Savannah Blues

by Mary Kay Andrews

  I almost hung up, but instead I hung on. “Tal? Are you there? Pick up if you’re there. It’s Weezie, Tal. And I’m tired of your little games. Sober up and pick up the phone, damn you,” I shouted.

  The kitchen door swung open and Daniel pranced in, holding aloft a large shopping bag in one hand and a tiny brown bag in the other.

  “Look what I brought!” he called in a giddy singsong voice. “Big presents and little presents. Who wants a present?”

  “Just a minute,” I said, covering the receiver with my hand. “Pick up the phone, Tal,” I shouted. “Pick it up and quit playing games.”

  All I heard was the tape spooling. I hung up.

  Daniel threw the small paper sack at me. A box of Trojan Ultra Pleasures fell out.

  “Here,” he said, disgust dripping from his voice. “I don’t guess I’ll be needing these tonight. You can take ’em to Tal.”

  Chapter 46

  “This isn’t what you think,” I said. “Tal left a message on my machine. He sounded strange. He said something about giving me the house. Afterward. And then he quit talking. I’m afraid he might be suicidal.”

  “He’s drunk,” Daniel said, throwing his keys down on the table.

  “I’m telling you, something was wrong with him,” I said, dialing my own number. I punched in the activation code again and handed the phone to Daniel. “Here. You tell me what you think.”

  He listened, then hung up. “He knows how to push all your buttons, doesn’t he?”

  “Are you telling me that was an act?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. He’s never been like this before. He never gets drunk. He’s always in control. But his voice…I wonder if he took something…”

  “That’s ridiculous, Weezie. Think about it. The voice on the message trailed off. But you called his house, right? And you got the answering machine. Right? So it’s not like he collapsed and left the phone off the hook.”

  “Right,” I said, feeling a mixture of anger and relief. “But what if he didn’t call me from his house? What if he was at the office or someplace else?”

  Daniel ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it standing on end.

  “I can’t believe this is happening. Are you saying you want to rush back to Savannah, to save him from himself?”

  “I don’t know,” I shouted, pissed that I was on the verge of tears. “I don’t know what to do, damn it. But this isn’t some kind of popularity contest, Daniel. I’m over Tal. I’ve told you that. I don’t know how to make you believe it.”

  “I’ll believe it when you believe it,” Daniel said.

  I picked up the phone.

  “Now what?”

  “I’m calling his office,” I said, turning my back on him. “I’d do as much for a casual friend, if I thought he was in trouble. You can’t expect me to just act like Tal never happened. Not if you care about me.”

  “He’s playing you,” Daniel said. He went into the kitchen and started clattering pots and pans. The phone at Tal’s office rang and rang, and then the answering machine picked up.

  “Christ,” Daniel shouted. As I turned around I saw a cloud of black smoke rising from the saucepan full of green beans. He picked the pan up and threw it in the sink, drowning it under the tap.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I got distracted and I forgot. I’ll pay for the pan. I’ll buy you more beans. I don’t know what else to do.”

  I dialed another number.

  “BeBe?”

  “What’s up, Weezie?”

  “Something’s going on with Tal. He left a message on my machine. I don’t know, I think he sounded drunk or drugged or something.”

  “Which is it? And why are you calling me about it?”

  “I’m over in Bluffton. With Daniel. Tal doesn’t answer at the house, or at his office. I’m worried. He’s been depressed. Do you think he could have tried something stupid?”

  “He did try something stupid,” BeBe drawled. “He left you for that slut Caroline. Forget about him, Weezie. He’s not worth it. Tal Evans is your past. Daniel is your future. Now hang up the phone and quit fucking up your life.”

  “One thing,” I pleaded. “Just do me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Drive over to the townhouse. See if his car is there. There’s a key to the back door under the planter on the back steps. Just check to see if he’s there.”

  “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “Will you do it?”

  “What do you want me to do after that?”

  “Call me here.”

  I looked over at Daniel. “What’s the number here?”

  I told her the number. “Call me as soon as you know something.”

  Daniel was scrubbing the layer of burned beans on the bottom of the pan with a piece of steel wool. Then he took a steak knife and started stabbing at the charred food. I watched for a minute or two, then walked over to the sink and took the pan out of his hands.

  “I was working on that,” he said, his voice cold.

  “You’ll never get it clean that way,” I said. “Believe me, I’ve watched my mother burn a lifetime’s worth of food. Have you got any bleach?”

  He rummaged around until he found a small bottle of Clorox.

  I put a couple of inches of water in the pan and added about a quarter of a cup of bleach, then I set the pan on the back burner on the lowest heat.

  “Bleach fumes,” Daniel said. “You’ll kill us both. The cops will find Tal’s body at his house and ours here. They’ll say it was a lovers’ triangle.” He was trying not to smile, but it wasn’t working.

  I pointed at all the open windows, and at the screened porch. “We’ve got plenty of ventilation. And I’m not planning on killing myself. Or you. Not with bleach fumes. Not just yet, anyway.”

  I picked up the paper bag of condoms, looked at the box. There were twenty-four in the carton. “You had some mighty big plans for tonight, I see.”

  “Not just for tonight,” he said quietly.

  The phone rang again. I snatched it up.

  “He’s home, and he’s alive, more’s the pity,” BeBe said.

  “Thank God,” I said. “What did he say?”

  “Nothing,” BeBe said. “He’s passed out on the sofa.”

  “He’s not in a coma? You didn’t see any pills or anything?”

  “Just a half-empty bottle of Scotch,” BeBe said. “I slapped him around, and he came to long enough to tell me to get the hell out of his house.”

  “I owe you, Babe.”

  “You certainly do,” she said, and then she hung up.

  “He’s not dead,” I told Daniel. “Just drunk and passed out. You were right. I guess Tal was just yanking my chain. Again.”

  “Imagine my relief,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “What now?” I asked wearily. “Do you want to take me home?”

  He had been standing at the kitchen counter, methodically cutting the pork roast into half-inch-thick slices. He put the knife down and came and sat down on the sofa beside me.

  “You know what I want?” he said, taking my hand in his. “I want to know why you keep trying to run away from me. Every time we start to get close, something happens. At first I thought it was just circumstances. But now? I don’t know. Everything was going fine tonight. Then you decide to call home and wham! We’re right back where we were before.”

  I looked down at the floor, then out the kitchen window. But there were no answers there.

  “I want to be with you,” I whispered. “I do. But it’s no good. I’m terrible at this relationship stuff. I try, but it just doesn’t work out.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Daniel asked. He put his hand under my chin and turned my head so I was looking straight at him.

  “Look at my track record,” I said. “I thought my marriage to Tal was perfect. And look what happened. Tal and I never fought. I mean never.
And then one day, it was over. I had no clue he was having an affair. No clue he wasn’t happy. And now, look at you and me. It’s crazy. I am so attracted to you. Half the time I want to get naked with you and the other half I want to beat your brains in. We fight all the time. And I don’t like fighting.”

  “How do you know?” he countered. “I think you never fought with Tal because he never cared enough. And you did whatever he told you to anyway. So he didn’t need to fight with you. Me? I’ve had to fight for everything I’ve ever gotten in my life. That’s OK. It makes it better. It makes it worth having.”

  He kissed the back of my hand. “You are worth having, Weezie Foley. You’re worth fighting for. And fighting with. And making up with.”

  “How do you know?” I demanded.

  “I know,” he said. He picked up the carton of Trojans. “Do you think I would have made a major investment like this if I wasn’t positive we’d be great together?”

  I sniffed a little and smiled. “What’s in the big shopping bag? If it’s more Trojans, I’m out of here.”

  “It’s a gift,” he said. “I thought if this was going to be a special night, you should have something to remember it by.”

  “You mean something besides splinters in my butt?”

  The bag was heavy. The object inside was swaddled in thick layers of tissue, all of them taped together. I tore at the tissue until the bright green and blue glaze became visible.

  “The oyster dishes,” I said, my voice catching.

  “That’s what took so long,” he said. “That shopkeeper was locking up when I got there. I didn’t think she was going to sell them to me, until I whipped out the cash.”

  “You paid cash?” I asked, incredulous. “But you should have tried to bargain with her. Dealers always come down at least twenty percent, especially when you pay cash.”

  “Nope,” he said. “I wanted you to have them. At full price. No dickering.”

  “They’re wonderful,” I said. “But you shouldn’t have spent that much money on me.”

  “On us,” he said. And he took the plates and set them carefully down on the coffee table. Then he picked up the carton of Trojans and took me by the hand. And we went upstairs to discuss our investment potential.

  Chapter 47

  When I woke up, Daniel was nibbling on my ear.

  “What ever happened to that dinner you promised me?” I asked sleepily.

  “Why, are you hungry?”

  “Starved,” I said, sitting up. “What time is it, anyway?”

  He picked his watch up from the nightstand and handed it over to me.

  “Seven,” I said, sinking back into the pillows. “I’ve got to get going.”

  “What’s your hurry?” he asked, pointing toward the Trojan carton, which was surrounded by little foil wrappers. “We’ve barely made a dent in the supply.”

  “You may be on vacation,” I said, planting a kiss on his forehead, “but I’ve got work to do. Including getting over to that house on the Southside to pick up your new living-room furniture.”

  “Oh yeah,” he said, yawning again. “Furniture.”

  “Dibs on first shower,” I said. I took the quilt and wrapped it around myself and padded toward the bathroom.

  “I think we should share,” he called after me. “The drought, you know.”

  “It rained most of yesterday and all night last night,” I pointed out. “Anyway, I’m serious. I really do need to get back to Savannah.”

  By the time I got out of the shower, Daniel had fallen back to sleep. I dressed in the clothes I’d brought to wear crabbing, and was silently grateful that I had something clean to change into, just in case anybody who’d seen me leaving my carriage house yesterday should happen to glance out the window and see me coming back today—in the same clothes.

  Downstairs, I made coffee and piddled around in the kitchen, slicing the french bread and toasting it under the broiler with some slices of Havarti cheese Daniel had packed. When my breakfast was ready, I took it out to the dock and watched the early morning sun sparkling on the May River. A blue heron stalked quietly by in the mud, and I tossed it the last bits of my toast.

  At eight, I took a cup of coffee and more of the cheese toast upstairs for Daniel. He was still sleeping. I set the dishes down on the nightstand and leaned over to kiss him, but as soon as I got close, an arm snaked around my waist and pulled me down onto the bed.

  “None of that.” I laughed, trying to push myself away from him. “I’ve showered and I’ve dressed, and now I’m ready for business.”

  “Mmm,” he said, running his hands up under my T-shirt. “I’m ready for business too.”

  “I can tell,” I said, patting the covers. “But that’s not the kind of business I had in mind. Come on, Daniel, I really need to go to town.”

  He grinned.

  “That’s not what I meant,” I said. “Is everything a double entendre with you?”

  “The morning after? Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Not as long as you get up and get dressed and take me home. Are you going to do that, or do I hijack the truck and drive myself back to Savannah?”

  “I’ll take you,” he grumbled. “But this is not what I had in mind.”

  “Give me a raincheck,” I said, tugging him upright.

  Tal’s BMW was parked in his slot behind the townhouse.

  Daniel pointed at it. “Guess he’s not feeling up to work this morning.”

  “Asshole,” I said. “I hope he has the king hell hangover of all times, after what he put me through last night.”

  “What you put yourself through,” Daniel said. “I’ll call you later.”

  He put the truck in reverse and started to back out into the lane.

  “Hey,” I yelled, pounding on the hood of his truck to get his attention.

  He stuck his head out the window. “What?”

  “I’m going to go pick up your furniture this afternoon. Want to give me a check to pay for it?”

  He fumbled around in the glove box until he found his checkbook. “You shack up with me for one night and already you’re making me write bad checks?”

  “It better not be bad,” I told him. “I’ve got a reputation to protect.”

  “It’s good,” Daniel said. “Like me.” He tore the check out of the book and handed it over.

  “And what should I do with the stuff after I pick it up?” I asked. “There’s no room to store it here.”

  He sighed. “What time were you going over there?”

  “The guy wants it gone by five o’clock.”

  “All right,” he said. “Guess I’ll just spend the rest of the day in town, then go back over to Bluffton tonight. Give me the address of the house and I’ll meet you out there. Four o’clock OK?”

  “Fine,” I said. I gave him the address, and without checking to see whether or not Tal was watching out the window, I leaned in the window and gave Daniel a long wet kiss good-bye.

  Inside, I propped my Beaulieu oyster plates up against the living-room mantel and stood back to see how they looked.

  “Great,” I muttered. “They look great. But two oyster plates aren’t enough to fill the space. I need something else. Preferably another piece of majolica.”

  I took one of the plates over to my desk and got out my magnifying glass. The Minton mark was quite clear under the glass, which made me feel much better about Daniel’s paying full price.

  For the first time I looked closely at the price tag on the back of the plate. It was the dealer’s handwritten tag. Like most dealers, she’d put the store price on the tag, but there was also a series of letters and numbers which I knew was her own code, probably for the amount she’d originally paid for the plate, plus any other pertinent information she would want to remember, such as the date the piece was purchased and, possibly, the source.

  Every dealer has his own code, a way of keeping inventory. Most of them allow the dealer to tell, at a glance
, a fairly complete history of a piece.

  I took the other plate down and checked the back, but it didn’t have a price tag, since—duh! The dealer had priced the plates as a set.

  The dealer’s code was a mystery to me, but if anybody could decode it, I thought, Lester Dobie could.

  Lester stared down at the oyster plate through a jeweler’s loupe.

  “That’s an authentic Minton mark,” he said. “Where’d it come from?”

  “My friend bought it from a shop over in Bluffton. Annie’s Attic.”

  He pursed his lips. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “The dealer code is what I’m interested in,” I said. “Does it look familiar?”

  He took a pencil and jotted the code down on a piece of scrap paper.

  “Part of it’s just straight old pricing code, substituting letters for numbers,” he said, reading off the scrap of paper. “AEO—that’s a hundred and fifty most likely.”

  “She got them for a steal if that’s all she paid. What about the rest?”

  “Seven-three-oh-oh-oh,” he read off. “Could be the date of purchase. July thirtieth, 2000.”

  “And the ZK?”

  He shrugged. “The initials of the seller?”

  “ZK,” I repeated. “Sound familiar?”

  “Zack?” he said.

  I dug in my tote bag until I found my business-card directory. I flipped over to the K page and glanced down at a dozen business cards belonging to antique dealers, interior designers, salvage yard operators, and other pickers. I had plenty of Ks in my directory, but no ZKs.

  Lester pulled the big Rolodex from atop a stack of antique reference books on his desk and thumbed through the inch-thick section of Ks.

  “No ZKs here,” he reported.

  I moved papers around on the desktop until I found the Savannah yellow pages. I turned to the section for antique shops.

  “Kaplan Fine Antiques. Keyes Kollectibles. King’s Ransom Antiques. Kramer & Culkin,” I said, moving my fingertip down the alphabetical listings. “Nothing matches here. Think maybe the code is reversed, and the seller is really KZ?”