“Time for that walk,” he said under his breath. His eyes bored through me.
“Okay,” I said, a little uncertainly. “Come with me?”
“No.”
I started toward the front door, trying to figure out what was going on. His hand closed on my arm. “Not that way. Better go into the backyard,” he said and squeezed my elbow in short, rhythmic bursts.
A cop breezed by, his shoes slapping over the wood. Coop guided me toward the back door. I started to explain how I’d found the plastic bag, but he gave my elbow a sharp pinch. We stepped into the garden and he guided me past Ava, who gave me a pitying stare.
Coop stopped. “Keep walking,” he said, his lips barely moving.
I curved around the sundial, and the phone rang. I’d forgotten that I was holding it. I clicked a button and said, “Coop?”
“Go toward the hydrangeas,” he said.
Sir tugged at the leash, pulling me forward. I walked around the flower beds and glanced over my shoulder. I could barely see Coop.
“Don’t look back,” he said. “Keep walking.”
I stepped past the hydrangeas. Bumblebees circled the heavy blossoms. “Coop, listen. I saw a bag of marijuana in Uncle Elmer’s bathroom.”
“Did you touch it?”
“No.”
“Okay, good.” He exhaled.
“Someone put it there,” I said.
“Teen, listen very carefully. The cops just found a gun. It’s blackened, like somebody tried to set fire to it.”
“I don’t have a gun. I didn’t kill Bing.”
“I know it. But they don’t.” He paused, and in the background I heard a man say, “Where is she?”
“Teeny, they’re going to arrest you,” Coop said.
“I figured that.” I swallowed. “Why did you tell me to take Sir for a walk?”
“Because I know you’re incapable of murder. My need to fix this is greater than my need to follow the law. They haven’t arrested you yet. Leave the dog with Ava. Go someplace safe. I’m going to talk to the DA and see if he’ll hold off the arrest until Natalie wakes up from surgery. When you’re safe, call me. Just hit redial. I’ll be waiting.”
“For what?” Was he was telling me to run for it? If so, this was aiding and abetting—I knew that much from watching Law & Order. That carried a prison sentence and made his unprofessional conduct look pretty tame.
“We’ll talk later,” he said.
I stopped by an iron bird feeder and looked back at the patio. It was hidden by low branches of an oak tree. Farther up, hydrangeas spilled out like a petticoat around the trunk.
“Running will make me look guilty,” I said. “They’ll just catch me, and it’ll be a thousand times worse.”
“You’re wasting time.”
“I’m not afraid of jail. I’m afraid you’re doing the wrong thing.”
“It’s the rightest thing I’ve ever done. Listen, I’ve got to talk to the policemen. I’m handing the phone to Ava.”
“Wait!”
There was a scrabbling noise and Ava said, “Teeny?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“The police are searching the house.”
“Yes. Other than that.”
“Where’s Coop?”
“Inside talking to the policemen.”
I looked at the brick wall. It was a foot taller than me. I probably could grab the ivy and pull myself up. But I couldn’t take Sir. I knelt beside him, dropped the phone into my lap, and ran my hand along his back. He was panting hard.
“I’m sorry, little buddy,” I said. He pushed his muzzle against my leg. I kissed the top of his head. Then I glanced up at the house, trying to get one last look, but it was hidden by branches.
Ava’s voice rose up from my lap. “Teeny?”
I picked up the phone and and dropped the leash. “Call Sir.”
“What?”
“Just call him, please.”
I heard her yell his name. Sir didn’t move. “Scoot,” I said, patting his rear end. He looked back at me, then he trotted toward the hydrangeas. A moment later, I heard panting.
Ava said, “There, there good puppy.”
“Ava?” I stood. “Pick up his leash.”
“Got it,” she said. “What the bloody hell is going on?”
“Take good care of him.”
“Sorry?”
“I’m sorry, too,” I said.
“Teeny, what are you plotting?”
“Nothing.”
“Whatever it is, don’t do it,” she said. “You’ll make Cooper’s job five times harder. I’m getting him right now.”
I disconnected the call and dropped the phone into my pocket. I started to leave the purse on the lawn, but I’d need my inhaler and money. I tucked the strap firmly over my shoulder and grabbed a handful of ivy. I was over the wall in a flash.
forty-one
The morning sun pushed down on my head as I worked my way through the narrow gardens that abutted mine. I squeezed through a hedgerow and climbed over another brick wall. A man with a pipe yelled, “If you don’t leave in two seconds, I’m calling the police!”
I cut down a walkway to Bedon’s Alley and stopped next to a brick wall. I stepped into the cool shadows of a live oak, then I started up Elliott Street. The police had set up a barrier at the intersection of Elliott and East Bay. Two policemen blocked reporters. Another officer redirected a carriage. Beyond them, I saw Eileen’s Winnebago.
I ran to Church Street and started down St. Michael’s Alley. My plan was to hide in the church, but it was just too close to the Spencer-Jackson House. The minute the police realized I was gone—if they hadn’t already—they’d shut down the historic district.
A gust of traffic fumes made me dizzy as I walked up Church. Perspiration slid down between my shoulder blades. I turned left onto Broad Street and paused to wipe my face on my blouse. If I kept going north, I’d end up at Queen Street. If Miss Dora wasn’t out gallivanting, she’d hide me. A lot of ifs, but I was out of options.
I blended in with a group of tourists and waited for the light to change. The wind hit the back of my head, and strands of hair whipped in front of me like thin cracks in old china. I’d need to change my appearance. A box of L’Oreal’s Chocolate Espresso would make me unrecognizable.
I reached inside the bag for my sunglasses and saw yellow Splenda packets, a red leather billfold, and keys hooked to a Big Ben chain. This was Ava’s bag. Coop had gotten it mixed up with mine.
Tourists were bent over at a map, and I heard them talking about having lunch at Poogan’s Porch. I tagged along, trying to act normal. If Miss Dora wasn’t home, I’d need to buy a hat and keep mingling with tourists.
I left the Poogan’s Porch people at the corner of Church and Queen and headed toward Johnson’s Row. Miss Dora’s house had been painted dark raspberry, which meant the historical society had vetoed the pink.
Her iron entrance gate stood open. I stepped into the long corridor, then I turned back. Maybe I shouldn’t drag another innocent person into my troubles. But I hadn’t been arrested, so technically she wouldn’t be harboring a fugitive, right? Maybe she could take me to Bonaventure. I could gas up Aunt Bluette’s old Pinto and drive far, far away.
I turned and hurried through the corridor, passing through a square courtyard where a brass pineapple spit water into an owl. I knocked on the French doors. From inside the house, I heard footsteps. Miss Dora opened the door and smiled.
“Come on in, girl,” she said. “Get out of this sickening heat.”
I felt another wrench of guilt as I stepped into the cool foyer. It smelled of potpourri. “Like the new paint?” she asked. “I don’t. The hysterical society pitched the biggest fit you ever saw. I was so put out, I told the painters to paint the stucco Berry Bisque. And I left town.”
“Where’d you go?” I plastered a cheery smile on my face and hoped I didn’t sound as panicky as
I felt.
“Sumter.”
“The fort?” I asked.
“No, honey, Sumter’s a little town off I-95. I’d heard about this little antique mall? It’s supposed to have good prices. Ha! Even the junk was sky high. I was so disappointed. The podunk shops know the value of Roseville and McCoy.”
The rise and fall of her voice was soothing. I caught the edge of it and coasted. She led me to her parlor on the second floor. The long windows gave a narrow view of St. Philip’s Church. I guessed the historical society didn’t have a say about what Miss Dora wanted in the privacy of her own home because her parlor was pink.
She saw me looking at the walls and waved her hand, her diamonds catching the light. “Don’t you love the redo?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am.” I sat on the edge of the pink piano bench.“It looks like something in a magazine.”
“You are too kind.” She smiled. “Pale pink and cream are nursery colors. The only thing that saves this room from being babyfied are the Tabriz rugs. They cost a fortune. But they ground the room so nicely. So do the black lamps and pillows. See how I judiciously sprinkled that color around the room? It’s just like pepper. A touch of black adds pep and gravity.”
“It sure is pretty,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. I’d never given a flip for decorating. But it was Miss Dora’s life, and I wouldn’t hurt her feelings for the world.
“How is your cute lawyer?” she asked.
“Fine.” Ava’s purse emitted a low buzz. I reached inside and flattened my palm over the phone, trying to smother the noise.
“Isn’t that your phone?” Miss Dora asked. “Shouldn’t you answer?”
“It’s a telemarketer.”
“Don’t you just hate them?” She rearranged two rose figurines on the coffee table, then she glanced up. “You look kind of disheveled. And you’re pale as a haint. Are you feeling poorly?”
“I’m in a rush.”
“Whatever for, darlin’?” She flashed a sharp, shrewd stare.
“Is there any way you can drive me to Bonaventure?” I asked just as casual as if I’d requested a cup of mint tea.
“I thought your lawyer gave you his car. Can’t you drive yourself?”
“It’s on Adgers. I walked here.”
“You trying to lose weight or what?” She smiled.
“I need to go home.”
“But what about your probation?”
“Can’t worry about that.”
She pursed her lips, as if mulling that over. “What’s happened?”
“It’s best if you don’t know.”
“Well, no matter. I’ll be happy to drive you. Just let me fetch my keys. Did you leave your suitcase outside?”
“Didn’t bring one.”
“Then you’re not staying long?” Her brow puckered. “Should I drive you back to the Spencer-Jackson?”
“No, ma’am.”
“But you’ll need some clothes, won’t you?”
“I’ve got plenty at the farm.”
“Teeny, what’s really going on?”
“Please don’t ask.”
“Come on, darlin’. Level with me. You’re violating probation, not to mention leaving your boyfriend, and you’re going without a decent wardrobe?”
“That’s about the size of it.” I stood. “If you’d rather not drive me, I understand. I’ll just make my way to Georgia. And I apologize for barging in like this.”
“Are you telling me everything? Did that lawyer mistreat you? ’Cause if he did—”
“No, ma’am. It’s just that I’m in a little trouble.”
“What kind?”
I explained about Natalie and Faye and the search warrant. I omitted the part about Cooper telling me to run.
Her face turned so red I thought for sure she’d call the police. Instead, she leaned forward. “Tell me how I can help, darlin’.”
“Do you have a wig?” I asked. “I won’t make it out of Charleston unless I disguise myself.”
“No, but I’ve got hats galore. Run upstairs to the peppermint bedroom and pick you out a hat. I turned a walk-in closet into a hat-keeping room.” She walked over and appraised my figure. “I don’t have clothes your size, but check the bedroom across the hall. It’s got a canopy bed. I’ve got a slew of caftans in closets and drawers. One size fits all.”
“Oh, Miss Dora, thank you.” I hugged her so hard, she tipped backward.
“I’m pleased as punch to help.” She pulled back and smiled. “You and I have been crapped upon by Jackson men. We must stick together.”
“Do you have scissors?”
“Why?”
“I’m cutting my hair.”
“Don’t you dare. It’s too pretty to cut. Maybe if you pinned it up? I’ve got bobby pins in the bathroom, so grab you some.”
Praise the Lord for women with vast wardrobes. I ran up the stairs. I’d only been on the second level once, at the engagement party. Where was the peppermint room? I turned into one with white French furniture and fuchsia walls. The closet was jammed with winter coats.
The next room had pink walls and lime curtains. The closet was jammed with dozens of hats, each one sitting in its own cubbyhole. I lifted a straw boater with a floppy brim and hurried across the hall to look for the caftans. I veered into a muddy rose room with pink clouds on the ceiling. Four cannonball posts jutted up from a cherry bed—not a canopy, but close enough. Little swatches of fabric were pinned over the headboard, like she was testing a decorating idea.
I checked the closet, but it was filled with pocketbooks and shoes, arranged according to color. On my way out of the room, I stubbed my toe on a dresser with a marble top. I knocked over a perfume bottle, and when I straightened it, I saw two hairpins lying on the mirrored tray.
Just what I needed. I grabbed the pins and put them into my mouth. With my lips fanged shut, I opened the top drawer. Bobby pins were strewn along the wooden bottom. I coiled my hair into a bun and stabbed it with the pins. It still wobbled.
I swept my hand toward the back of the drawer, looking for more pins, and my fingers brushed against something plush. I inched open the drawer and saw a pink tassel. I lifted it. Heavy brass keys swung back and forth, tapping together.
forty-two
It was my missing key chain—minus Bing’s house key. I reached deeper into the drawer and clawed out dozens of keys. I tugged on a long tassel. It wouldn’t budge. A long thread was caught in the side of the drawer. I bent closer. The thread wasn’t snagged on the wood, it was attached to something under the drawer.
I pulled out the drawer and looked underneath. A creamy white envelope was taped to the bottom. Whoever had put it there had accidentally caught a tassel thread. I started to shut the drawer. I wasn’t a snoop. But I only hesitated a moment, then I grabbed the envelope, ripped open the seal, and pulled out a thick document with blue paper on each side. It crackled as I unfolded it. The letterhead belonged to a legal firm in Savannah, Georgia. Below this, I read Declaration of Irrevocable Trust.
My name was on the first line, Christine Bleuet Templeton, Trustor. But my middle name was spelled wrong. It wasn’t Bleuet, the French way, it was Bluette, like the color. I remembered Bing’s document—he’d been referred to as the trustor. And I’d been named trustee, along with a bank.
I skipped to the next line. Alice Eudora Wauford Jackson was named the trustee, bypassing the Bank of South Carolina as co-trustee.
I flipped through the pages. There were three copies, each one bearing my signature, only it wasn’t exactly my signature. Each document was signed and notarized by Natalie Lockhart.
Ava’s phone began to buzz violently. I picked it up and saw Coop’s name on the display panel. “Thank god it’s you,” I whispered.
“I called a minute ago,” he said. “Why didn’t you answer?”
“Never mind that. I’m at Miss Dora’s. Listen, I found my missing keys. And a fake trust. It’s got my name on it.”
“W
here is she?”
“Downstairs.”
“Teeny, listen carefully. Get out of the house.”
“Didn’t you hear? I found a bogus trust.”
“Teeny, she killed Bing. Natalie woke up. She and Dora were in this together. But Natalie pulled a fast one, and Dora shot her. I’ll explain later. Get the hell out of her house. Now.”
“Okay, I’m going. Don’t hang up. Keep talking.” I looked around the room for a place to hide the document. “Coop, if something happens to me, I’m sticking the trust under the mattress. It’s in a bedroom on the second floor. All the rooms are pink, but this one has clouds on the ceiling.”
“Teeny, for god’s sake, go! If she tries to stop you, knock her in the head. She shot Natalie and poisoned Faye—she’ll kill you, too.”
“Wait.” I glanced in the purse. Ava didn’t have anything sharp. However, she had oodles of Splenda.
“No time to wait,” Coop said. “Don’t let her know you suspect her. Meet me at St. Philip’s Church. I’m on my way.” He clicked off.
I hurried down the back staircase and paused on the bottom step, then I dropped the phone into the bag. Miss Dora stood in the hall, primping in front of a gilt mirror. If she was planning to kill me, she’d gotten all spiffed up for it. She’d put on pink leather pumps, and a large straw bag dangled from her arm.
“There you are.” She smiled at her reflection, then her gaze moved to me. “Love the hat. We have a slight problem. The Bentley’s air conditioner isn’t working. So I’m trying to reach Estaurado.”
I gripped the banister. This was just the delay I needed. I looked past her at the door. Could I run for it?
She gave me the sweetest look, and I began to wonder if Coop was wrong. Hadn’t the police been wrong about me? She’d been in Savannah when Bing was murdered. And she’d been in Sumter when Natalie and Faye were shot. Maybe she paid Estaurado to kill them? Maybe that’s why she needed him now?
Her smile broadened without a hint of irritation, but she was giving off suspicious vibes. “Is anything wrong?” she asked.
Gone With a Handsomer Man Page 26