Gone With a Handsomer Man

by Michael Lee West

  “How’s your breathing?” she asked.

  “Not good.”

  “That’s a shame.” Miss Dora gestured at three monkey figurines on the countertop—See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil. “The infamous three wise monkeys—how tacky!”

  She lifted the blue figurine, Speak No Evil. “Have either of you ever seen a blue monkey? No, I didn’t think so. Bing’s first wife was utterly tasteless. I chased her off but just look, the monkeys are still here. They had the last word.”

  I didn’t care about monkeys. I couldn’t get air. Each breath sounded like I was dragging a stick through gravel.

  Miss Dora turned the figurine upside down. “Supposedly, if you don’t speak, hear, or see evil, you will do no evil. But I don’t believe it for one second.” She dropped the figurine. It exploded on the tile floor. Blue china fragments skittered along the floorboards. She reached into the cabinet and pulled out my inhaler. I started toward her, but she jerked it out of my reach.

  “Not so fast,” she said. “You’ll have to earn it. Where did Bing keep his documents?”

  “I don’t know.” Did a lie under duress still count? I supposed it did and marked down number eighteen.

  “You’re a pathetic liar, Teeny. If I didn’t have to kill you, I’d buy you a set of wise monkeys. Lord knows you need them.” She pressed down on the inhaler and it whooshed. The smell of Ventolin drifted over. I took a greedy breath.

  A buzzing sound came from Ava’s purse. Miss Dora set the inhaler on the counter. “Answer her phone, Estaurado.”

  He reached for the purse. I jerked it away. He wrenched it from my grasp, and the bag went flying. Ava’s keys, red wallet, and lipstick hit the floor. The Splenda packets fluttered to Miss Dora’s feet like tiny yellow birds.

  forty-five

  Miss Dora walked over to me and shook a Splenda packet. “What’s this?” she cried. “Did you poison my mimosa?”

  “This isn’t my purse,” I said. “It’s Ava’s. Look at her wallet if you don’t believe me.”

  “I won’t even ask how you ended up with your rival’s purse.” Miss Dora threw down the packet and scratched her arm, leaving white marks on her scarlet flesh. “Get that damn phone, Estaurado.”

  I held my breath while he looked at the cell phone’s display. “Is alarm clock,” he said.

  I tried to grab it but the phone slipped from his hand and hit the floor. A chunk of plastic broke off. The display continued to make a wounded buzzing sound.

  Miss Dora reached for the inhaler. “One more time, Teeny. Where are Bing’s documents?”

  I didn’t have the breath to make up a lie, so I shook my head.

  She depressed the inhaler again. “You’re running out of medicine and I’m running out of patience. Bing’s documents belong to me, not you. I don’t know why that little bastard left you everything. It’s rightfully mine. I worked for it.”

  “Take it all,” I said in a strangled voice. “I don’t want it.”

  She set the inhaler on the counter, out of my reach, and pointed at Estaurado. “Get some ropa and tie up her hands and feet,” she said.

  He went into Bing’s closet and emerged with two woolen scarves. “Ropa,” he said.

  “That’s not what I wanted!” Miss Dora cried. “Oh, forget it. Just make sure she can’t get loose.”

  She came toward me. My breath sawed in and out of my lungs. If I didn’t grab my rescue inhaler, my throat would narrow to a pinpoint. I decided it was high time I dropped the Miss from Dora.

  “Make her hold still,” she told Estaurado. He grabbed my shoulders. I twisted away, slapping his arms. But he was too strong. I couldn’t escape; I needed to make Dora see me as a person—as her former friend. I remembered our shared love for movies.

  “Get your filthy hands off me, you damned, dirty ape,” I cried.

  “Charleston Heston.” Dora clapped her hands. “Planet of the Apes.”

  “Now you’re dangerous,” I whispered.

  “Didn’t Humphrey Bogart say that in The Maltese Falcon?” Dora laughed. “Oh, Teeny, I’m going to miss you like crazy. But don’t you worry, I’ll get over it in a heartbeat. The minute I move into the Spencer-Jackson, I’ll be my wonderful, normal self.”

  She held me still while Estaurado looped a scarf around my ankles. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m doing what I’m doing,” she said. “Just think of it as a black-and-white movie called They Done Dora Wrong. Boy, did I get them back.”

  She helped Estaurado tie a better knot, one that lashed my feet together. Then she gripped my shoulders and guided me to the wall.

  “Estaurado, run outside and look for a place to dig a hole,” she said.

  “Hole?”

  “A grave.” She waved her hands. “Cemetery. Day of the Dead.”

  “Sí.” He raised his hands and dug an imaginary hole.

  After he left, Dora shut the bathroom door and turned back to me. “All I ever wanted in life was a pink house,” she said. “When I first came to Charleston, I took a carriage ride down Rainbow Row and fell smack in love with the Spencer-Jackson. It was so me. I found out who owned it. I put the moves on Rodney, but he was such a disappointment. After the honeymoon, he gave me a mile-long ‘honey-do’ list. Like I was his administrative assistant. Can you believe the gall of those Jackson men?”

  I started to shake my head, then decided I’d better nod.

  “Rodney knew how much I wanted to live south of Broad,” she said. “Queen Street is just too far north for my taste—and it’s not pink. But he wouldn’t give me what I wanted. One morning he was watching Fox News, all reared back in his leather chair. I thought to myself, ‘Dora, get rid of his ass.’ So I tased him. He didn’t pass out, but he was paralyzed. He watched me put that ziplock bag over his head. I used the gallon size. Worked like a charm, too. He couldn’t fight back.”

  A buzzing started in my head, like bees in an orchard. She was going to kill me just like she’d killed the others; but I wasn’t ready to leave this world. I wanted my chance with Coop. I wanted to see him on the beach, backlit by sky and water. All my life, I’d been mindful of lies, maybe because I’d never told the truth about Coop: He was the one I’d always love. And now I wouldn’t get to tell him.

  “That left Uncle Elmer,” Dora was saying. “By then, I’d hired Estaurado. He dumped Elmer’s body in the harbor. I’d hoped Elmer’s death would end it. I pleaded with Bing to trade houses with me—Queen Street for the Spencer-Jackson. I won’t repeat the cruel things he said. So I hatched out a plot. But there was one little problem. I really liked you, Teeny. And believe me, I don’t like most people. I didn’t want to kill you. I just wanted you to catch Bing in flagrante delicto. So I brought in Natalie.”

  I realized I was holding my breath. I released a burst of air.

  “She was my dead sister’s daughter,” she said. “Come to think of it, Natalie didn’t favor Gloria one bit.”

  She was referring to Natalie in the past tense. I started to blurt the truth, that Natalie was alive and in the hospital, but I caught myself. If Dora knew a loose end existed, she would fix it.

  “You want to know how stupid Estaurado is?” She twirled her hand airily. “He thought Bing and Natalie were cousins—just because I was married to Bing’s father! Imagine anyone thinking I was a blood relation to that little asshole Bing.”

  The droning in my head got louder. I lifted my bound hands and pressed them against my right ear, trying to hold in the buzz and muffle Dora’s words, but she kept on talking.

  “I thought for sure you’d find out that Bing and Natalie were lovers.” Dora peered into the mirror and fluffed her bangs. “Then you’d follow the peach trees home just like Dorothy followed the yellow brick road. But you didn’t. So Natalie brought in that redheaded whore. My Lord—you caught him with two women and you still didn’t run. You fought like a street urchin. So I had to switch plans. I put you at the Spencer-Jackson.”

  “But if you wanted
the house, why did you put me there?” I cried.

  “To keep an eye on you. And so you could look after the house. But then Natalie got ahead of herself and didn’t follow my plan. When a plan goes awry, it opens the door for errors.”

  Dora lifted the inhaler. “I’ll give you one little puff if you’ll be good.”

  I nodded. She fit the mouthpiece between my lips. A second later, the Ventolin hissed out. I drew it in and held my breath. She set the inhaler on the counter and scratched her arms, leaving streaks in the white ointment.

  “Better?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “See? I’m not a bad person. But you’ll need your breath to tell me where Bing put his deeds.” She patted my arm. “I hope you know that I never meant for Natalie to put the Spencer-Jackson up for sale. Natalie did it behind my back. Bing went wild when he found out. He broke up with her and claimed he still loved you. But I didn’t believe it for a second.”

  Tears burned my eyes.

  “After that,” she continued, “we had to kill Bing sooner than we’d intended. It was Natalie’s idea to set you up for the murder—which was a pretty good solution, actually. You wouldn’t have to die. And your housing problem would be permanently solved. But I didn’t count on you finding a new boyfriend.”

  A tear dripped off my chin. “Did you take that photograph of me and Coop?” I asked.

  “That was Estaurado’s handiwork. I knew you were supposed to meet Bing at McTavish’s—I had your phone tapped, darlin’. So I sent the Spanish bastard to take photographs.”

  “But why would you want pictures?”

  “If you gave me trouble, I’d have proof you violated the restraining order. But I wouldn’t have mailed the photos till after Bing was dead—they’d let the police know you were their girl.” She paused. “Any more questions?”

  “Were you calling me and hanging up?”

  “How can you even think such a thing? Natalie called you once—well, that’s what she claimed. She was trying to scare you out of the Spencer-Jackson.” Dora bent closer to the mirror and ran her fingers over her swollen face. “But I am guilty of sending your kissing pictures to the DA. The last thing you needed was a boyfriend who knew the law.”

  Right. It was the last thing she’d needed. I cleared my throat. “You stole the pink tasseled key chain, didn’t you?”

  “Wrong again.” She turned. “I distracted you in the garden so Natalie could steal it. She wanted your fingerprints on that key—odd that it never turned up. Natalie was the lady in the hat and sunglasses—the one the repairman saw. You thought it was Bing’s sister, didn’t you?”

  I nodded, but I’d suspected Ava, too.

  “Natalie returned my pretty tassel, and we continued with our plan. But first, we had to lure you to Bing’s house.”

  “You sent the fake text message?” I asked.

  “Darlin’, I wouldn’t know how to text if my life depended on it. Natalie did it.”

  “How’d she know I’d respond to it?”

  “Because I know you, Teeny. It would have gone off without a hitch if I’d been there.”

  “You didn’t kill him?”

  “What do you take me for?” She rolled her eyes. “I sent Natalie and Estaurado to Bing’s house. During the struggle with Bing, she broke a fingernail. She waited till you got there. Estaurado stun-gunned you, and Natalie texted herself from your phone. All that stupid bitch could think about was her manicure. She actually called the nail salon from Bing’s house—how stupid is that?”

  “Totally,” I said.

  “I’ll say.” Dora rolled her eyes. “Before Natalie left, she told Estaurado to take care of everything. He was supposed to put the revolver in your hand and fire it into a kitchen cabinet. The Spanish bastard misunderstood. He put the revolver in your hand, all right, but he didn’t fire a bullet. He brought the damn gun back to my house. Flambéed it on my gas grill. I saw the smoke from my kitchen window.”

  Dora waved her hand. “He thought ‘revolver’ meant ‘to turn something over.’” How was I supposed to know that? I looked it up later. Apparently some Spanish words sound like English. You’d swear they mean the same things, but they’re different. They’re called falsos amigos—false friends. Get it?”

  More than false, I thought.

  “Darlin’, the bottom line is you didn’t have gunpowder residue on your hands. And the darn murder weapon was blackened. I was so mad. I ordered Natalie to go back to Savannah. But she wouldn’t leave. She wanted to sell the Spencer-Jackson and divide the money. Naturally I went along and worked behind the scenes.”

  “But Natalie sold the house to the Randolphs,” I said.

  “Poo, I wasn’t worried about them. I had papers that would stop that sale in a heartbeat. I was more concerned about Natalie. When a partner gets greedy, you’ve got problems. If I hadn’t tapped your phone, I wouldn’t have known the half of it.”

  “Who hung that stuffed dog from my chandelier?” I asked.

  “Natalie wanted you out of the house. She paid Estaurado to hang it. Isn’t he the handiest thing?” Dora picked up a washcloth and wiped her fingerprints off the medicine cabinet. “By the way, it’s not your chandelier.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I don’t know what got into Natalie. She’s always been so obedient. But she got spooked. She thought we needed to get the money and leave Charleston. She planted evidence at the Spencer-Jackson, then she decided to kill you. The evidence would be the icing on the cake if you’d committed suicide—or better yet, if you’d disappeared. So she called you, offering to exchange her sex tape for your cookbook.”

  “She stole my family cookbook?” That was the surprise? “Why didn’t she mention it?”

  “Oh, she just loved being mysterious. But she had no intention of returning your book. I think she meant to keep it.” Dora dropped the washcloth into her handbag. “I was shocked at you, Teeny. Those recipes are pure evil. Toxins aren’t playthings. Have you ever watched someone die of cyanide poisoning?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, it’s not pleasant.” She picked up the Lanacane tube and rubbed more ointment on her arms. “Speaking of which, Natalie was going to serve you coffee and poisoned peach pie.”

  I remembered seeing a pie on Natalie’s kitchen table and broken crockery on the floor.

  “She’d planned to kill you and the redhead.” Dora put the itch medicine into her handbag. “I knew you’d been delayed by the Randolphs and their designer, so I hurried over. When I arrived, Faye was on the floor, having convulsions.”

  Dora picked up the red Hear No Evil figurine and pitched it against the wall. The Sheetrock dented and china fragments skittered along the floor. “My stupid niece had ruined things again. I had no choice but to kill her.”

  But you didn’t kill her, I thought.

  “Of course, if Natalie had lived, I’m sure she’d say I brought that pie and forced the redhead to eat it.” Dora opened a drawer, pulled out a hairbrush, and ran it through her hair. Because her face was so red, her eyes looked bluer than usual and craziness jumped out of them.

  I pulled in a deep breath. Now that I could get air, I began to think about escape. I rubbed my wrists together, trying to loosen the scarves.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to know?” Dora asked, teasing her hair.

  “What if I hadn’t come to your house?”

  “But you did.” She put the brush in her purse.

  “Yes, but if I hadn’t. What then?”

  “Do you really have to ask?” Dora picked up the yellow monkey, See No Evil. “But the stars were aligned. You ran straight to me. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”

  A jolt of déjà vu swept through me, and I felt as if I’d been here many times, watching Dora and the three monkeys. Again and again, I saw her smash each one.

  “Isn’t this monkey hideous?” She swung it against the counter. The monkey’s head broke off and hit the floor.
“Just hideous,” she said.

  I was just like that monkey. Nothing more than an object, like a lamp, or pillow sham, to be used and discarded.

  “Now, all I have to do is dispose of you and present a new trust to Quentin. And I’ll be in the Spencer-Jackson before Christmas.” Dora leaned forward. “Do you want to hear how I plan to decorate it?”

  “No.”

  “Well, just be that way.” She reached under her suit jacket and scratched her midsection. “I’m tired of this conversation. I’m going to let you decide how you want to die. Do you prefer cyanide or a bullet? I brought both. It’s your choice. But if I were you, I’d pick the cyanide. It’s over in three minutes, and it’s less messy.” Dora picked up a soap and smelled it. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a decent poison in this town? And not leave a trail?”

  The door creaked open, and Estaurado stepped into the room. Dora reached for the inhaler. “One last time,” she said. “Where are Bing’s deeds?”

  “Give me the Ventolin and I’ll tell you.”

  She shook her head. “Talk. Then you breathe.”

  “Okay, they’re in the garage. Hidden.” A lie, but I refused to put it in the tally.

  “Show me, darlin’.”

  “How? I’m hog-tied.”

  “Untie her ankles, Estaurado.”

  He squatted, and his cool fingers moved over the scarves.

  “Please, my inhaler,” I begged.

  Dora set it on the floor, then stomped it. The cartridge shot out and the plastic casing shattered. She reached into her purse and pulled out a stubby gun. It was small like Ava’s.

  “Lead the way, sugar lump.” She waved the gun toward the garage. “Just lead the way.”

  forty-six

  Estaurado shoved me into the kitchen. I stopped beside the counter to catch my breath and glanced out the window. The driveway was empty. Coop wasn’t coming; he didn’t know I was here. Either the call hadn’t gone through or he hadn’t heard me over the booming music.