forty-three

I held my breath and did a half turn. I expected to see her with a stun gun. Instead, she held up a giant pink fly swatter. “Be very, very still,” she whispered. “There’s a wasp on your arm.”

She stepped forward, the swatter raised like a wand, and flicked the insect away. It buzzed up and circled her head, then it floated to the counter. Miss Dora slammed the swatter again and again, like she was tenderizing meat.

“There!” She tossed the swatter onto the counter, then her warm fingers clamped down on my elbow. She escorted me into the foyer, opened a drawer, and pulled out a pink plaid blanket, the kind you’d see at a football game. Then she unlocked the door.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“If there’s a road block, you can wrap up in the blanket.”

“Won’t that look suspicious?”

“Oh, you know me.” She chuckled. “I’ll charm the cops’ pants off, and they’ll forget all about you. Let’s don’t keep Estaurado waiting.”

I walked behind her into the courtyard. Morning light hit the tiered fountain and the water pattered down in fine beads, spilling into the deep concrete bowl. Behind it, the stucco wall rose up, too high to climb. My only exit was through the corridor. Then I had to get to St. Philip’s and wait for Coop.

Miss Dora’s spicy perfume burned my nose as I followed her through the corridor. Through the open gate, smoke drifted from the tailpipe of Estaurado’s ancient Cadillac. The engine was running; he was getting the car nice and cool for Miss Dora.

I stepped onto the sidewalk, blinking in the glaring sunlight.

“Let me just lock up,” she said, rushing back to the iron door. “Don’t want to make it easy for Charleston’s criminal element.”

Estaurado stood beside the car, all hunched over. Behind him, a red truck drove down Queen Street, but I couldn’t see the driver. Miss Dora bustled past me, her pink shoes clacketing on the pavement.

“For gosh sakes, Teeny, pull your hat down.”

Estaurado helped her into the passenger seat, then he opened the back door for me. It gaped open, dark and cold, like the entrance to a cellar. No freaking way was I getting in. Estaurado cocked his head, his dark brows slanting together.

Miss Dora’s hand twirled behind the window, motioning us to hurry. She pulled down the car’s visor, peered into a mirror on the back of it, and applied fresh lipstick. A tourist bus drove by, followed by a police car.

“I forgot something,” I said. I wouldn’t make it to St. Philip’s. Better to run after the police car and turn myself in. Estaurado tapped on Miss Dora’s window. It slid down. He mumbled something in broken Spanish and gestured at me.

“What’d you forget, darlin’?” she called.

“Actually, I’ve changed my mind.” I stepped backward. “I’m turning myself in.”

The passenger door squeaked as she climbed out. I bolted in the opposite direction. Footsteps clapped behind me. A cloud of tobacco and hair tonic pushed up my nose. Estaurado lifted me off my feet and carried me toward the Cadillac.

“Put me down!” I balled up my fist and hit his shoulder. It was like striking concrete. His long legs switched back and forth as he hurried to the car. Miss Dora stood beside it, looking exasperated.

“Teeny, you’re making a scene. What’s the matter with you? Estaurado, put her in the car.”

He dumped me into the backseat and slammed the door. I scooted across the ripped leather, toward the other door and reached for the handle. He ran around the car and slammed the door just as I opened it. Miss Dora flung open the other rear door and climbed in next to me. She gripped my hands and stared hard into my face.

“Did Estaurado hurt you, baby? ’Cause if he did, his ass is going straight back to the third-world toilet he came from.”

I shook my head. She was very convincing. Could she possibly be innocent? Maybe Estaurado had killed Bing and Faye. But no, she was listed as the trustee on the fake document.

She was still holding my hands, mashing my bones. “Honey, tell me what’s wrong.”

“If you help me, you’re breaking the law,” I said. “I can’t drag you into this.”

“I’m not worried about myself, darlin’,” she said.

I tried to squirm away, but her nails dug into my flesh. Estaurado got into the front seat and gripped the steering wheel. It was covered with brown fake fur, matching the hairs on the backs of his fingers. A set of trouble dolls dangled from the rearview mirror by a tiny noose.

Miss Dora let go of my hands and thumped the seat. “Let’s get moving,” she said. Estaurado pulled into the street. I planned to jump out at the first red light, but Estaurado sped through intersections, ignoring blasting horns. He cut down a side street and drove toward Calhoun.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“It’s your adventure. I’m just in it.” She smiled. “Where do you want to go?”

She was playing with me. “I don’t feel good,” I said.

“Maybe the mimosa disagreed with you,” she said.

“I think it did.” I shifted my gaze, hoping the mimosa would do more than disagree with her. I hoped she would spontaneously combust.

She strapped me into my seat belt. “It’s a state law,” she said.

Estaurado hunched over the steering wheel, his fingers sinking into the fake fur. He turned on the radio, and the car pulsed with a Jimi Hendrix song—“Hey Joe,” a great song for a murder.

I assumed we were headed to Old Santee Canal State Park where they’d probably stick me in a shallow grave, but Estaurado turned onto Meeting Street.

“I just want to turn myself in,” I said. Between Estaurado’s hair tonic and Miss Dora’s perfume, I couldn’t get my breath. Odors sometimes triggered my asthma attacks, and my inhaler was at the Spencer-Jackson House in my true pocketbook.

“Turn your pretty self in?” Miss Dora laughed. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“I want to do the right thing.” I studied her face. She didn’t show any sign of the Splenda allergy. Maybe I hadn’t put enough into her mimosa.

“But you were all set to run,” she said. “What caused this change of heart? You are innocent, aren’t you?”

“What if I’m not?”

“Wouldn’t that be hysterical?” She snorted. “You don’t have a mean bone in your body.”

“I do, too.” I tried to twist away, but she grabbed my arm. “You’re hurting me.”

“Then stop fidgeting.”

“I don’t mean to. I can’t breathe.” I wasn’t fooling. I couldn’t get a full breath.

“Where’s your inhaler?” She looked genuinely concerned.

“Home.”

“Home?” she asked.

“The Spencer-Jackson House,” I said.

“Estaurado, turn up the air conditioner.” His hand moved to the dash, and the air hissed out, twirling the trouble dolls.

“Don’t you have an inhaler at Bing’s house?” she asked.

“He probably threw it away.”

“Maybe not.” She let go of me and raked her fingernails over her neck, leaving white lines on the pink flesh. The marks instantly turned dark red. “I’m just itching all over. Like I’ve got chigger bites. Estaurado, pull into KFC.”

“Qué?” He looked flustered.

“Kentucky Fried Chicken, you nitwit,” she cried. “I’ve got to put ice on these welts.”

He swerved into the parking lot. “Ice or ice water?” he asked in heavily accented English.

“I’ll just do it myself.” She flung open her door and scrambled out. “But watch her.”

The minute she started toward KFC, I unbuckled my seat belt. Estaurado leaned into the backseat, reaching past me, and wrenched off the door handle. Then his long arm shot out toward the other door, and he ripped off Miss Dora’s handle. He flashed me a “take that” stare and folded himself into the front seat.

I looked around for another way to escape. The windows were electric. I pressed the button. Nothing. I pressed it again. Okay, homegirl, next idea. I reached into Ava’s purse and got the phone. I didn’t know how to scroll through her programmed numbers, but I had to try. Keeping the phone hidden in the bag, I glanced at the display and saw Coop’s number. I hit send. The phone emitted a faint toot. I found the volume control and turned it up. A series of beeps cut through the music.

Estaurado picked up his cell phone and frowned.

“Please turn down the radio,” I shouted, hoping Coop could hear. “Where are you and Miss Dora taking me?”

He ignored me and twirled the dial; the music faded.

“Estaurado, are you taking me to Bing’s house?” I asked in a shrill voice.

“Sí.” He nodded emphatically.

“So, let me get this straight,” I said, a bit louder. “We’re going to Bing’s house?”

“Woman, why you scream?” He flashed an irritated glance and turned up the radio.

Through the side window, I saw Miss Dora come out of KFC, clutching napkins and a tall cup. I poised myself at the door, ready to spring. Her face looked mottled. She was turning into her favorite color, head to toe. Balancing the cup and napkins in one hand, she reached for the back door, but it wouldn’t open. Estaurado leaned across the front seat and flung open the passenger door. She stuck her head inside and peered into the backseat. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the missing handles.

“What happened?” she asked. “Teeny, did you try to leave us?”

I shrugged, as if missing handles weren’t out of the ordinary. Coop, I thought, please be listening.

“Damn you, Estaurado. I told you to watch over her, and you do this!” She settled into the passenger seat, then poured ice into a napkin and dabbed it over her cheeks. “I just don’t know what’s the matter. It’s like I’ve had Splenda.”

“Your face is swelling,” I said. “Maybe you should go to the emergency room.”

“No, the ice is helping already. I’m just a highly allergic person. Estaurado, if you won’t turn off that music, can you at least change it to something I like?”

He twirled the dial and Five for Fighting began singing “Dying.”

“Much better!” She pointed to the road. “Go.”