“Miss Dora, I hate to ask, but could I please have something cool to drink? I’m just parched.” I let go of the banister and stepped down. Everywhere I looked I saw weapons: heavy silver candlesticks, paperweights, clocks, bookends.
“Why, certainly.” She turned toward the kitchen and caught my arm. “Come with me, darlin’. You can help.”
I pulled away from her and ran to the door. I turned the knob. It wouldn’t budge.
“Darlin’, it’s locked.” She stepped closer.
“I just wanted to see if any police cars were out there,” I said.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Now isn’t the time to get paranoid.” She took my hand and pulled me to the kitchen.
“While I’m calling that damn Estaurado, why don’t you fix us some mimosas?” She opened a massive refrigerator with a glass door and pulled out orange juice and a bottle of champagne. The champagne had been previously opened, and the plastic cork made a whoosh when she twisted it off. Standing on her tiptoes, she opened a cabinet and pulled out two oversized martini glasses.
“Make us big fat drinks, darlin’.” She lifted the portable phone, punched in numbers, and stepped into the butler’s pantry, blocking my exit.
I reached into Ava’s purse and grabbed the Splenda packets. I ripped them open and shook the contents into a pitcher. White powder drifted up, sticking to the sides of the glass. My hands trembled as I stuffed the empty packets back into the purse. Then I tipped the orange juice carton over the pitcher. What if she tasted the artificial sweetener? Where did she keep her sugar?
Next to the coffeepot, I saw three pottery canisters labeled sugar, flour, coffee. The lids rattled as I peeked inside. Empty. All for show. I spotted a sugar bowl on the other side of the coffeepot. I dumped some into the pitcher and grabbed a wire whisk. I stirred the juice while slowly adding the champagne. Bubbles curved along the sides of the pitcher, moving like tiny waterspouts.
I filled the wide glasses, grateful she’d chosen them, so she’d get the maximum dose. I lifted a glass and took a sip. Sweet, tart, and effervescent. I didn’t detect the Splenda. Wait, had I added enough?
“That damned Estaurado won’t answer,” Miss Dora said, stepping into the room. “He’s probably watching The View. He’s addicted to it. And after that, he watches All My Children.”
I slipped my hand from the purse and handed her a glass. I glanced along the counter and saw a Splenda packet next to the sugar bowl. I cupped my hand over it and balled up the paper. She drained her glass, then twirled her finger, signaling for a refill.
“Aren’t you going to join me, dear?” she asked.
“Totally.” Keeping my hand closed, I refilled her glass.
A girlish, twittery laugh bubbled from her throat. She winked. “I don’t want to be half-looped when we start our little adventure, do you?”
“No, ma’am.” I lifted my glass, took a sip, then set the glass down.
Miss Dora’s portable phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID display and said, “It’s the Spanish bastard.” She pressed the phone to her cheek. “Finally!” she cried. “Where have you been?”
Her eyes switched back and forth. I slid my hand behind the coffeepot and dropped the yellow fragment.
“Yes, yes, I know,” she said. “Never mind. I need you to bring your car around. And I need you to do it now.” She paused. “No, not after All My Children, now.”
She clicked off and pointed to my glass. “May I?”
I nodded. Perfect.
She emptied the glass in four swallows. Then, as she poured a refill, she nodded at me. “Teeny, you need to lower that hat. Somebody could recognize you.”
She started toward the butler’s pantry. The kitchen had two sets of French doors. I ran to the first set and jiggled the knob. The door wouldn’t budge. Then I saw the lock. It was the kind with a keyhole on both sides. I looked around for a key—most people kept them nearby in case of fire, but not Miss Dora. Apparently, she was fireproof.
I ran to the other door and jiggled the knob. Locked. I looked up. A key hung over the door, dangling from a hot pink tassel. I reached up, but Miss Dora’s voice stopped me.
“Step away from the door, Teeny,” she said. “And turn around slowly.”
forty-three
I held my breath and did a half turn. I expected to see her with a stun gun. Instead, she held up a giant pink fly swatter. “Be very, very still,” she whispered. “There’s a wasp on your arm.”
She stepped forward, the swatter raised like a wand, and flicked the insect away. It buzzed up and circled her head, then it floated to the counter. Miss Dora slammed the swatter again and again, like she was tenderizing meat.
“There!” She tossed the swatter onto the counter, then her warm fingers clamped down on my elbow. She escorted me into the foyer, opened a drawer, and pulled out a pink plaid blanket, the kind you’d see at a football game. Then she unlocked the door.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“If there’s a road block, you can wrap up in the blanket.”
“Won’t that look suspicious?”
“Oh, you know me.” She chuckled. “I’ll charm the cops’ pants off, and they’ll forget all about you. Let’s don’t keep Estaurado waiting.”
I walked behind her into the courtyard. Morning light hit the tiered fountain and the water pattered down in fine beads, spilling into the deep concrete bowl. Behind it, the stucco wall rose up, too high to climb. My only exit was through the corridor. Then I had to get to St. Philip’s and wait for Coop.
Miss Dora’s spicy perfume burned my nose as I followed her through the corridor. Through the open gate, smoke drifted from the tailpipe of Estaurado’s ancient Cadillac. The engine was running; he was getting the car nice and cool for Miss Dora.
I stepped onto the sidewalk, blinking in the glaring sunlight.
“Let me just lock up,” she said, rushing back to the iron door. “Don’t want to make it easy for Charleston’s criminal element.”
Estaurado stood beside the car, all hunched over. Behind him, a red truck drove down Queen Street, but I couldn’t see the driver. Miss Dora bustled past me, her pink shoes clacketing on the pavement.
“For gosh sakes, Teeny, pull your hat down.”
Estaurado helped her into the passenger seat, then he opened the back door for me. It gaped open, dark and cold, like the entrance to a cellar. No freaking way was I getting in. Estaurado cocked his head, his dark brows slanting together.
Miss Dora’s hand twirled behind the window, motioning us to hurry. She pulled down the car’s visor, peered into a mirror on the back of it, and applied fresh lipstick. A tourist bus drove by, followed by a police car.
“I forgot something,” I said. I wouldn’t make it to St. Philip’s. Better to run after the police car and turn myself in. Estaurado tapped on Miss Dora’s window. It slid down. He mumbled something in broken Spanish and gestured at me.
“What’d you forget, darlin’?” she called.
“Actually, I’ve changed my mind.” I stepped backward. “I’m turning myself in.”
The passenger door squeaked as she climbed out. I bolted in the opposite direction. Footsteps clapped behind me. A cloud of tobacco and hair tonic pushed up my nose. Estaurado lifted me off my feet and carried me toward the Cadillac.
“Put me down!” I balled up my fist and hit his shoulder. It was like striking concrete. His long legs switched back and forth as he hurried to the car. Miss Dora stood beside it, looking exasperated.
“Teeny, you’re making a scene. What’s the matter with you? Estaurado, put her in the car.”
He dumped me into the backseat and slammed the door. I scooted across the ripped leather, toward the other door and reached for the handle. He ran around the car and slammed the door just as I opened it. Miss Dora flung open the other rear door and climbed in next to me. She gripped my hands and stared hard into my face.
“Did Estaurado hurt you, baby? ’Cause if he did, h
is ass is going straight back to the third-world toilet he came from.”
I shook my head. She was very convincing. Could she possibly be innocent? Maybe Estaurado had killed Bing and Faye. But no, she was listed as the trustee on the fake document.
She was still holding my hands, mashing my bones. “Honey, tell me what’s wrong.”
“If you help me, you’re breaking the law,” I said. “I can’t drag you into this.”
“I’m not worried about myself, darlin’,” she said.
I tried to squirm away, but her nails dug into my flesh. Estaurado got into the front seat and gripped the steering wheel. It was covered with brown fake fur, matching the hairs on the backs of his fingers. A set of trouble dolls dangled from the rearview mirror by a tiny noose.
Miss Dora let go of my hands and thumped the seat. “Let’s get moving,” she said. Estaurado pulled into the street. I planned to jump out at the first red light, but Estaurado sped through intersections, ignoring blasting horns. He cut down a side street and drove toward Calhoun.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“It’s your adventure. I’m just in it.” She smiled. “Where do you want to go?”
She was playing with me. “I don’t feel good,” I said.
“Maybe the mimosa disagreed with you,” she said.
“I think it did.” I shifted my gaze, hoping the mimosa would do more than disagree with her. I hoped she would spontaneously combust.
She strapped me into my seat belt. “It’s a state law,” she said.
Estaurado hunched over the steering wheel, his fingers sinking into the fake fur. He turned on the radio, and the car pulsed with a Jimi Hendrix song—“Hey Joe,” a great song for a murder.
I assumed we were headed to Old Santee Canal State Park where they’d probably stick me in a shallow grave, but Estaurado turned onto Meeting Street.
“I just want to turn myself in,” I said. Between Estaurado’s hair tonic and Miss Dora’s perfume, I couldn’t get my breath. Odors sometimes triggered my asthma attacks, and my inhaler was at the Spencer-Jackson House in my true pocketbook.
“Turn your pretty self in?” Miss Dora laughed. “Why on earth would you do that?”
“I want to do the right thing.” I studied her face. She didn’t show any sign of the Splenda allergy. Maybe I hadn’t put enough into her mimosa.
“But you were all set to run,” she said. “What caused this change of heart? You are innocent, aren’t you?”
“What if I’m not?”
“Wouldn’t that be hysterical?” She snorted. “You don’t have a mean bone in your body.”
“I do, too.” I tried to twist away, but she grabbed my arm. “You’re hurting me.”
“Then stop fidgeting.”
“I don’t mean to. I can’t breathe.” I wasn’t fooling. I couldn’t get a full breath.
“Where’s your inhaler?” She looked genuinely concerned.
“Home.”
“Home?” she asked.
“The Spencer-Jackson House,” I said.
“Estaurado, turn up the air conditioner.” His hand moved to the dash, and the air hissed out, twirling the trouble dolls.
“Don’t you have an inhaler at Bing’s house?” she asked.
“He probably threw it away.”
“Maybe not.” She let go of me and raked her fingernails over her neck, leaving white lines on the pink flesh. The marks instantly turned dark red. “I’m just itching all over. Like I’ve got chigger bites. Estaurado, pull into KFC.”
“Qué?” He looked flustered.
“Kentucky Fried Chicken, you nitwit,” she cried. “I’ve got to put ice on these welts.”
He swerved into the parking lot. “Ice or ice water?” he asked in heavily accented English.
“I’ll just do it myself.” She flung open her door and scrambled out. “But watch her.”
The minute she started toward KFC, I unbuckled my seat belt. Estaurado leaned into the backseat, reaching past me, and wrenched off the door handle. Then his long arm shot out toward the other door, and he ripped off Miss Dora’s handle. He flashed me a “take that” stare and folded himself into the front seat.
I looked around for another way to escape. The windows were electric. I pressed the button. Nothing. I pressed it again. Okay, homegirl, next idea. I reached into Ava’s purse and got the phone. I didn’t know how to scroll through her programmed numbers, but I had to try. Keeping the phone hidden in the bag, I glanced at the display and saw Coop’s number. I hit send. The phone emitted a faint toot. I found the volume control and turned it up. A series of beeps cut through the music.
Estaurado picked up his cell phone and frowned.
“Please turn down the radio,” I shouted, hoping Coop could hear. “Where are you and Miss Dora taking me?”
He ignored me and twirled the dial; the music faded.
“Estaurado, are you taking me to Bing’s house?” I asked in a shrill voice.
“Sí.” He nodded emphatically.
“So, let me get this straight,” I said, a bit louder. “We’re going to Bing’s house?”
“Woman, why you scream?” He flashed an irritated glance and turned up the radio.
Through the side window, I saw Miss Dora come out of KFC, clutching napkins and a tall cup. I poised myself at the door, ready to spring. Her face looked mottled. She was turning into her favorite color, head to toe. Balancing the cup and napkins in one hand, she reached for the back door, but it wouldn’t open. Estaurado leaned across the front seat and flung open the passenger door. She stuck her head inside and peered into the backseat. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the missing handles.
“What happened?” she asked. “Teeny, did you try to leave us?”
I shrugged, as if missing handles weren’t out of the ordinary. Coop, I thought, please be listening.
“Damn you, Estaurado. I told you to watch over her, and you do this!” She settled into the passenger seat, then poured ice into a napkin and dabbed it over her cheeks. “I just don’t know what’s the matter. It’s like I’ve had Splenda.”
“Your face is swelling,” I said. “Maybe you should go to the emergency room.”
“No, the ice is helping already. I’m just a highly allergic person. Estaurado, if you won’t turn off that music, can you at least change it to something I like?”
He twirled the dial and Five for Fighting began singing “Dying.”
“Much better!” She pointed to the road. “Go.”
forty-four
Estaurado eased the Cadillac into traffic and headed toward the bridge. Miss Dora couldn’t sit still. She flipped down the visor and peered into the mirror. “What the poop is going on with my poor skin?” she cried, scraping her fingernails over her cheeks. “I’m on fire!”
“Please go to a hospital,” I said. “Estaurado can drive me to Georgia. Can’t you, Estaurado?”
“I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.” She pushed up the visor, reached for her ice, and ran it over her right ear. I pulled my collar away from my throat. My breathing hadn’t worsened, but it wouldn’t get any better without an inhaler. I’d kept one in Bing’s medicine cabinet—unless he’d thrown it away. I tried to sit very still so I wouldn’t be on Miss Dora’s mind. She was preoccupied with her itching, and it was starting to interfere with her acting abilities.
Straight ahead, traffic flowed onto the bridge. The Cadillac’s engine made a grinding noise as the car moved past the double triangles. I saw the USS Yorktown. The water was glossy, except for a broad ripple where the Cooper River touched Charleston Harbor.
“Please drive slower, Estaurado.” Miss Dora glanced at me. “Let’s just hope he understood me. The other day I told him to bring floral sopa and he showed up with chicken noodle soup, garnished with roses.”
Estaurado followed Highway 17 past Mount Pleasant Towne Center, and turned onto Rifle Range Road. A peeling sign for Orchard Estates flashed by with Bing’s name in bold lette
rs. The Cadillac swerved into the subdivision and rushed by weedy lots, each one with a Jackson Realty sale sign. The Cadillac jumped the curb and stopped within inches of the yellow police tape and orange cones in front of the driveway.
“Move that blockade,” Miss Dora said.
The Cadillac dipped as Estaurado got out. He shoved the cones to the side, climbed back into the car, then hit the gas.
“Stop!” Miss Dora flung out her arm. Estaurado hit the brake. “Quit thinking in Spanish,” she told him. “You have to put it back together again, Humpty Dumpty.”
“Who?” Estaurado’s face knotted.
“Never mind. Just put those cones back like they were, and make it snappy.”
He seemed to know what snappy meant. He climbed out and rearranged the cones, stretching the tape across the driveway, then rushed back to the car.
“Finally!” Miss Dora said. “Drive toward the garage and park next to that big crepe myrtle—and drive slowly.”
Three separate commands seemed to confuse Estaurado. The Cadillac inched through dappled sunlight into shade, then stopped next to the garage.
“Stop here.” Miss Dora’s hand disappeared into her purse and emerged with a Hello Kitty keychain. “I’m going ahead. Estaurado, bring Teeny.”
“Traiga a Teeny?” he asked.
“Like I know what that means! Oh, for heaven’s sake. Listen to me, Estaurado, and listen good. Take her into the damn casa.”
She shot out of the car like a pink cannonball. The porch was blocked off with more yellow tape, and an official-looking sign hung on the door. She eased around the barrier and slid the key into the lock.
Estaurado opened my door and grabbed my arm.
“I can walk by myself,” I said.
He yanked me out of the backseat. “No business of monkeys,” he said.
My hat flew off as he pulled me to the porch. The front door stood open. He steered me into the foyer and called for Miss Dora.
“In here,” she answered.
It could have been a scene from I Love Lucy, a sinister one where Lucille Ball had turned into Lizzie Borden. I tried to wrench free, but Estaurado dragged me into the hall. We found Miss Dora in the master bathroom briskly rubbing ointment over her swollen flesh. A tube of Lanacane lay on the counter. She glanced over at me.
Gone With a Handsomer Man Page 27