Gone With a Handsomer Man

by Michael Lee West

  All these questions swirled as I opened the door and led Ava through the den, into the foyer. We climbed the curved staircase and walked to the guest room. She moved to the window, shut the curtains, then clicked on her flashlight. The beam hit the far wall, illuminating the gilt trim on five antiqued wooden panels. Pictures of old-timey ships hung on each panel. I moved to the third picture, flattened my hand below the frame, and pushed against the wood. The disguised door swung open. I flipped a switch. A fluorescent hummed, casting green light over the small room.

  “Find what you need and let’s go,” she said.

  I opened a file drawer. Bing had been meticulous with his records. Every folder was labeled and dated. According to Mr. Underhill, Bing had sold the Spencer-Jackson House the day after I’d attacked him. I opened a folder marked “June” and riffled through the papers. I didn’t see any document that remotely looked like a sale contract. But I saw a dozen papers with his signature.

  I tucked the folder under my arm and squatted next to the metal safe. Bing had used his date of birth for passwords and secret codes. I unlocked the safe and opened the door. I saw DVDs with girls’ names written on them in Bing’s handwriting. I grabbed those and leaned inside the safe. I found the deed to this green stucco house and the deed to the Spencer-Jackson. A thick pile of other deeds were wrapped with a rubber band. I grabbed those, too.

  Ava saw me grappling with the DVDs and got a pillowcase. I dropped everything inside, then I shut off the light and stepped out of the room. As I shut the panel, the picture tilted. I reached up to straighten it.

  “Let’s go,” Ava said.

  Halfway down the stairs, a beam of light speared through the front door. Ava and I ducked behind the railing just as the light passed over our heads. It moved past the staircase, across the walls, and snapped off. A few seconds later, it appeared in the dining room window. The light flowed over the walls and disappeared.

  “We can hide in Bing’s closet,” I whispered.

  “You go.” She stood. “I’m not afraid.”

  “What if it’s the police?”

  “What if it isn’t?” She pulled out the revolver and flipped off the safety. She crept down the stairs and flattened herself against the wall. I was right behind her, my heart thumping. I’d left my inhaler with the motorcycle, so I forced myself to take slow breaths.

  Holding the gun in both hands, she inched her way into the hall and turned into the den. The windows along the back of the house resembled black lozenges. Farther out, in the backyard, a ribbon of moonlight sliced through the trees.

  A wobbly beam hit the glass door. Behind it, a large shape rose up. The knob rattled and spun around. The door opened and the light hit me in the eye.

  “One more step, and I’ll shoot,” Ava called.

  The figure raised its arms. “It’s me,” Red Butler said.

  “You bloody bastard.” Ava lowered the revolver. “I almost shot you. What are you doing here?”

  “Checking on y’all.”

  I started for the bookcase, and Ava called, “Where are you going?”

  “To get my cookbooks.” I reached for Templeton Family Receipts and my fondant icing book. I hated to leave the rest of them, but I couldn’t ask Red Butler to tote my entire collection. I glanced at the volumes and held a little funeral for them.

  “I can take some books in my van,” Red Butler said.

  For once, I could have kissed him. I dumped a load into his arms and went back for another stack. Then Ava and I followed Red Butler to his van and set the books in the rear compartment. All the seats had been ripped out, and boxes of surveillance equipment were strewn about.

  “I’ve heard of crazy bitches,” he told me, “but you’re the world’s first crazy cookbook bitch.”

  We walked back to the house. Red Butler pointed to the empty shelves. “The crime boys prolly videotaped this room,” he said. “They gonna notice the shelves been messed with.”

  “No, they won’t.” I opened the bottom cabinet, pulled out encyclopedias, and shoved them into the empty slots.

  “Brilliant,” Ava said, lifting a pile of books.

  Red Butler shuffled his feet. “It looks okay,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Got everything?” Ava asked me. “Keys? Documents? Flashlight?”

  God, she was thorough. I nodded and slipped Templeton Family Receipts into the pillowcase.

  “Red, lock the door on your way out,” Ava said over her shoulder.

  “You would’ve made a good general,” he muttered.

  “See you at Cooper’s,” she said.

  “We’re going back to Coop’s?” I asked

  “Where else?” Ava pushed back her hair. “Remember, the police didn’t see you leave. They believe you’re with him—alone.”

  “If the police think I’m with Coop, they’re going to freak when they see me drive up on the back of your motorcycle.”

  “They won’t.”

  “But how will I slip past them?”

  “Same as before,” she said. “You walk.”

  thirty-one

  Halfway to Coop’s house, it began to drizzle. By the time I slogged onto Coop’s deck, I was pretty sure my hair looked like Tina Turner’s “Private Dancer” wig, one that had been plunged into a toilet and drip-dried on a mop handle. I was sopping wet.

  Drowning was the least of my problems. When I walked into the house, I found the three of them in the dining room, having a party. Coop was wedged between Red Butler and Ava, laughing and digging into a pepperoni pizza. The boys seemed to have sufficiently recovered from Ava’s criminal activities. Coop shoved a wedge of pizza into his mouth. His eyes widened when he saw me.

  Ava smiled. “Cooper, where’re your manners? Get the poor girl a towel.”

  My sweetheart rose from the chair and shot into the kitchen. I heard the clothes dryer open and shut.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said. “I fainted five times and got attacked by sand fleas.”

  “Get you some pizza.” Red Butler pointed to the boxes.

  Coop returned and put a towel over my head. I sat down and Ava’s smile broadened. I dragged the towel over my possum hair.

  “Red?” Ava smiled. “Would you open another bottle of merlot?”

  “‘Get me this, Red,’” he said in a fake British accent. “‘Get me that.’”

  Ava emptied the pillow case onto the table, then she spread out the documents and studied Bing’s signature. “Whoever Natalie Lockhart is, she’s not a clever forger. She’s sloppy.”

  Coop lifted a DVD. “Why are they labeled with names? Barbara Jo, Faye, Amber.”

  “I’m not sure.” My breath caught a little when I saw Natalie written in Bing’s script. I handed it to Coop. “Do you have a DVD player?”

  “Sure do.” He walked to the great room and slid the disc into the machine. The television screen filled with grainy static, then a bull’s-eye came up with a count down. 3, 2, 1. The screen flickered and showed a hairy thigh in black and white. The date and time were stamped on the bottom of the screen. Exactly one week after we’d gotten engaged.

  “What a cheap fucking video camera,” said a man with an intense coastal drawl. Bing.

  The camera panned down to his crotch, showing his fully inflated manly parts. The camera jerked up, and Natalie came into view. “God, you’re sexy,” Bing told her. “Come over here and suck me, you beautiful bitch.”

  My legs wobbled, and I sank into a leather chair. Coop pulled out the footstool and perched on the edge. He looked away from the television, back to the pile of DVDs. “These are sex tapes,” he said.

  “Crappy, homemade ones,” Red Butler said.

  “Can they be used as evidence?” Ava asked.

  “Of what?” Coop asked.

  “That Teeny was engaged to a man-whore,” Red Butler said. “No way. We’d have to explain how she found them. Plus, it’s inadmissable evidence.”

  Red Butler grabbed another slic
e of pizza and crammed it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully a minute. “So, all you got is video evidence that her boyfriend was a revtard?”

  “What’s that?” I frowned.

  “A guy who can’t add two plus two, yet he’s knee-deep in pretty women. A total babe magnet.”

  Revtard, indeed. I couldn’t listen to the commentary—or Bing’s tape—another second. I rose from the chair and hurried to the bathroom. I leaned into the tub, turned on the faucet, and rinsed sand off my feet, wishing it was this easy to remove the last six months.

  When I returned, Coop and Red Butler were arguing about who should drive me home. I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms.

  “The less you and her is seen together, the better,” Red Butler said. “Besides, I’ve got her damn cookbooks in my van.”

  Coop held up his hand. “I don’t want to hear about those books.”

  “Relax,” Ava said. “You’ve got enough evidence to clear Teeny.”

  “Illegally obtained evidence.” Coop rose from the footstool. His eyes met Ava’s, and something seemed to pass between them. He sat back down.

  “But I thought you wanted the signatures,” Ava said. “Stop fretting. Let’s compare the handwriting, shall we?”

  “I’m not a graphologist,” Coop said, his voice full of angry edges. “Neither are you.” He pointed at Ava, but he was really pointing at both of us, at our bad behavior.

  “I’m sure you can find a qualified person.” Ava reached for her purse. “If the expert thinks the signatures are dodgy, you can follow the law to your heart’s content. Go through proper channels. Bring in your expert witnesses. I’ve no doubt you’ll successfully argue your case. The police will stop hounding Teeny. Then she can go back to her life.”

  Her unspoken words hung in the air, Teeny can go back to Georgia.

  “It’s not that simple.” Coop shook his head.

  “It could be.” She stared at him for a long moment, then she patted T-Bone and headed for the door.

  “Hey,” Red Butler called. “Where you going?”

  “Home,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ve had quite enough for one night.”

  “It’s raining.” Coop got up again and stepped toward her. “Be careful.”

  “Not to worry, I like a challenge.” She walked out. No “Good-bye, Coop.” No “See you later.” That was a good sign.

  Coop ran his hand over his hair. “You shouldn’t have gone back to the house, Teeny. It was irresponsible. Absolutely reckless.”

  “I really needed those cookbooks.”

  “Why?” He lowered his eyebrows.

  “I’ve got a job.” I paused. Was this a lie? No, just an evasion. I explained about The Picky Palate. “The cakes are special order,” I added. “They’re due tomorrow.”

  Coop’s gaze softened. “Teeny, you’re going to work yourself to death.”

  “It’s not work.” I smiled. “Baking relaxes me.”

  “If you say so.” He glanced at Red Butler. “Could I have a moment alone with Teeny?”

  “What for?” Red Butler asked.

  “It’s private,” Coop said.

  Red Butler grabbed another slice of pizza. “I’ll be in the van, girlie.”

  The front door slammed. Coop drew me into his arms. I was all set to push him away, but my traitorous arms slid over his shoulders.

  “I’m crazy about you,” he said.

  “You better be, O’Malley.” I stood on my toes and kissed him. It was the first time we’d kissed since Ava had shown up. I cast aside my scruples about kissing a married man and flitted my tongue against his lips. I was just about to ask him to come back with me to Charleston when a horn blared in the driveway.

  Coop pulled back a little and kissed the tip of my nose. “Your chariot awaits,” he whispered.

  Some chariot. I thought of the movie Troy. Red Butler put me in mind of Achilles, relentlessly circling the city walls. “Your detective doesn’t like me very much,” I said.

  “He just doesn’t like driving on a rainy night,” Coop said.

  * * *

  The rain stopped when Red Butler turned onto the Connector. I stared out the window, watching the headlights cut through the fog.

  “Hey, girlie. Did you make a sex tape with your boyfriend?”

  “No, indeed not.” I frowned. I was so insulted, I couldn’t think straight.

  “Just asking,” he said. “Wouldn’t want one to surface during the trial.”

  “My trespassing trial?” I sighed. I was too heartsick to carry on a conversation, and I wasn’t above telling him to stuff it.

  “No. The one that’s in your future. You got to know where this is headed, girlie. They goin’ bring you down for first-degree one way or another. If a sex tape fell into the wrong hands, the DA would cream his panties.”

  “Bring me down?” I made a fist. I pushed all thoughts of Coop from my mind and went on the attack. “I haven’t done anything. And since you brought up the tapes, tell me why it’s okay for a man to videotape his sexcapades, and when I find the tapes, I look guilty.”

  “Like the boss said, it’s all about motive. You seen the tapes and wanted revenge. Women do it all the time.”

  “I didn’t know they existed.”

  “Right, so you broke into your dead boyfriend’s house and found the tapes.”

  “I was just looking for his signature. I didn’t know what was in his safe.”

  “All this time you was engaged to this douche nozzle, it never occurs to you to poke around his secret room and take a gander in his safe?”

  “I didn’t think he had anything to hide.”

  “Sure. Whatever. He just had a secret room. I rest my case.”

  “I’m a real imperfect person, but I’m not a liar. I say pretty much what’s on my mind. And what I don’t say is written all over my face. This may be hard for you to believe, but I don’t always recognize trickery until it smacks me upside the head.”

  “That don’t mean you didn’t look in his safe.”

  “After Bing and I got engaged, he showed me how to open the panel to his room and he gave me the combination to his safe. He asked me not to open it except for an emergency. And I didn’t.”

  “All women are snoops.”

  “I’m not. I didn’t have much privacy when I was growing up.”

  “What kid does? My sisters hogged the bedrooms, and I had to sleep on the den sofa.”

  “I lived in a car, okay? A station wagon. Mama got the front seat, I got the back. She was real clear about our territory. She used to say, ‘Don’t you mess with my stuff, and I won’t mess with yours.’”

  I crossed my arms. I thought about Mama all the time, but I rarely talked about her. An image rose up and I pictured my old Roi-Tan cigar box. Inside it still smelled faintly of Donnie’s tobacco. He’d given it to me to keep my special things: a piece of blue ribbon, my cursed inhaler, a peach pit, and the boot from a Monopoly game. Far as I knew, Mama hadn’t looked inside the box.

  “Your mama still living?” Red Butler asked.

  “Who knows? She ran off.”

  “That’s too bad. How much are you inheriting from your dead boyfriend’s trust?”

  “I don’t want it. Let his sister have it.”

  “Right.” He rolled his eyes.

  “It’s blood money.”

  “Yeah, but it’s still money. Why would you give up a fortune?”

  “I told you. Plus, Bing wouldn’t have wanted me to have it.”

  “It don’t matter what the dead want.”

  “It matters to me.”

  “It shouldn’t. You act like money’s a bad thing.”

  “There’s not a thing in the world wrong with it. But I just know myself. I cut my own hair and do my own nails. I’m a drip-dry girl. I like cotton, not silk. I like plain white dishes and don’t care if they match.”

  “Okay, okay, I get it. You ain’t a material girl.”

  “I want to forge
t how Bing looked when I found him in the kitchen.”

  “So go to a hypnotist.”

  “I ought to split it with his sister and give my half to charity.”

  “Is his sister the dame who brought cats to the funeral today?”

  I shrugged.

  “You can’t let the dude’s money go to support cats.”

  “Maybe I’ll just give the trust to you,” I snapped.

  “Well, I wouldn’t hand over perfectly good money to a bunch of yowling cats.” He turned down Adgers. As I glanced out the side window, a Winnebago sped by. It was too dark to see the driver, but I recognized the distinctive boxy shape.

  “There’s that RV again,” I said. “It belongs to Bing’s sister. Maybe you should chase it.”

  “Why?” Red Butler shrugged. “She ain’t done nothing wrong.”

  The van’s headlights swept over the damp cobblestones. Red Butler parked, then reached in the back of the van and grabbed a stack of books. “Let’s just take in a few tonight,” he said.

  “But I need them all.”

  “The dicks might notice. I don’t want no trouble over some recipe books.”

  I crawled into the back of the van and grabbed as many books as I could hold. Red Butler and I walked in silence back to East Bay. Down by the brick wall, I saw the Camry trying to nose into a tiny slot. When I passed the Jackson Realty sign, I repressed an urge to spit.

  Red Butler held the books while I unlocked the iron door. I hurried into the corridor, opened the gray door, and shut off the bleating alarm. From upstairs, I could hear Sir’s frantic barks. I started for the staircase. Above me, the chandelier prisms tinkled, and a shadow moved back and forth. I glanced up. A long thick rope hung from the chandelier, and dangling at the end was a bulldog.

  thirty-two

  My brain couldn’t reconcile the dog’s body swinging back and forth to the barking that was coming from upstairs. “It’s a stuffed dog,” Red Butler said. He threw down the books he was carrying, reached under his tuxedo coat, and pulled out a gun. With his free hand, he tossed me his keys. “Go back to the van and lock yourself inside.”

  “You think whoever did this is still here?”

  “Just go.”

  “Let me get my dog.”