Gone With a Handsomer Man (23 page)

“You can’t be serious,” Coop said. He bent over the documents.

I got up to see what they were talking about. The documents were side by side, with Ava’s red fingernail under each signature,
Rodney Bingham Jackson III
.

“They look identical,” Coop said.

“They’re not,” she said. “Look at his signature on the trust. The bottom loop of the J is open. See? But it’s closed on the sale contract. And look at the
B
s and
g
s in each Bingham. They’re different, too. The Roman numeral isn’t consistent. One has gaps, the other is tight.”

Coop glanced at me. “Do you have samples of Bing’s handwriting?”

“No. But there are plenty of examples at his house. He kept all his important papers in a closet.”

“Maybe the police have them,” Ava said.

“Not likely,” I said. “The closet is hidden. It’s behind paneled doors.”

“I’m assuming this is the house where your cookbooks are?” she asked.

“The whole shebang.” I sat back down.

“Let’s go get them,” she said.

“Get what?” Coop frowned.

“Haven’t you been listening?” Ava raised her eyebrows. “You need signature samples. Teeny needs her cookbooks. I hope you still have a key.”

I nodded.

“Brilliant.” Ava clapped her hands.

“Hold on, you two,” Red Butler cried. “Which house you talking about? ’Cause if you’re referring to the murder scene, don’t even think about going there.”

I tried to explain about my aunt’s especial cookbook, carefully skirting the part about the poisoned recipes and my paranoia. Before I finished, Coop shook his head.

“No way,” he said. “You can get the books when this is over.”

“I knew you’d put a damp blanket on this,” Ava said. “That’s your whole problem. You won’t ever take a chance.”

“No, not on illegal activities,” Coop said.

“Not on anything,” Ava said.

He flinched—not a jerk, just a little eyelid flicker and a stiffening in his shoulders. But I knew she’d pricked his ego. And I knew that this was at the heart of their separation. She was audacious, and he followed rules. No exceptions. Ever.

Ava slid a paper in front of me. “Teeny, could you draw a map to the hidden closet?”

“It’s tricky. I’d almost have to show you.”

“Not to worry. When I get there, I’ll ring you. And you can talk me through it.”

“You ain’t talking her through nothing,” Red Butler cried. “For all I know, the boss’s phones are tapped.”

“You’re a ruddy fool. Teeny, come with me.” Ava grabbed my hand. “I’ll be careful. I won’t let the police get you. I’ve got a plan all—”

“Won’t let the police get her?” Red Butler sorted. “Hell, you’ll deliver her on a silver platter. She’s being tailed. They’ll follow her straight to the murder scene.”

“They’re not following me,” Ava said. “In fact, I’m the only person in this room the police aren’t following.”

“Bad idea, Ava.” Coop squeezed her arm.

“I’ll be careful.” She looked up into his eyes.

That did it. I got to my feet. “I’m coming with you.”

“Right,” said Red Butler. “Just hop on the bike. Wink at the cops when you pass by. Show some leg. Sheesh.”

“You can’t do it,” Coop said.

I wasn’t sure if he was addressing me or Ava, or both of us.

“Look the other way, Dudley Do-Right,” Ava said.

“You bitches are crazy,” Red Butler said. “I don’t want no part of it.”

“Have I asked for your help?” Ava asked. “If we have copies of Bing’s signature, Cooper can stop the sale of the house. That will buy Teeny some time. And the girl needs her books. How is this crazy?”

“Because it’s a fucking crime scene,” Red Butler said.

“And it’s against the law,” Coop said.

“You haven’t changed and you never will,” Ava told him. “You’re inflexible and dogmatic. You won’t take risks.”

“So you keep reminding me,” he said. All the color left his face. I knew exactly what she was doing. Sure, his ego might be smarting, but if she brought back the signatures—and they ended up proving that Natalie had done something illegal—then Ava would be the hero. And here I was, wallowing in faulty thinking and practically eating my own hair over recipes that may or may not ever be found. Meanwhile, Ava gets the guy by being plucky and fearless. But if that cookbook was found, I’d not only lose the guy, I’d lose my freedom.

“He will, too, take risks,” I said. “He saved a drowning girl in Lake Bonaventure. Boats were cutting in too close. But Coop wasn’t worried for himself. He just plunged in and saved the girl’s life.”

“I’d forgotten that,” he said.

“That’s not the kind of risks I meant.” Ava pushed back her hair. “Are you staying or going, Teeny?”

“How she gonna slip past the tails?” Red Butler asked.

“Simple.” Ava turned to me. “Teeny, exit by the back door and walk to the pier. And take your mobile phone.”

“I don’t have one.”

She reached into her purse. “Here, take my mobile. Go to the beach. Walk toward the pier.”

“Why does she need a freaking phone?” Red Butler asked.

“Haven’t you been listening?” Ava asked. “If the police see her, I’ll ring her. Simple.”

I pulled off my shoes and tucked the phone into the right toe.

“You’re certain you’re up to this?” Ava asked.

“Yes.” And I was. This was my chance to break the mold and be daring. I looked at Coop for a split second, and his sad eyes broke my heart. Red Butler’s face was dark purple, with veins popping on his forehead.

The wind kicked up the hem of my dress as I walked onto the deck and hurried down the back steps. The sky was the color of blueberries and spilled into the ocean. I had serious doubts about Ava’s plan. She’d all but said she was an adrenaline junkie, but she also wanted Coop. If she had a chance to undermine me, wouldn’t she take it?

I walked down the beach toward a three-story white house with blue shutters. A clump of sea oats grew behind a wavy wooden fence and blocked my view of the road. I heard a shrill ring. I reached into my shoe and lifted the squawking phone.

“Teeny?” came Ava’s clipped voice. “Are you there?”

“Yes.” I glanced back at Coop’s house. It was a tiny gray speck, no bigger than the head of a match.

“Your escorts haven’t moved,” she said. “Meet you at the pier.”

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.”

thirty-one

Halfway to Coop’s house, it began to drizzle. By the time I slogged onto Coop’s deck, I was pretty sure my hair looked like Tina Turner’s “Private Dancer” wig, one that had been plunged into a toilet and drip-dried on a mop handle. I was sopping wet.

Drowning was the least of my problems. When I walked into the house, I found the three of them in the dining room, having a party. Coop was wedged between Red Butler and Ava, laughing and digging into a pepperoni pizza. The boys seemed to have sufficiently recovered from Ava’s criminal activities. Coop shoved a wedge of pizza into his mouth. His eyes widened when he saw me.

Ava smiled. “Cooper, where’re your manners? Get the poor girl a towel.”

My sweetheart rose from the chair and shot into the kitchen. I heard the clothes dryer open and shut.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said. “I fainted five times and got attacked by sand fleas.”

“Get you some pizza.” Red Butler pointed to the boxes.

Coop returned and put a towel over my head. I sat down and Ava’s smile broadened. I dragged the towel over my possum hair.

“Red?” Ava smiled. “Would you open another bottle of merlot?”

“‘Get me this, Red,’” he said in a fake British accent. “‘Get me that.’”