Gone With a Handsomer Man

by Michael Lee West

  If I had one hope of surviving, I had to stay calm and try to outsmart Dora. She reached down and clawed her legs, her nails tearing her panty hose.

  “My skin is absolutely raw, thanks to you,” she said. “I’ll end up in the hospital if we don’t hurry.”

  Estaurado cut in front of me, and I fell back against the intercom. The stereo system clicked on, and the Beatles started singing “I’m Looking Through You.”

  “Hurry up,” Dora said.

  Estaurado opened the door to the hot garage. He gripped the back of my neck and steered me down the steps. I shuffled to a Peg-Board where tools hung from metal hooks. This fake treasure hunt wouldn’t fool Dora for long. I inched my way toward the side door that led to the driveway. My hands were still bound, so I didn’t know how far I’d get, but I was out of options.

  “He’s got a wall safe behind the Peg-Board,” I said in a raspy voice. If this was lie nineteen, then it called into question every fib I’d ever told and I’d have to do a recount.

  “You have to look careful because the safe is behind the Sheetrock,” I added. “You’ve got to pull down the Peg-Board and look for the seams.”

  “Grab a tool, Estaurado,” she said. “Pry off that loose edge.”

  He lifted a Phillips-head screwdriver, and Dora shrieked, “Use a flathead, you nitwit.”

  As he studied the tools, I scooted next to the door. It didn’t have a deadbolt, just a button on the knob.

  “Oh, fudge.” Dora pointed at the toolbox. “That one. No, not that one. Higher. What’s the matter, Estaurado? Have you been smoking cilantro?”

  I rubbed my wrists together until the scarf loosened. My right hand slid out and the scarf fell to the concrete floor. I grasped the knob, opened the door, and ran into the driveway.

  From inside the garage, Dora screeched. I heard Estaurado’s heavy footsteps slap against the concrete. I hurried down the driveway. I thought I heard traffic noises and a siren, but they were far away. They could be going anywhere.

  I sprinted to the middle of the driveway. Something hot and sharp slammed into my shoulder, followed by a crack. I stumbled forward. My hands felt like they were still bound, but I’d dropped the scarf in the garage. Why couldn’t I move my arm?

  I got to my feet. Something warm and wet trickled under my shirt. Homegirl fails again. Homegirl’s been shot.

  Another loud clap whizzed by and the mimosa tree exploded. Bits of wood and blossoms flew into the air. I was pouring sweat. I lifted my good hand and wiped my face on my shirttail. The fabric was white on one side, red on the other. I drew in a breath. Climb that mountain, Teeny. The ground curled around me and I fell sideways.

  Estaurado picked me up and slung me over his shoulder. My head and arms dangled upside down. Blood ran down my arm, curved across my elbow, and dripped off my fingers, leaving a trail as he moved up the pea gravel toward Dora.

  I tried to reach lower and swipe my finger through the blood, spelling out D for Dora, but I was too far away. Don’t let her notice the spatters, I prayed. If they bury me, Coop will see the blood.

  Estaurado passed by Dora. I saw her tattered hose and red, swollen legs. Her thick ankles were stuffed into pink leather pumps. She grabbed my hair and yanked. I shut my eyes. But I could feel her gaze.

  “Teeny?” she said. “Can you hear me?”

  I held my breath. The bitch could draw her own conclusion. No need for me to keep track of my little white lies. It was open season on the ninth commandment.

  “Did I kill her?” she asked.

  “She breathes,” Estaurado said.

  “Well, not for long.” She released my hair and my head lolled forward. “Just take her into the house for now. Wait, let me get that blanket. We don’t want blood all over the place. And you better hose down the driveway, too.”

  “Hose?” he asked.

  “Water. Agua. Just put agua on the goddamn driveway. Limpio the blood. Oh, forget it. I’ll do it my damn self.”

  I cracked open my eyes and took a tiny breath. Dora was upside down. She ran to the Cadillac and returned with the pink stadium blanket. She threw it over me and everything went dark.

  “Dump her in the house for now,” she said. “If she moves, slap her. Then go and do what I said earlier.”

  “I dig hole?”

  “Not yet. Get your Aztec ass back to the garage and pry off that board. Then go dig you a hole. A nice deep one. We don’t want animals dragging up her body. She mustn’t be found.”

  Estaurado carried me into the garage. Through a gap in the blanket, I watched blood hit the concrete floor, falling in a stream like pomegranate juice. Estaurado walked into the kitchen. Music still blared from the speakers. It sounded like the King was singing “He Touched Me,” but I couldn’t be sure. If I was too woozy to recognize Elvis, I was a goner.

  Estaurado dumped me on the floor and returned to the garage. Over the pulsing stereo, I heard him rooting for a shovel. A high humming sound moved in the walls. It sounded like the hose was running. Dora was spraying the driveway. With all that blood, it would take a while.

  I couldn’t stay here. If I didn’t hide, she’d finish me off while Estaurado dug that hole. I made myself sit up. Pain was everywhere, throbbing in my fingertips. Blood flowed over my chest. No spurting artery. That was good.

  From the garage, Estaurado muttered something in Spanish. I heard him shuffle to the driveway, dragging the shovel behind him. The sound faded. He was going off to dig my grave. I wadded up the blanket and pressed it to the wound. As I grabbed the refrigerator’s handle and pulled myself up, I felt all prickly behind my eyes. I didn’t know how much longer I’d be alone. I had to hurry.

  I took a step, and everything swirled. You will not faint, Teeny Templeton. Keeping tight pressure on the blanket with my good hand, I slogged toward the back staircase. I stopped and did a half turn, trying not to jostle my hurt shoulder. But I had to see if I’d left a bloody trail. Jagged drops led from the garage to the refrigerator then stopped.

  I staggered up the stairs. It was a long way to the top, and I didn’t want to leave any bloody smears. I wrapped a corner of the blanket around my hand, grasped the rail, and pulled myself to the second floor. All around me, water gurgled in the pipes.

  I reached the upper hall and staggered toward the guest room. Spots twirled in the air like lint boiling in a patch of sun. If I couldn’t get into Bing’s closet, Dora would find me.

  The pipes stopped rattling as I turned into the guest room. Light streamed through the windows. Beautiful, pear-colored daylight.

  My knees buckled as I moved to the paneled wall. I shoved a panel. Nothing. I pressed harder. It still wouldn’t budge.

  From downstairs, Dora screeched. Footsteps pounded into the foyer, toward the front door. I heard the burglar alarm beep a harmless beep, which meant she’d opened a door. Dora yelled for Estaurado.

  I studied the wood panels. Had I forgotten which one led to the closet?

  “Teeny?” Dora called.

  I held my breath and tracked the sound of her footsteps. She was hunting for a blood trail.

  “If you don’t show yourself, I’ll kill Cooper.” She paused. “I’ll kill Sir. I’ll make him suffer. I’ll get Estaurado to hang him for real.”

  Her voice echoed, as if she was in the stairwell.

  Keeping my fist tucked around the blanket, I moved to the next panel. I was too weak to push so I leaned against it. The door clicked open. Hot attic air drifted out, smelling of insulation and fresh lumber. I stepped inside the room and tugged the chain on the panel door, trying to close it, but it wouldn’t move.

  “Teeny?” Dora’s voice sounded loud.

  I looked down. The blanket was caught in the door. I held the chain with my good hand and kicked the blanket into the room. Through a crack in the panel door, I saw a shadow pass in the hall. I gritted my teeth and pulled the chain as hard as I could. The panel clicked shut; the light winked out.

  “Teeny?” Dora�
��s voice was loud. She was in the bedroom, I was sure of it. What if the paintings had tilted when the door had shut? For sure she’d straighten them. I wanted to curl up on the floor, but I gripped the chain and twisted it around my finger.

  “Where are you, darlin’?” she called.

  From downstairs, a door slammed. Estaurado shouted in Spanish.

  “Oh, poo,” Dora said. Footsteps shook the guest room, then faded. I let go of the chain and dropped to my knees. My good hand hit the floor. I slumped over. Warmth flowed under my shirt. It smelled like rust. My eyes adjusted to the dark, but I saw the edges of things. And I wasn’t alone.

  A woman stood over me. She wore a black, loose-fitting dress. Her face was in shadow, and her hair was long and bushy, like a horse’s tail. Was I dreaming? It didn’t feel like a dream. But the lady couldn’t be from this world.

  “Did I die?” I asked her.

  She shook her head.

  “This isn’t heaven?” I was totally hoping it wasn’t, because heaven would surely have a greeting party. I wanted to see Aunt Bluette, not some woman with too much hair. The woman’s dress rustled, and she shook her head again.

  “It’s scary times,” I said. “I can’t breathe.”

  The hairy woman kept shaking her head. I had the impression she was an escort into the gauzy hereafter, or maybe she was like the cemetery guides in Charleston.

  I slipped into a place where time was damaged. Yet I was acutely aware of my surroundings. I saw Jesus, clear as day. His hair was braided, and He had a unibrow. He wasn’t listening to me. He was talking on a pure gold BlackBerry. It had little wings attached on each side, and every now and then it flew out of his hands, shedding green parakeet feathers.

  “Jesus,” I said, “if You let me live, I’ll never tell another lie. It’s the freaking truth. I’ll even give up Coop. Just let me live.”

  Even to my own ears, I sounded desperate.

  “I’ll hold you to the first promise,” He said. “But forget about the second one.”

  “Because the blood loss has confused me?” I asked.

  “No, Teeny.” He smiled. “Because giving up Coop won’t solve anything.”

  “But Ava—”

  “I know what she thinks. But it’s not up to you or her—or Me, for that matter. The decision is up to Coop.”

  I lay there a while, then I heard shouting. I was too tired to raise up. I saw movement. The dark woman was back. She reached out to pat my shoulder, but her hand moved through me like a knife slicing through room-temperature butter.

  The panel door swung open, and the woman’s face became Ava’s. It loomed over me, all gauzy at the edges. The secret room came into view, with its cubby holes and file drawers and the hard edges of Bing’s safe. Ava pressed her fingers against my throat. My pulse wasn’t beating there, it was behind my eyes, ticking like the gold dolphin clock on Uncle Elmer’s desk.

  Ava’s lips parted with excruciating slowness. “Red?” she yelled. “I found her. Call 911.”

  My eyelids fluttered.

  “Teeny?” she asked.

  “I’m here,” I said, or thought I said.

  “Teeny, look at me. No, don’t close your eyes. You’re almost home and dry.”

  She pressed the heel of her hand against my shoulder. Then I saw Coop. He leaned over me, fit an inhaler into my mouth, and pinched my nostrils shut.

  “Breathe in, Teeny,” he said. I heard the hiss of Ventolin and drew in a raspy breath. He pulled off his shirt and balled it up. Ava moved to the side as he pushed the shirt against my shoulder.

  “Stay with me, Teeny,” he said. “Stay.”

  forty-seven

  I awoke in a shallow grave. I took a little sip of air, trying not to breathe in dirt. I imagined the soil, black and grainy like cake crumbs. I reached up to dig my way through clumps of devil’s food. A splinter of light pricked the dark. Within that light, I saw shapes.

  “She’s coming to,” said a calm voice.

  “It’s about time,” a gruffer voice answered.

  I blinked. A clear tube ran from my arm up to a plastic bag like what you’d microwave rice in. Next to that was a purple bag. It resembled a pork tenderloin, the kind that’s marinated in a preshrunk wrapper. Was I in Bing’s kitchen or on a reality cooking show?

  Then I remembered I was in Bing’s closet, hiding from Dora. I tried to raise up, but those tubes held me down. A gray-eyed man gently pushed me back. “Don’t move, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re in a hospital.”

  Yes, a hospital. Not a test kitchen. The tubes were IVs. Another machine tracked my heartbeat across a computer screen. I drew in a breath—a beautiful, dirt-free breath. Coop stood in front of the window. Behind him, through the glass, lights shone from tall buildings. It was night. How long had I been unconscious?

  “Where’s Dora?” I said. My voice sounded raw.

  “She’s in jail, homegirl.” Red Butler stepped forward, his hands jammed under his armpits.

  I looked up at Coop. “Where’s Sir?”

  “He’s fine,” said a voice with a cut-glass accent.

  I turned in the direction of the voice. “Ava?”

  She moved out of the shadows, to the side of my bed. I thought about the dark woman in the hidden room and what might have happened if Ava hadn’t found me. I reached out with my good hand and pulled her into me.

  “Thanks, Ava,” I said.

  “Not at all,” she said into my hair, then she drew back and stood next to Coop. “How do you feel?”

  “Like somebody dragged me over an oyster bed.”

  “Shall I ring the nurse?”

  I shook my head.

  “We thought you were a goner, Teeny,” Coop said. “Dora insisted you weren’t in the house. But there was so much blood. Ava ran upstairs and found you.”

  “You almost didn’t make it.” Ava said. “When the EMTs arrived, you barely had a pulse. The doctors didn’t think you’d survive surgery.”

  “Natalie’s on the floor above you,” Coop said.

  “She’s one crazy bitch,” Red Butler said. “The DA is with her ass now. When she and Dora weren’t killing people, they were into mortgage fraud.”

  “Unbelievable,” Ava said. “Why didn’t someone catch them sooner?”

  “’Cause they was slick,” Red Butler said. “It don’t take a genius to steal a house. All you need is a blank deed, a signature, and a notary. Natalie was a notary. You can buy the blank deeds at office supply stores. Dora was a first-rate forger. But Natalie was an amateur. She made the mistake of forging the sale contract on the Spencer-Jackson. That’s how you caught on to the signatures not matching, Ava.”

  “Praise the Lord for stupid forgers,” I said under my breath.

  “Amen,” Red Butler said. “Dora’s first husband was a used car dealer. He died in 1988. A heart attack, supposedly. Dora got the life insurance. $250,000. Not much, but enough for her to take a home decorating course and get some designer clothes. She dyed her hair, exchanged the Lee Press-on Nails for acrylics, and got her teeth capped. She attracted a guy who owned a garden center. He died in his sleep. No autopsy. Millions in insurance, plus the business, which Dora sold.”

  “I never suspected her,” I said. Of course, I hadn’t suspected a lot of things.

  “You ain’t the only one she fooled,” Red Butler said. “The bitch is a pro. After she killed the garden man, she shanghaied a lawyer. Old Savannah money. They got married and Dora bought a place on Hilton Head. A year later, he fell off his boat and drowned. She inherited everything.”

  “I bet she stun-gunned him,” I said, thinking of what she’d done to Rodney Jackson and Uncle Elmer.

  “According to the coroner’s report, the dude drowned. Whatever happened to him, he was alive when he hit the water. Maybe she bashed in his head, then pushed him overboard.” Red Butler cracked his knuckles. “The bitch was prolly refining her modus operandi. Just like any serial murderer.”

  “I didn’t th
ink women did that,” I said.

  “Kill? Sure they do.” Red Butler shrugged. “All the time.”

  “But a lady serial killer?” I asked.

  “They’re rare,” he said. “Once some of them, they get a taste of it, they can’t quit. They’re like shoppers at Sam’s Club. When these dames kill, they do it in bulk.”

  Ava and Coop laughed.

  “Anyhoo, after Dora killed the lawyer, she got another makeover,” Red Butler said. “She moved to Charleston and married Rodney Jackson. I got this from the lips of Nataloon herself. By the way, she’s claiming Bing was in the shower when your cake school called. Nataloon took the message—so she knew your classes were rescheduled, Teeny. She and Dora hired the redhead so’s you’d be sure to break the engagement. Only it didn’t go like they’d hoped.”

  “Then they got careless,” Coop said.

  “So, I’m in the clear?” I asked.

  “You bet, homegirl.”

  “Except for one thing,” Coop said as he moved to my bedside. “Dora’s claiming you fixed her a poisoned mimosa. She says you knew she was allergic to sucralose.”

  My heart monitor began to squawk. I remembered my deathbed promise. Even if I went to the pokey, I was coming clean about the Splenda. “I was trying to stop her from killing me,” I said.

  Red Butler snorted. “Don’t say that too loud, homegirl. Dicks are in the hall.”

  “Am I in trouble?” I glanced from him to Coop.

  “No way, girlie.” Red Butler’s brassy hair fell into his face, hiding his eyes. “If Dora hadn’t been itching, her aim might have been better.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about Dora,” Coop said. “But you need to explain something.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Red found a strange cookbook at Natalie’s house.”

  “You ever heard of the Templeton Family Receipts?” Red Butler asked me.

  Something fell inside my chest, but I managed to nod.

  “Damn thing’s full of handwritten recipes—poison ones.” Red Butler leaned forward. “You didn’t write them, did you.”