thirty

The ride to Bing’s house was even more terrifying than Miss Dora’s speed-a-thon over Wappoo Creek. Ava turned into the subdivision, zooming past empty lots into the cul-de-sac. Just as I’d expected, the driveway was blocked with yellow tape.

Ava switched off her light and drove into an empty lot, the weeds and palmettos whipping against her tires. She parked behind an oleander bush and removed her helmet. I slid off the bike, and the weight of my helmet almost tipped me forward.

“Steady.” Ava grabbed my arm. She unsnapped my helmet and slung it over the back bar. Then she opened the carrier compartment and pulled out a snub-nosed revolver.

“What’s that for?” I stepped back. I should have guessed; she was totally going to shoot me.

“Self-defense.” She grabbed a slender flashlight and tucked it into her pocket. “Lead the way, Teeny.”

I didn’t like the idea of walking in front of her, so I ran through the waist-high weeds. I was out of breath when I reached the peach tree stump. I started past the badminton net when I saw car lights sweep through the trees.

“Down!” Ava tugged my arm. We crouched behind the azaleas and tracked the lights. They moved over the trees and circled back as the car made a U-turn and left the cul-de-sac. We waited a moment longer, then crept to the patio.

Ava reached for her flashlight and aimed it at the door. My hand shook as I fit the key into the lock. The day Bing had been murdered, this same door had stood open. I’d taken the key, meaning to set it on the counter; instead, I’d picked up Sir and put the key in my handbag. But who’d left the key in the lock? Had I been meant to find it?

All these questions swirled as I opened the door and led Ava through the den, into the foyer. We climbed the curved staircase and walked to the guest room. She moved to the window, shut the curtains, then clicked on her flashlight. The beam hit the far wall, illuminating the gilt trim on five antiqued wooden panels. Pictures of old-timey ships hung on each panel. I moved to the third picture, flattened my hand below the frame, and pushed against the wood. The disguised door swung open. I flipped a switch. A fluorescent hummed, casting green light over the small room.

“Find what you need and let’s go,” she said.

I opened a file drawer. Bing had been meticulous with his records. Every folder was labeled and dated. According to Mr. Underhill, Bing had sold the Spencer-Jackson House the day after I’d attacked him. I opened a folder marked “June” and riffled through the papers. I didn’t see any document that remotely looked like a sale contract. But I saw a dozen papers with his signature.

I tucked the folder under my arm and squatted next to the metal safe. Bing had used his date of birth for passwords and secret codes. I unlocked the safe and opened the door. I saw DVDs with girls’ names written on them in Bing’s handwriting. I grabbed those and leaned inside the safe. I found the deed to this green stucco house and the deed to the Spencer-Jackson. A thick pile of other deeds were wrapped with a rubber band. I grabbed those, too.

Ava saw me grappling with the DVDs and got a pillowcase. I dropped everything inside, then I shut off the light and stepped out of the room. As I shut the panel, the picture tilted. I reached up to straighten it.

“Let’s go,” Ava said.

Halfway down the stairs, a beam of light speared through the front door. Ava and I ducked behind the railing just as the light passed over our heads. It moved past the staircase, across the walls, and snapped off. A few seconds later, it appeared in the dining room window. The light flowed over the walls and disappeared.

“We can hide in Bing’s closet,” I whispered.

“You go.” She stood. “I’m not afraid.”

“What if it’s the police?”

“What if it isn’t?” She pulled out the revolver and flipped off the safety. She crept down the stairs and flattened herself against the wall. I was right behind her, my heart thumping. I’d left my inhaler with the motorcycle, so I forced myself to take slow breaths.

Holding the gun in both hands, she inched her way into the hall and turned into the den. The windows along the back of the house resembled black lozenges. Farther out, in the backyard, a ribbon of moonlight sliced through the trees.

A wobbly beam hit the glass door. Behind it, a large shape rose up. The knob rattled and spun around. The door opened and the light hit me in the eye.

“One more step, and I’ll shoot,” Ava called.

The figure raised its arms. “It’s me,” Red Butler said.

“You bloody bastard.” Ava lowered the revolver. “I almost shot you. What are you doing here?”

“Checking on y’all.”

I started for the bookcase, and Ava called, “Where are you going?”

“To get my cookbooks.” I reached for Templeton Family Receipts and my fondant icing book. I hated to leave the rest of them, but I couldn’t ask Red Butler to tote my entire collection. I glanced at the volumes and held a little funeral for them.

“I can take some books in my van,” Red Butler said.

For once, I could have kissed him. I dumped a load into his arms and went back for another stack. Then Ava and I followed Red Butler to his van and set the books in the rear compartment. All the seats had been ripped out, and boxes of surveillance equipment were strewn about.

“I’ve heard of crazy bitches,” he told me, “but you’re the world’s first crazy cookbook bitch.”

We walked back to the house. Red Butler pointed to the empty shelves. “The crime boys prolly videotaped this room,” he said. “They gonna notice the shelves been messed with.”

“No, they won’t.” I opened the bottom cabinet, pulled out encyclopedias, and shoved them into the empty slots.

“Brilliant,” Ava said, lifting a pile of books.

Red Butler shuffled his feet. “It looks okay,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Got everything?” Ava asked me. “Keys? Documents? Flashlight?”

God, she was thorough. I nodded and slipped Templeton Family Receipts into the pillowcase.

“Red, lock the door on your way out,” Ava said over her shoulder.

“You would’ve made a good general,” he muttered.

“See you at Cooper’s,” she said.

“We’re going back to Coop’s?” I asked

“Where else?” Ava pushed back her hair. “Remember, the police didn’t see you leave. They believe you’re with him—alone.”

“If the police think I’m with Coop, they’re going to freak when they see me drive up on the back of your motorcycle.”

“They won’t.”

“But how will I slip past them?”

“Same as before,” she said. “You walk.”