Gone With a Handsomer Man (33 page)

“No, ma’am. It’s just that I’m in a little trouble.”

“What kind?”

I explained about Natalie and Faye and the search warrant. I omitted the part about Cooper telling me to run.

Her face turned so red I thought for sure she’d call the police. Instead, she leaned forward. “Tell me how I can help, darlin’.”

“Do you have a wig?” I asked. “I won’t make it out of Charleston unless I disguise myself.”

“No, but I’ve got hats galore. Run upstairs to the peppermint bedroom and pick you out a hat. I turned a walk-in closet into a hat-keeping room.” She walked over and appraised my figure. “I don’t have clothes your size, but check the bedroom across the hall. It’s got a canopy bed. I’ve got a slew of caftans in closets and drawers. One size fits all.”

“Oh, Miss Dora, thank you.” I hugged her so hard, she tipped backward.

“I’m pleased as punch to help.” She pulled back and smiled. “You and I have been crapped upon by Jackson men. We must stick together.”

“Do you have scissors?”

“Why?”

“I’m cutting my hair.”

“Don’t you dare. It’s too pretty to cut. Maybe if you pinned it up? I’ve got bobby pins in the bathroom, so grab you some.”

Praise the Lord for women with vast wardrobes. I ran up the stairs. I’d only been on the second level once, at the engagement party. Where was the peppermint room? I turned into one with white French furniture and fuchsia walls. The closet was jammed with winter coats.

The next room had pink walls and lime curtains. The closet was jammed with dozens of hats, each one sitting in its own cubbyhole. I lifted a straw boater with a floppy brim and hurried across the hall to look for the caftans. I veered into a muddy rose room with pink clouds on the ceiling. Four cannonball posts jutted up from a cherry bed—not a canopy, but close enough. Little swatches of fabric were pinned over the headboard, like she was testing a decorating idea.

I checked the closet, but it was filled with pocketbooks and shoes, arranged according to color. On my way out of the room, I stubbed my toe on a dresser with a marble top. I knocked over a perfume bottle, and when I straightened it, I saw two hairpins lying on the mirrored tray.

Just what I needed. I grabbed the pins and put them into my mouth. With my lips fanged shut, I opened the top drawer. Bobby pins were strewn along the wooden bottom. I coiled my hair into a bun and stabbed it with the pins. It still wobbled.

I swept my hand toward the back of the drawer, looking for more pins, and my fingers brushed against something plush. I inched open the drawer and saw a pink tassel. I lifted it. Heavy brass keys swung back and forth, tapping together.

forty-two

It was my missing key chain—minus Bing’s house key. I reached deeper into the drawer and clawed out dozens of keys. I tugged on a long tassel. It wouldn’t budge. A long thread was caught in the side of the drawer. I bent closer. The thread wasn’t snagged on the wood, it was attached to something under the drawer.

I pulled out the drawer and looked underneath. A creamy white envelope was taped to the bottom. Whoever had put it there had accidentally caught a tassel thread. I started to shut the drawer. I wasn’t a snoop. But I only hesitated a moment, then I grabbed the envelope, ripped open the seal, and pulled out a thick document with blue paper on each side. It crackled as I unfolded it. The letterhead belonged to a legal firm in Savannah, Georgia. Below this, I read
Declaration of Irrevocable Trust.

My name was on the first line,
Christine Bleuet Templeton
,
Trustor
. But my middle name was spelled wrong. It wasn’t Bleuet, the French way, it was Bluette, like the color. I remembered Bing’s document—he’d been referred to as the trustor. And I’d been named trustee, along with a bank.

I skipped to the next line. Alice Eudora Wauford Jackson was named the trustee, bypassing the Bank of South Carolina as co-trustee.

I flipped through the pages. There were three copies, each one bearing my signature, only it wasn’t exactly my signature. Each document was signed and notarized by Natalie Lockhart.

Ava’s phone began to buzz violently. I picked it up and saw Coop’s name on the display panel. “Thank god it’s you,” I whispered.

“I called a minute ago,” he said. “Why didn’t you answer?”

“Never mind that. I’m at Miss Dora’s. Listen, I found my missing keys. And a fake trust. It’s got my name on it.”

“Where is she?”

“Downstairs.”

“Teeny, listen carefully. Get out of the house.”

“Didn’t you hear? I found a bogus trust.”

“Teeny, she killed Bing. Natalie woke up. She and Dora were in this together. But Natalie pulled a fast one, and Dora shot her. I’ll explain later. Get the hell out of her house.
Now.
”

“Okay, I’m going. Don’t hang up. Keep talking.” I looked around the room for a place to hide the document. “Coop, if something happens to me, I’m sticking the trust under the mattress. It’s in a bedroom on the second floor. All the rooms are pink, but this one has clouds on the ceiling.”

“Teeny, for god’s sake, go! If she tries to stop you, knock her in the head. She shot Natalie and poisoned Faye—she’ll kill you, too.”

“Wait.” I glanced in the purse. Ava didn’t have anything sharp. However, she had oodles of Splenda.

“No time to wait,” Coop said. “Don’t let her know you suspect her. Meet me at St. Philip’s Church. I’m on my way.” He clicked off.

I hurried down the back staircase and paused on the bottom step, then I dropped the phone into the bag. Miss Dora stood in the hall, primping in front of a gilt mirror. If she was planning to kill me, she’d gotten all spiffed up for it. She’d put on pink leather pumps, and a large straw bag dangled from her arm.

“There you are.” She smiled at her reflection, then her gaze moved to me. “Love the hat. We have a slight problem. The Bentley’s air conditioner isn’t working. So I’m trying to reach Estaurado.”

I gripped the banister. This was just the delay I needed. I looked past her at the door. Could I run for it?

She gave me the sweetest look, and I began to wonder if Coop was wrong. Hadn’t the police been wrong about me? She’d been in Savannah when Bing was murdered. And she’d been in Sumter when Natalie and Faye were shot. Maybe she paid Estaurado to kill them? Maybe that’s why she needed him now?

Her smile broadened without a hint of irritation, but she was giving off suspicious vibes. “Is anything wrong?” she asked.

“Miss Dora, I hate to ask, but could I please have something cool to drink? I’m just parched.” I let go of the banister and stepped down. Everywhere I looked I saw weapons: heavy silver candlesticks, paperweights, clocks, bookends.

“Why, certainly.” She turned toward the kitchen and caught my arm. “Come with me, darlin’. You can help.”

I pulled away from her and ran to the door. I turned the knob. It wouldn’t budge.

“Darlin’, it’s locked.” She stepped closer.

“I just wanted to see if any police cars were out there,” I said.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Now isn’t the time to get paranoid.” She took my hand and pulled me to the kitchen.

“While I’m calling that damn Estaurado, why don’t you fix us some mimosas?” She opened a massive refrigerator with a glass door and pulled out orange juice and a bottle of champagne. The champagne had been previously opened, and the plastic cork made a whoosh when she twisted it off. Standing on her tiptoes, she opened a cabinet and pulled out two oversized martini glasses.

“Make us big fat drinks, darlin’.” She lifted the portable phone, punched in numbers, and stepped into the butler’s pantry, blocking my exit.

I reached into Ava’s purse and grabbed the Splenda packets. I ripped them open and shook the contents into a pitcher. White powder drifted up, sticking to the sides of the glass. My hands trembled as I stuffed the empty packets back into the purse. Then I tipped the orange juice carton over the pitcher. What if she tasted the artificial sweetener? Where did she keep her sugar?

Next to the coffeepot, I saw three pottery canisters labeled sugar, flour, coffee. The lids rattled as I peeked inside. Empty. All for show. I spotted a sugar bowl on the other side of the coffeepot. I dumped some into the pitcher and grabbed a wire whisk. I stirred the juice while slowly adding the champagne. Bubbles curved along the sides of the pitcher, moving like tiny waterspouts.

I filled the wide glasses, grateful she’d chosen them, so she’d get the maximum dose. I lifted a glass and took a sip. Sweet, tart, and effervescent. I didn’t detect the Splenda. Wait, had I added enough?

“That damned Estaurado won’t answer,” Miss Dora said, stepping into the room. “He’s probably watching
The View.
He’s addicted to it. And after that, he watches
All My Children
.”

I slipped my hand from the purse and handed her a glass. I glanced along the counter and saw a Splenda packet next to the sugar bowl. I cupped my hand over it and balled up the paper. She drained her glass, then twirled her finger, signaling for a refill.

“Aren’t you going to join me, dear?” she asked.

“Totally.” Keeping my hand closed, I refilled her glass.

A girlish, twittery laugh bubbled from her throat. She winked. “I don’t want to be half-looped when we start our little adventure, do you?”

“No, ma’am.” I lifted my glass, took a sip, then set the glass down.

Miss Dora’s portable phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID display and said, “It’s the Spanish bastard.” She pressed the phone to her cheek. “Finally!” she cried. “Where have you been?”

Her eyes switched back and forth. I slid my hand behind the coffeepot and dropped the yellow fragment.

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said. “Never mind. I need you to bring your car around. And I need you to do it now.” She paused. “No, not after
All My Children
, now.”

She clicked off and pointed to my glass. “May I?”

I nodded. Perfect.

She emptied the glass in four swallows. Then, as she poured a refill, she nodded at me. “Teeny, you need to lower that hat. Somebody could recognize you.”

She started toward the butler’s pantry. The kitchen had two sets of French doors. I ran to the first set and jiggled the knob. The door wouldn’t budge. Then I saw the lock. It was the kind with a keyhole on both sides. I looked around for a key—most people kept them nearby in case of fire, but not Miss Dora. Apparently, she was fireproof.

I ran to the other door and jiggled the knob. Locked. I looked up. A key hung over the door, dangling from a hot pink tassel. I reached up, but Miss Dora’s voice stopped me.

“Step away from the door, Teeny,” she said. “And turn around slowly.”

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.