Gone With a Handsomer Man

by Michael Lee West

  “Go!”

  I ran into the corridor, through the open gate, and cut across the street. Earlier today, before the funeral, I’d locked both the gray door and the gate. Someone had been in the house and hadn’t tripped the alarm—because they knew the code.

  I jumped in the van and hit the auto lock. I watched the side mirror so nobody could sneak up from behind. I still had to bake twenty-four red velvet cakes. I’d hoped to fix one batch tonight and finish the rest before lunch tomorrow.

  A few minutes later, Red Butler rapped on the window. Sir squirmed in his arms. “All clear,” he said.

  I climbed out of the van and he dumped Sir into my arms. I sagged beneath the sudden weight and started checking Sir for wounds or blood, but Red Butler shook his head.

  “He’s fine.”

  We walked back to the Spencer-Jackson House, and I glanced at the Camry. The car stayed the same, but the detectives changed on a daily basis.

  “Should we tell the police?” I asked Red Butler.

  He pulled out his phone. The keypad beeped as he punched in a number. It was way too long for 911. I gave him a questioning stare, but he held out his hand to shush me.

  “Coop? We got a problem here. Somebody hung a stuffed bulldog from Teeny’s chandy.” He paused, his eyes switching back and forth. “Yeah, they’re up the street, but—” He paused again. “Okeydokey, Boss. Will do.”

  Damn, I didn’t want to see Coop, not until I’d eaten my way through a pound of Market Street pralines. A sugar fix would go a long way to calm me down.

  Red Butler guided me into the corridor. “Go inside. I’m getting the dicks.”

  I stepped into the house and looked up at the stuffed dog. I was shaking so bad, Sir nearly fell out of my arms. I wobbled over to the stairs and sat on the bottom step. Sir’s flat nose pushed into my ear. The stuffed dog was a warning. Natalie had a key to the house, and she knew the alarm code. If she hurt my dog, I didn’t know what I’d do, but I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be legal.

  Red Butler returned with the detectives. One was prematurely bald and wore a white t-shirt with USC printed on the front; the other guy was about my height with brown eyes and needed a haircut. They looked past me, to the chandelier. The man in the USC shirt called for backup, and the short man bent to examine the door.

  “Don’t see any sign of forced entry,” he said.

  “There wasn’t,” Red Butler said. “And the burglar alarm was set.”

  The short man rubbed his face and gave me a “maybe she did it herself” look. “Any workmen been here?” he asked me.

  “Yes. The upstairs air conditioner went out.”

  “And her house key went missing,” Red Butler added.

  “Name of repair company?” asked the tanned guy.

  “Coastal Electric and Air.”

  “You didn’t change the locks?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer. Red Butler beat me to it. “No, she was staying here on a temporary basis. And if you was doing your homework and been watching her house instead of sitting at the beach and pissing in the sea oats, you’d know who done this.”

  At that moment, I almost loved him. “The house next door has security cameras,” he added. “Maybe their tape will show something.”

  I heard sirens, and police cars swarmed down East Bay, parking at angles. Blue lights washed over the windows like spilled food coloring. I went into the corridor and sat beside the far gate, holding Sir in my lap.

  Coop stepped into the corridor and walked over to me. His hand moved to my face, as if he were going to brush hair out of my eyes, but the short detective walked by and said, “Hey, O’Malley. Didn’t know you had a dog in this fight.”

  Coop ignored him. “You okay, Teeny?”

  “Been better.”

  “You shouldn’t be out here.” He glanced at the policemen who were standing at the end of the corridor and helped me to my feet. We walked through the door, into the hall. A policeman was taking pictures of the stuffed dog from various angles.

  Coop started talking to the detectives. I put Sir down, gathered up the spilled cookbooks, and walked to the kitchen. I dumped them onto the small built-in desk and pulled out Templeton Family Receipts. The stiff pages grazed my fingers as I leafed through the book, pausing to look at handwritten notes in the margins. A few recipes were written in minuscule print, compressed between the lines of the printed church recipes. It was impossible to know who’d written them—Granny Templeton, Mama, or Bluette and her sisters.

  In the middle of the book, I found a recipe for red velvet cake that called for vinegar, cocoa, buttermilk, and a whole bottle of red food coloring. Aunt Bluette had written in the upper corner: dense and moist, the best cake you’ll ever put in your mouth, but doesn’t double good. In the weird alchemy of cooking, “doesn’t double good” meant to bake one cake at a time, not in bulk.

  I propped the book open on the island, then I knelt in front of the lower cabinets. Since I hadn’t made it to the dollar store, I didn’t have enough pans. I’d just have to make do.

  After I turned on the oven, I plugged in the KitchenAid mixer and started the first cake. I poured batter into pans and slid them into the oven.

  Red Butler came in and sniffed. “You’re not cooking, I hope?” he asked like I was smoking crack.

  “This is a kitchen. It’s perfectly legal to bake.”

  Sir barked, then he started wheezing. I bent down to pat him.

  “You’re just like the mutt,” Red Butler said. “Neither one of you can breathe. Do they make inhalers for bulldogs?”

  I ignored him and smoothed the wrinkles on Sir’s head. “Where’s Coop?”

  “Talking to the dicks. Get me a apron, and I’ll help.”

  “I’m making these cakes for The Picky Palate.” I stood. “They’ve got to be perfect.”

  “You’re not the only one who can cook, Teeny. I know my way around a kitchen.”

  I gave him a side-eye glance. He’d called me by my actual name. Repressing a smile, I opened a drawer and found a red-and-white checkered apron, still in the cellophane package. “Will this do?”

  “Give me it,” he said. He pulled off his tuxedo jacket and put on the apron. I watched as he sifted flour into a glass bowl. He pressed his tongue against his upper lip as he filled a measuring cup and leveled the top with a knife, taking pains not to compact the powder. So, he really knew how to bake.

  The pocket doors slid open. Coop looked at Red Butler and nodded, as if he saw him every day in an apron, then he waved at me.

  “Teeny, when Miss Dora picked you up this morning, did she come inside?” he asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “I was hoping she could tell the police that nothing was hanging from your chandelier.”

  “But I already told them,” I said.

  “They think you did it.”

  “Me?” I drew back. “I was gone all day. Even with a ladder, I’m not tall enough to reach the chandelier.”

  “I know. That’s why I need you to climb the ladder,” Coop said. “Just to demonstrate that you couldn’t have hung that rope.”

  “Sure.”

  The detectives stood in the hall with two policemen. They’d already found a tall ladder and were setting it up under the chandelier. Coop tilted back his head. “How high is that light fixture?” he asked a uniformed cop. “Twenty-five feet?”

  “Nearbouts,” the policeman said.

  Coop turned to me. “Teeny, climb.”

  My black dress swirled around my knees as I took a step. The detectives came over to the ladder and tried to anchor it.

  “Keep going,” Coop said.

  “I don’t like heights,” I said.

  “Hold tight. I’m coming up.”

  The policemen held the ladder while Coop climbed behind me. Red Butler came into the hall to watch.

  “Okay,” Coop said. “I’m right here. Take another step.”

  Even though I felt safe with him behin
d me, I wasn’t steady on my pins. If I slipped, we’d end up in the hospital, for sure. I pushed that thought from my mind and bent my leg at the knee. My bare foot slid onto the rung. I climbed one more and stopped when the ladder trembled. The cops stared up, their faces tense.

  “You’re doing good, Teeny,” Coop said. The ladder wobbled as he moved right behind me.

  When I got to the top, Coop said, “Teeny, stretch out your hand.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and lifted my arm, spreading my fingers wide apart. I cracked open one eye. The chandelier was miles over my head.

  “Okay, Teeny,” Coop said. “Now climb down. That’s it, take it slow.”

  I felt his hands on my calves, then on my waist. When I got to the bottom, he pointed up at the chandelier. “This woman is innocent,” he said in a hard-ass voice. “Somebody’s trying to scare her. Quit focusing on her and find the person who hung this toy. Then you’ll find who killed Bing Jackson.”

  The detectives didn’t look impressed. They were too busy making faces at Red Butler, who was standing next to the pocket doors. “Nice apron,” the short detective called.

  “Fuck you, Boudreaux.” Red Butler lifted his middle finger. “Hey, did the security tapes show anything?”

  “Nothing,” the short detective said. “We seen Miss Templeton leave at 9:00 a.m. and get into a silver Bentley. After that, foot traffic until you and her came back at nine forty-five tonight.”

  “Did you check the back door for signs of forced entry?” Coop asked.

  The detectives exchanged glances, then they all went over to the rear door to examine it. A policeman climbed the ladder and cut down the stuffed dog. He lowered it to another policeman. A sick feeling went through me as the dog went into a giant evidence bag.

  Evidence of what?

  On the other side of the room, Sir tucked his paws under his jaw. His eyes switched from the dog to me, as if to say, I’m next.

  thirty-three

  Coop was back from going door to door, asking the neighbors if they’d seen anything unusual. Red Butler had given him the description of Eileen’s RV, then he’d stayed in the kitchen and helped me bake. I’d had enough flour left over for one more cake, and seeing as Red Butler had helped, I’d made one specially for him.

  “Miss Loonhart prolly hired some dude to hang that dog,” he said.

  “Quit scaring her,” Coop said. “Natalie just wants Teeny out of the house.”

  “You better hope that’s all,” said Red Butler.

  “You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Coop said.

  “I’ll be here,” Red Butler said.

  “I’m staying, too,” Coop said. I set the alarm and showed Red Butler to a room with paintings of ships. Then I took Coop to a pale green bedroom that faced the harbor.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I said, lingering in the doorway. Sir trotted between us.

  “Me, too.” His cheeks dimpled. “Where’s your room?”

  “There.” I pointed to the door at the end of the hall. I touched his hand. “Can you fix it so Bing’s sister gets the trust?”

  “I can set you up with an estate lawyer—unless you want to use Mr. Underhill.”

  “He doesn’t like me much.”

  “He doesn’t like anyone.”

  “Red Butler says I’m crazy for giving up the trust. But you understand, don’t you?”

  “It’s your fortune to lose. You can do what you want.” He squeezed my hand. “Holler if you need me.”

  “Night.” I walked to the pink toile room. I didn’t push the dresser in front of the door and didn’t shut the curtains. A car rumbled down the street and I peeked out the window. Red taillights shone on the damp pavement. If a bank robber had been speeding off, I couldn’t have given the police a description. A fine eyewitness I’d be. What was the make? they’d ask. Don’t know. Color? Dark. Get a license number? No way.

  I stepped out of the funeral dress and found a ragged Edisto Island shirt in one of the drawers. I lifted Sir onto the bed and smiled as he turned around and around. Finally he plopped down with a satisfied grunt. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I stretched out. I fell asleep in an instant.

  Sometime during the night, Sir woke me with a low growl. Outside my door, the floorboards creaked. I glanced at the clock. 2:00 a.m. My door opened and a tall shape stepped into the room. Sir’s tags jingled and his growl deepened.

  “Teeny?” whispered a familiar voice. Coop.

  “Yes?” I patted Sir’s head and he stopped growling.

  Coop walked to the bed, moonlight rippling over his t-shirt and boxer shorts, and he knelt beside the bed. I couldn’t see his eyes, just the outline of the face I’d loved all my life. I still did. And I couldn’t explain why any more than I could explain why peaches grow on trees. I loved how he squatted by T-Bone and talked to him like the dog could understand. I loved the plants in his spare room and the way his eyes squinted in the corners when he laughed. It wasn’t just his handsomeness, although that was a plus, it was his selfless streak that made him dive into the water to save a drowning swimmer, not waiting for someone else to act or thinking of his own safety.

  A car sped down the street and its headlights passed over him, briefly illuminating his eyes. He didn’t move. Silence curled between us the way the scent of baking bread moves through a room. I tucked my hand under the pillow. He leaned closer and smoothed back my hair.

  “I dreamed about you during the night,” he whispered. “Then I woke and had to make sure you were okay.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t scared as long as he was here, but it made me sick to think that someone had slipped unnoticed into the house—not to steal the antiques but to hang a stuffed replica of Sir. It was a warning to get out of this house, and soon.

  Coop leaned closer and his tongue slipped past my lips. His whiskers grazed my chin, and I reached up and felt the cleft. My breath came in sharp gasps, but I didn’t need my inhaler. I breathed in the scent of his shampoo as he moved his chin down my chest and rested his face against my t-shirt. His breath stirred the thin fabric and scattered, warming my nipples.

  I moved my hand under his shirt, brushing over the fine hairs on his chest, and pressed lower. My palm brushed the elastic band of his boxers.

  “I want you so much,” he said.

  “I want you, too.” I pulled my shirt over my head, wound my arms tightly around his neck, and drew him against me into the warm blankets. His lips moved up to my neck, and he bit my earlobe. I traced my hands over his shoulders, feeling the hard curve of his muscles. I was keenly aware of the infinitesimal space between us and moved closer.

  “So sweet,” he said and inched down his boxers.

  I couldn’t wait another second and tried to pull him to me.

  “Not yet,” he said. His hand slipped between my thighs, nudging them farther and farther apart in excruciating slowness. He kissed me again, and his hands moved down. Then he drew back.

  “Please forgive me for not telling you everything,” he said.

  “We’ll … discuss this later,” I said.

  He rolled over and braced his elbows on the mattress. I wrapped my legs around him and felt him enter me in one long pulse, then another and another. I couldn’t hold still. His touch was an ocean. I moved like a swimmer, pushing through the slippery blue. His kisses pulled me under, powerful as a current, but this time I didn’t hold my breath. I was breathing underwater.

  * * *

  Sunlight trickled through the curtains and moved in dizzy patterns on the floor. I rubbed my eyes. Coop’s side of the bed was empty. I rolled over and felt a vague soreness between my legs.

  I couldn’t stay in bed another second. I had to see him. I slipped out of bed, walked to the closet, and pulled the sale tags from the thrift-store outfit. I buttoned the white blouse, then stepped into black pants.

  Sir’s toenails clicked behind me as I walked into the hall. The door to Coop’s room stood ajar, and the bed was tidily made.
I went down the stairs, turned off the burglar alarm, and opened the back door. Sir waddled out and stretched his stubby hind legs. I leaned against the door jam and waited while he did his business.

  Red Butler came into the hall, holding a coffee mug. “Morning,” he said. “I already cut into that cake you made me.”

  “Was it good?”

  He touched his thumb and finger together, making an OK sign. I whistled for Sir, and he trotted into the hall, wiggling against my ankles. I patted his broad, flat head. His fur felt warm, and he hadn’t been out there a minute. It was going to be another hot day in Charleston.

  Red Butler walked to the door and stepped onto the patio. His head moved from side to side as he scanned the yard. He looked just like a human bulldog. “Teeny, does anything look out of place?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Best I can figure, the dude came through the back gate.” He pointed toward the brick wall.

  “Where’s Coop?” I asked.

  “Kitchen.”

  I hurried through the pocket doors. He was leaning against the counter, sipping coffee. “Morning,” he said and turned back to the sink, as if he felt embarrassed to look me in the eye. At the very least, I’d expected a kiss, but something in his voice worried me. I flashed back to that long-ago day when he’d come to Aunt Bluette’s farm to break up with me.

  “You been up long?” I asked, keeping my voice light and casual.

  “A little while. Red Butler’s staying with you today.”

  “Great.” I shook kibble into a bowl and set it on the mat. Sir grabbed a nugget and carried it away from the bowl. He chewed fiercely, then darted back for another morsel.

  “Teeny, we need to talk,” Coop said.

  “Sure.”

  He still wouldn’t look at me, so I squeezed past him and poured a cup of coffee. Then I leaned against the counter and waited. But he kept staring at the floor.

  “So, talk, O’Malley,” I said.

  Red Butler walked into the room. “I checked the back gate. It’s shut, but it needs a chain and padlock. Even though you ain’t gonna be staying here long, you still need to take precautions.”

  Coop took a sip of coffee and turned to me. “I’m taking the documents to a forensic expert in Columbia. If he thinks the signature is fishy, I’m calling the state attorney general’s office.” He touched my arm. “I’ll stop by later.”