twenty-eight

Miss Dora jumped out of the Bentley, leaving the motor running, and joined me beside the palm tree. We gaped at the Jackson Realty sign like it was roadkill.

“We need to find out the closing date,” she said.

“What does it matter?” I shrugged.

“Because if they’re closing soon, you don’t have thirty days. Why, you’ll barely have time to find an apartment. Although Bing has tons of rental property. Don’t worry. I’ll help you decorate your new place.”

I nodded, but paint colors were the least of my woes.

She tapped her chin. “Maybe you should call your lawyer.”

“Why?”

“He might know how to fix this. You know, delay the sale—at least until you’re settled elsewhere.”

She pushed her cell phone into my hand. I reluctantly dialed SUE-THEM and got a recording saying that Mr. O’Malley would be out of the office until next week.

“Well?” Miss Dora said. “Did he answer?”

“No.”

“Let’s go to his house. Get in the car, darlin’.” She grabbed the phone. I’d never seen her this flustered. “Where does he live?”

“Isle of Palms.”

“Maybe he’ll be home.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Is there a problem?” Miss Dora asked.

“Well, no, but—”

“But what, darlin’?”

“He’s probably not home. We shouldn’t barge in.”

“You’re paying him. That means you’re calling the shots.” She steered the car with one hand and punched the cell phone’s keypad with the other.

“Is this Billy Lee King’s answering service?” she said. Billy Lee was her personal lawyer, a partner of the gin-rickied Mr. Bell.

“I don’t care if he’s boating,” she cried. “You tell him it’s a legal emergency and to call Dora Jackson or I’ll hunt him down. You tell him that, you hear?”

Miss Dora hung up and made another call. I thought she’d wear out the keypad before we made it across the Ravenel Bridge. I was just thankful the old bridge was gone. The Old Grace had been the scariest bridge in the Carolinas, if not the world, with its two itty-bitty lanes. I had a deep fear of bridges, but the Ravenel wasn’t scary. You wouldn’t know you were on a bridge. Joggers and bike riders sped down a separate lane. The graceful white cables swept by, two diamonds glinting in the sun. Now that I was in a love triangle, I saw them everywhere.

We drove across the bridge, toward the Isle of Palm Connector. I stared out at the spartina grass and palmettos. A broad view opened up, and I saw homes on pilings and a wedge of blue ocean. I couldn’t stop thinking about the trust. I didn’t want a thing to do with it. Bing had died before he could change the trustee, and only the Lord knew who that would’ve been.

“Don’t look so glum, Teeny. Frowning causes premature wrinkles.” Miss Dora shook her head. “But you’ve got a right to be upset—Bing’s whore has sold the house. And in this market!”

I could believe it. Shelter was a requirement even in the animal kingdom, and the Spencer-Jackson House was a real fine example. I could see why it would sell.

“How much farther is Coop’s house?” Miss Dora asked.

“Once you get to the pier, it’s a half mile.”

“You’ve been here a lot?” She grinned.

“Here’s the turn off,” I said.

She pulled into his sandy driveway. His truck was parked at an angle, in front of Ava’s motorcycle. “You didn’t tell me he was a biker,” Miss Dora said.

“I wish. The motorcycle belongs to his wife.”

“His what?” She hit the brake. Sand filled the windshield, blotting out the house.

“They’re separated,” I said.

“Teeny, I’m shocked. Couldn’t you have picked a single man for your lawyer?”

“Miss Dora, married men don’t give off a smell. I thought he was single.”

“I hope he’s better at the law than he is with relationships.” She pulled off her sunglasses and squinted at the motorcycle. “Look how close she’s parked to his truck—not much separation. She’s got him blocked. He couldn’t leave if he tried. And if they’re separated, why is she here?”

“’Cause she wants him back.”

“Well, that’s obvious. I hate to say this, but could he be a ladies’ man?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Where does the wife live?”

“Sullivan’s Island.”

“I’ll just bet her house is gaudy.”

“I bet it’s not.”

She reached for her purse. “Should we go in? It’s your call.”

I was curious about Ava, so I climbed out of the Bentley and picked my way through the hot sand. I climbed the stairs, rapped on the door, and squinted through the glass panes. The foyer looked empty. My breath caught a little when Coop walked around the corner in tan shorts and a gray striped shirt. He looked scrumptious.

He opened the door and smiled. “Hey, I’ve been calling you,” he said.

“And we tried to call you,” Miss Dora called from the bottom of the stairs. “Teeny dialed SUE-THEM.”

She looked at me and raised her eyebrows, as if to say, major player. Then she turned back to Coop and extended her hand as she climbed the stairs. “It’s so nice to see you again, young man.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Coop said. “Come on in, ladies. Get out of this heat.”

T-Bone suddenly appeared next to Coop, followed by Ava. She leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded. A tight little smile creased her face. She looked spiffy in a sleeveless black top and tight pants. She wasn’t wearing shoes, and her toenails were painted a violent shade of red. Barefoot—my Lord, not a good sign.

Coop made the introductions. Ava shook Miss Dora’s hand, then she smiled at me. “Lovely to see you again,” she said.

Miss Dora dragged a pink tissue over her forehead. “I hope we didn’t catch y’all at a bad time.”

“Not at all,” Coop said.

Miss Dora sashayed into the foyer. I shuffled behind her, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest. The house smelled feminine and sweet. When I passed by Ava, I recognized the source of that aroma: lilacs and ylang-ylang, with a hint of orange.

Miss Dora pointed to the tiny square windows. “Hugh Newell Jacobsen designed this house, didn’t he?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t know.” Coop shrugged. “It’s a rental.”

“Yes, but with great style. Jacobsen is an architect. And those are his signature creations.” Miss Dora pointed to the white bookcases in each end of the foyer.

“Love your black-and-white pottery,” she added.

“It’s his signature color,” Ava said.

Coop shot her a look, then he smiled at me and Miss Dora. “Could I get you ladies something to drink?”

“Something with alcohol would be divine.” Miss Dora dabbed the Kleenex over her chin. “And get Teeny a drink, please. My driving has scared that poor girl to death. But I managed to evade those policemen who’re watching her.”

“How’d you do that?” Coop laughed.

“I had a little help from the Wappoo drawbridge.”

Coop led us into the living room, then disappeared into the kitchen. Ava cut around me and sank down on the leather sofa, tucking one long leg beneath her hips. The dog settled at her feet; his head level with hers.

“Pottery Barn,” Miss Dora said, dismissing the sofa with a wave, then she sat down and smiled at Ava. “We’ve had a day and a half. Funerals, lawyers, and lunch. Have you ever been to the Crab House?”

“Many times,” Ava said.

I perched on the edge of a chair and tried not to look at Ava, or how she was looping her long fingers through T-Bone’s fur. Coop stepped around the corner, holding a tray with four wine glasses, the dark red liquid swaying. He handed one to Miss Dora, then stopped by my chair. Our eyes met. He winked and turned back to the sofa. Ava reached for her glass and thanked him. He sat down on the ottoman.

Ava lifted her glass. “Shall we make a toast?”

“Honey,” Miss Dora said, “this isn’t a toasting matter. Teeny’s being kicked out her house again. And Bing’s greedy sister is going to contest the trust. Is that what it’s called—contest? Well, that’s what Eileen’s going to do. She’s still upset because her daddy left his fortune to Bing. And now Bing has left it to Teeny.”

“But he didn’t mean to leave me anything,” I said.

“It’s not your fault he got murdered before he changed the trust,” Miss Dora said.

Coop set down his glass and ran his hand over his hair. “I better call Red.”

“Young man, this isn’t the time to make phone calls,” Miss Dora said. “You better find a damn loophole so Teeny can get her money. Or better yet, maybe you can get the judge to let her move back to her aunt’s peach farm. That would solve all her problems.”

“But it’s out of state,” Coop said, rising to his feet.

“Barely,” she said.

A few days ago, I’d thought along these lines. I’d been hell-bent on going back home. It was that whole “I’ve got to get back to Tara” thing—fight, flight, or freeze. But I hadn’t been thinking clearly. Returning to Georgia wasn’t an option. Not only would I violate the terms of my probation but the farm was in bad shape. I couldn’t bring in a peach crop this year or next. I’d have a roof over my head, but I’d still need five jobs to pay the utilities. Even if Bing’s murderer was caught tomorrow, I wouldn’t leave Charleston. I was in love with Coop, and I truly liked the Spencer-Jackson House.

“I’ll just be a minute,” he said and went to the kitchen.

“Where is he going?” Miss Dora twisted around in her chair.

“He’s calling Red Butler,” I said.

“Who?”

“His PI,” Ava said.

“I hope he’s a good one. But with a name like that, I can’t help but wonder.” Miss Dora drained her glass and looked at Ava. “Would you be a dear and get me a refill?”

“I’ll get it.” I rose from the chair, lifted Miss Dora’s glass, and hurried to the kitchen.

Coop sat at the built-in desk, talking on the phone. “How soon can you get here?”

The wine bottle sat on a black slate island. I tilted the bottle over Miss Dora’s glass, trying to eavesdrop as she quizzed Ava up one side and down the other. She was doing what Southerners do best, “placing” Ava in the small pond of the Low Country.

“Oh, I’m not a native,” Ava said.

“Honey, I figured that out ten minutes ago,” Miss Dora said. “What with your strange accent and all.”

“I have a strange accent?” Ava laughed.

“Well, I shouldn’t say strange,” Miss Dora said. “More like an alligator’s love call.”

I didn’t hear Ava’s reply because Coop hung up and faced me. I half expected him to give me a real kiss, but he walked over to the sink and gazed out the tiny window. “Ava just showed up,” he said.

“You don’t have to explain.” I refilled the glass.

From the great room Miss Dora called, “Teeny? Forget the refill. I’ve got to skedaddle.”

I lifted Miss Dora’s glass and took a sip of wine. Then I followed Coop to the living room.

Miss Dora stood. “I hate to drink and run, but I’ve got a million things to do before my supper club. Teeny, darlin’, you ready?”

“Sure.” I looked back at Coop. “Unless you need me for something?” Then I cringed. Damn, that hadn’t come out right. I tried again. “I just meant, if you needed me to explain anything to Red Butler about the trust.”

“That would be helpful.” Coop nodded. “I can drive you home.”

“I can take her,” Ava said.

“No, ma’am,” Miss Dora said. “She’s not getting on the back of a motorbike.”

“I’ll see that Teeny gets home,” Coop said.

“Personally?” Miss Dora tilted her head.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He escorted Miss Dora to the Bentley, leaving me alone with Ava and T-Bone. She kept tracing her slender fingers over the sofa, drawing patterns in the leather. The silence made me nervous. I sipped Miss Dora’s wine, then I said, “I’ve got to get home and bake two dozen cakes.”

Ava made no comment. I took another sip of wine. “They’re due tomorrow,” I added.

“Sorry, you’ve lost me.” Ava flipped her hair over her shoulders. “What’s due?”

“Cakes,” I said.

“What a relief.” She laughed. “For a moment I thought you said conjoined triplets were due tomorrow.”

Bitch, I thought and dug my nails into the leather chair. Why had I told her about my cakes? Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? She didn’t need the inside scoop on what I was baking or thinking; but after her crack about the triplets, I felt compelled to explain.

“The trouble is, I don’t have a decent recipe for red velvet cake,” I said. This was totally true. Now that I was faced with baking two dozen freaking cakes, only one cookbook would do, and not because I needed the recipe—I needed Templeton Family Receipts so I could go back to the Spencer-Jackson and make up another recipe about Ava.

Ava gave me a “Who Gives a Shit” stare. I glanced over my shoulder. Where was Coop? Still talking to Miss Dora? When I looked back, Ava was studying me like I was a clay shard she’d pulled from the dirt.

Careful, Teeny. Careful. She’s not your friend. She’s your rival. Tell her too much, your butt is going to jail. Just change the subject. Instead, I blurted, “See, I left all my cookbooks at my fiancé’s house? One of them is an old family cookbook. I really, really need it.”

I paused, wondering if I should mention the key I’d found at Bing’s house. No, probably not. She gave me a penetrating stare. “Isn’t your fiancé’s house a crime scene?”

“It’s kinda hard to explain. I really need that book. See, I’m making the cakes in bulk. Not all recipes double real good.” I smiled, grateful she couldn’t translate Teenyisms into regular English. I needed that book because it was full of make-believe evilness, penned by a whole slew of Templeton women trying to improve their moods with pounded peach seeds and foxglove. I needed that damn book because, if the police found it, they’d use the recipes against me in a freaking court of law, even though I was totally innocent.

“What if I went with you to your fiancé’s house?” Ava asked.

“You?” I tried to keep my face blank. Why would she go out of her way to help me?

“Why not?” She stretched her arms over her head. Long, lithe, tanned arms, not the least bit jiggly. “I haven’t had an adventure in a while. I’m getting antsy, as you Southerners say. I’d love a little old-fashioned breaking and entering. And a crime scene!” She clasped her hands together. “I love it.”

“One problem,” I said. “The police are tailing me.”

“That would be dicey.” She ran her long fingers down T-Bone’s neck.

I was having second thoughts. “Maybe Coop knows a way to get my books,” I said.

“Don’t ask him yet,” she said. “He’s such a law-abiding citizen. He’ll go through legal channels, and by then, your cakes will be baked, right?”

“True,” I said. And the baker will be in jail.