. “Where’s Mrs. Philpot?”

  “We’ll discuss that later, sugar.”

  “When can I go back to Chatham Academy?”

  “Soon.” Lester tugged one of his butterfly-shaped ears. “Real soon.”

  My stomach cramped. We’d waited too long to tell her about Barb. When Emerson found out we’d withheld the news, she’d feel even more betrayed. You can’t lie to a child, Aunt Bluette used to say.

  Emerson darted to a counter, grabbed an umbrella, and swung it dangerously close to a Preparation H display. “I want an Egg McMuffin and a latte.”

  “You’re too young for lattes.” Lest
er pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and patted his glistening forehead. “But I’ll buy you a McMuffin if you let these nice men swab your mouth.”

  “No.” She pushed the tip of the umbrella into the display, and three Preparation H boxes toppled to the floor.

  “Sugar, the swab test isn’t painful,” Lester said, but he winced dramatically, causing Emerson to recoil. What was wrong with him? And why wasn’t Coop taking up for her? He just stood there, looking off to the side. We had the opposite problem of King Solomon and the two mothers. If anyone offered to split Emerson down the middle, neither Coop nor Lester would object.

  Oh, come on, Teeny. Offer to adopt her.

  Coop lifted his finger. “Excuse me, but is this a court-ordered test?”

  “Mr. O’Malley, I’m not any happier to see you than you are to see me. I’m quite aware that you’re an attorney. But a court order isn’t mandatory. If the results are in your favor, I won’t fight you for custody. Nor will I seek financial compensation for the last ten years and nine months.”

  I blinked. Didn’t he know Emerson was listening? My throat burned as I choked down a slew of angry words. Not too long ago, I’d promised Jesus I’d try to be a better person, but I wanted to tie Lester to a chair and feed him Cuckoopint Cobbler, made from noxious berries that caused diarrhea and projectile vomiting.

  Emerson’s jaw moved convulsively, as if she were chewing ice. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here. Just for that, you’re not getting my spit.”

  Lester’s cheeks turned pink. “Don’t make me sedate you.”

  “I’d like to see you try.” She swung the umbrella, and more boxes tumbled to the floor.

  The flounder man shuffled forward. “It’s not an invasive test. We’ll just collect a buccal sample—that’s the inside of your cheek. We’ll just swab it and it’ll be over in a second.”

  Emerson dropped the umbrella. “Can I try it on you?”

  “Why, certainly.” The technician smiled, showing crooked teeth, each one lapped against the other like slate shingles.