thirty-four

During the drive to The Picky Palate, Red Butler gave me a crash course in slander. “Sheesh, you did it in front of witnesses! You can’t go round accusing Natalie of forgery or hanging stuffed dogs from chandys.”

“I never said forgery.”

“You said everything but. That’s still slander, okay?”

“If she didn’t hang that dog, who did?”

“That’s for the police to decide. But you—you’re in big trouble. You’re on probation, for Christ’s sake.”

“It won’t happen again.” If only I’d just called her an asshole.

“Too late for promises. If she’s guilty of faking Bing’s signature, you just tipped her off. She’ll have time to cover her tracks.”

*   *   *

The Picky Palate was empty when we arrived. Jan opened a box and sniffed the air over the cake. “Nice,” she said and pressed her finger against the surface. I stared, awestruck that she was handling food that she intended to sell. She glanced up, as if she’d heard my thoughts. “This cake is mine,” she said.

She cut a thick slice and held it up to the light. Her eyes closed as she fit a morsel into her mouth. There was no way of telling who’d baked this particular cake, me or Red Butler. We fidgeted while we waited for the verdict.

Jan nodded and swallowed. “Oh god, this is good. Can you deliver six Italian cream cakes by 10:00 a.m. tomorrow? Your cut will be fifteen dollars each.”

“You can count on me,” I said.

Red Butler drove me to the farmer’s market for organic eggs, then we hit the dollar store for staples. Despite Coop’s pledge to keep things professional between us, I wasn’t letting down my guard. When Red Butler wasn’t looking, I grabbed a lacy white bra and matching panties. Then I got three sheer nightgowns. I shoved the delicate items into the cart, under the flour and confectioners’ sugar. I drifted to the sale rack, where I found sophisticated blouses that reminded me of Ava. Two dollars each.

I piled them in the cart, one in each color—cream, raspberry, lettuce, pear, grape—then I froze. The colors were too loud. Just because my aunt Goldie was a clown didn’t mean I couldn’t dress anemic like Ava. I put back the blouses, except for the cream, and threw in white denims.

Red Butler let me out in front of the Spencer-Jackson and drove back to the parking lot on Adgers. I’d no sooner unlocked the gate, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around and looked up into Eileen’s broad face. She smoothed her gloved hands down a yellow jumpsuit with paw print appliqués. A yellow headband held back her bushy, dark blond hair, and a patent leather cat purse dangled from her arm.

“Do you remember me?” she asked.

“You’re Eileen, Bing’s sister,” I said. “I remember you from the cemetery.”

“You’ve got a good memory.” Eileen tapped her fingers five times, then she rolled her eyes.

“Where’re your cats?” I asked.

“In the RV. I left the air conditioner running full blast. So if you’re thinking of calling the Humane Society, think again.” She glanced past me, into the corridor. “May I come in?”

“I’m waiting for someone.” I looked over my shoulder, hoping to see Red Butler standing on the corner of East Bay and Adgers.

“I’m not stalking you, I swear.” She adjusted her gloves. One edge stuck up, and I saw her red wrist. “Although I had been,” she added. “But only a little. I wanted us to have a heart-to-heart. But you’re never alone. Honey, I don’t know what scheme you’re into, but it must be good. You’ve got men coming and going.”

“They aren’t my boyfriends,” I said.

“Sure.” She chuckled. Then she tapped her feet twenty times. “Don’t bother calling for help. I’m not going to stay long. I talked to Bing’s lawyer. He says you’re getting all my daddy’s properties.”

“Bing’s properties,” I said. I couldn’t resist.

“I’m sure you’re just itching to buy a private island somewhere, but I wouldn’t advise it. ’Cause I’m going to tie you up in court for years. I’m hiring me a heavy-hitting litigator—that’s a people version of an alligator. I’m not kidding. I’m contesting on grounds of undue influence. You put the squeeze on my brother.”

“It was the other way around, Eileen,” I said. “You’ll be gray-headed when you get that money.”

“I know it’s not easy to contest a trust,” she said. “I’ve been through this after Daddy died. He wanted a dainty debutante, but he got me. Even so, he wouldn’t have cut me out of the trust if Miss Dora hadn’t egged him on.” She licked each gloved fingertip, then tapped her feet together. “Look, Miss Templeton. I’m the last of the Jacksons. I’m sure you’re nice and all, but I can’t walk away from that trust. Besides, if the lawyer works pro bono, what have I got to lose?”

“Just your time. But I’ve been thinking. If I end up with the trust, I’d like to split it with you.”

“Split it?” Eileen looked suspicious. “What do you have in mind?”

“You take half, and I’ll give the other half to charity.”

“Charity?” Her face turned white. “Why would you do a fool thing like that?”

“Bing had goodness in him, and I want to set up a foundation in his name, to remember that goodness.”

“Are you shooting me a line of bull poop?” She snorted. “Because if you are, I’ll put a hex on you.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Well, I’m not buying it.” Her eyes switched back and forth. “You might go to jail. Then I’ll get the whole thing.”

“Maybe you will. No matter what, I don’t want it.”

“Why the heck not?”

“If Bing had lived, he would’ve named a different trustee.”

“But he didn’t live. I deserve the whole estate. Not a penny should go to charity.” She peered into the corridor and frowned. “I wouldn’t want to live in this house—it’s a death trap for cats. If I did agree to a split, I’d gladly give you this pink monstrosity.”

“Why don’t you give me your phone number, and I’ll have my lawyer call you?” I glanced anxiously toward Adgers. Where the heck was Red Butler? Why wasn’t he coming?

Eileen opened her cat purse. I edged into the corridor while she scribbled on a piece of paper that had pictures of cats on it. She saw me looking and said, “Isn’t my scratch pad cute?”

She handed me the slip of paper and turned to leave. Then she whirled.

“You haven’t heard the last from me,” she said. “I’ll chase you off yet.”

“Whatever,” I called. Despite the 92-degree heat, gooseflesh broke out on my arms. Eileen was tall enough to hang a stuffed dog from a chandelier. Had she sent that photograph of me and Coop to the DA?

Eileen lifted one hand, drew her fingers into a claw, and scratched the air. Her eyes narrowed for an instant, then she crossed the street to her RV. By the time Red Butler lugged our shopping bags up to the house, Eileen was gone.

“You just missed Bing’s sister,” I said.

“Did y’all have a cat fight?” Red Butler laughed. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. What’d she want?”

I grabbed one of the bags. “Come on inside, and I’ll fill you in.”

*   *   *

I carried a tall glass of ice water to the garden and sank into a chair while Sir watered on the bushes. The bells of St. Michael’s pealed in the distance. I looked up into the canopy of the live oaks. The garden was a tiny pocket of isolation in a world of noise. I couldn’t say why, but I felt utterly safe here.

Red Butler wandered out and hooked a lock to the gate. He hadn’t said much about Eileen’s visit. In fact, he seemed downright pensive. He didn’t glance up as Sir romped over the grass, chasing a yellow butterfly.

I pressed the cool glass against my forehead and thought about Coop. If Eileen hadn’t taken that photograph, who had? Who would benefit other than Ava?

I saw a flicker of movement along the brick wall, where the ivy spilled down. A Carolina chickadee flew to the grass and swooped back up to the wall. The bird’s movement soothed me. Surely no evil would happen where a chickadee played. Until I’d seen that stuffed dog, I’d never dreamed that anyone would want to hurt me or Sir.

Whoever had hung that stuffed dog had probably come through the garden, creeping through hedges, jumping over the wall. It would have to be an agile criminal, that’s for sure. I got up and barely made it to the tiger lily bed before my water came back up. My heartbeat ticked in my ears, blotting out the gagging sounds. Too bad my safe feeling had only lasted a few minutes.

“You okay?” Red Butler called.

“Fine.” I rubbed my arms, feeling the gooseflesh. If I was this scared in daylight, what would happen after dark? I wanted to be brave, but I didn’t want me or my real dog to end up hanging from a chandelier.

I held out my hand. It trembled. No one in my life had wished me ill, nor had they coveted what little I had. Tonight I’d just stay awake for as long as I could and if I saw anything scary, I’d call 911. The police were only down the street and didn’t have far to come.

I balled my hand into a fist and pushed it into my chest. Get you some gumption, I whispered to myself. Maybe if I laced barbed wire thought the ivy, twisted it around and around, I’d trap the evildoer. Take that, you bad man, and get you a tetanus shot while you’re at it.

Red Butler walked up. “Something happen between you and the boss?”

“Why do you ask?” I narrowed my eyes. Was I truly that transparent?

“’Cause you’re mooning like a love-struck kid.”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. You got it bad. The boss really was your first love, wasn’t he?”

“I wish I hadn’t told you that.”

“So, you’re thinking you and him reconnected by happenstance? Or for a reason, like y’all are meant to be together?”

I had thought that, but I gave him a hard look.

“Girlie, you’re making too much out of this. Don’t you understand the psychology behind a first love? It ain’t who the person is but what they represent. It was the first time you probably felt strong emotions for someone other than blood kin. You follow me?”

I nodded.

“See, the heart is tight and virginal. A first love makes you bleed. It opens the heart fully. That’s why people can’t forget their first loves. They show us just how deep the love can go. That’s my take on it, anyway.”

“You could give Dr. Phil a run for his money.”

“Who’d want to?” He grinned.

*   *   *

I fixed a red-potato frittata, adding chopped bacon and onions. Since I was in a cooking mood, I made a corn and tomato salad with sweet mayonnaise dressing. I set the patio table with blue-and-white floral dishes, added a vase filled with hydrangeas, and called Red Butler to the garden.

He ate in silence, scraping his fork over the plate. I cut another wedge of frittata and slipped it onto his plate. He dug in greedily. “Damn, this is good,” he said.

“Save room for your cake,” I said.

“Answer me something, Teeny. What if you don’t go to jail? What if you find some guy and get married? Have lots of kids. Would you keep baking cakes and selling them, or would you kick back and take it easy?”

Some guy? I repressed a smile. Now that I’d eaten, I was in a better mood. I clasped my hands and stretched them over my head. “I’ll always bake,” I said.

“Even if you don’t have to?”

“The whole process just tickles me,” I said. “I like matching food to people and filling up their empty spaces.”

“You sound like my daddy. He was all eat up with food. Back when Charleston had a chef school, he wanted to go, but it cost a fortune. So my daddy, he taught himself how to cook.” He pointed at the frittata. “Something like this takes skill.”

He moved on to the cake. If I’d had time, I would have made crème frâiche. An iced cake is always tastier with something dense and slightly sour. If you want to cook good food, you have to think like a cook. It’s messy. Cooking isn’t a clean activity. It’s not a stage set on Food Network, where ingredients are waiting in clear bowls and everything follows a script.

Every now and then, you must deal with dough that just won’t rise. Do you start over? Knead the dough, cover it with a warm, moist towel, and hope for the best? Relationships are the same way. You can think you are following a recipe, you can do everything right, and your product might turn out indigestible. If it smells like bread, it may not be bread.

After Red Butler finished his cake, he loaded the dishwasher while I put my cookbooks onto the shelf above the desk. The phone trilled. It was decorative, made to look French. It even rang French. I picked up, hoping it was Coop. “Hey.”

Silence.

“Is anyone there?”

“Die,” a voice said. It was female, but I couldn’t place it.

I banged down the receiver like I was crushing a wasp and stepped back.

“Damn, what’d they say?” Red Butler asked.

I put my hand over my mouth. It took me a few seconds to compose myself. “They said, ‘Die.’”

“Man or woman?”

“Woman.”

He lifted the phone. It jangled when he turned it upside down. “You got caller ID?”

“No.”

“The police have this number tapped. Maybe they heard. Has this fucker called here before?”

“Once. But she didn’t say anything.”

“Where’s your gate key?”

“In the bowl.”

He walked into the dining room, into the hall. I heard the front door open, heard his footsteps clap over the bricks. I ran to the kitchen window and saw him bearing down on the stakeout car. He rapped on their window. It inched down, and I saw the short, gray-eyed cop’s forehead. Red Butler yelled, thick cords standing out on his neck. His left arm flew into the air and he shook his fist. Then he hurried back to the house and slammed the door. “Bastards!”

I pushed away from the window and ran into the hall. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re checking it out.” He looked at me from under his eyebrows. “Why didn’t you tell me about that other call?”

“I told Coop. He thought it was Natalie. So did I.”

“It prolly is, but you don’t know for sure. People are meaner and crazier than they used to be. ‘Die’ is a big fucking deal. It’s a threat.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“You should be scared.” He pointed at me. “Don’t you keep nothing from me again. Nothing. Your life may depend on it.”