A Teeny Bit of Trouble (23 page)

I’d been on Coop’s porch before, and in his backyard, but I’d never set foot inside his house. The foyer was large and airy, with a black-and-white checkerboard floor and a curved staircase. Minnie sniffed. “I smell peaches.”

I lifted the basket. “Elbertas.”

“What’s that other smell?” Minnie asked. “Have you been to the hair salon?”

“Why, yes ma’am. I just left the Tartan Hair Pub.”

The Chihuahuas sneezed. “Caesar and Cleo have delicate lungs,” Minnie said. “Hold on while I put them up.”

She turned into an arched hallway. I immediately began looking around. A burled grandfather clock stood on one wall and emitted an irregular click, like a faulty heart valve. Next to the stairs, an ornate gold table held a cherub clock. Off to my right, French doors opened into an oak-paneled study, where antique clocks were lined up on the mantel, all of them ticking out of rhythm.

I looked down at Sir. “No wonder Coop is always worried about the time,” I whispered. The dog ignored me and gazed toward the hall. The Chihuahuas howled in the distance. Minnie rounded a corner and smiled.

“Well, what do you think of Irene’s décor?” she asked.

“Pretty,” I said.

“Huh, it looks like she robbed a Horchow outlet. You don’t want to see this place at Christmas. Lights on the roof and in the windows. It’s enough to cause corneal abrasions.”

She squinted at my hands. “Well?” she said. “Where is the O’Malley diamond?”

Something in her tone made me think of the Hope Diamond and its bloody history. I lifted the chain and dragged out the ring.

“Welcome to the family!” She flung her arms around me. My hair slung forward, releasing toxic puffs.

She drew back. “The diamond is an O’Malley heirloom, but the pearls are new. Did Coop tell you the story behind them?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Why, that bugger. My grandson can be such a coward. He’s probably afraid you’ll laugh at his story. A little fear is acceptable, but cowardice is dorky. I’m misquoting Ghandi, but what the hell.”

I didn’t care who’d she’d quoted. I already loved Minnie-of-the-Ring.

She leaned closer. “If I tell you about the pearls, you’ve got to swear on Mary Magdalene and the saints that you won’t repeat me. Because one day Coop will tell you this story, and he hates it when I preempt him. So you’ll need to act real surprised or he’ll know I beat him to the punch.”

“I won’t tell.”

She tucked her arm through mine and pulled me toward the hallway. “When he was six, the whole family went to Sea Island for my birthday—we’ve got a little place there. We ate raw oysters for lunch. They’re the food of love and sex, you know. Anyway, Coop found two pearls inside the shells. Fat Irene wanted to make them into earrings, but when she discovered that one pearl was smaller, she lost interest.”

When Minnie had attached “fat” to “Irene,” I’d almost laughed, but I caught myself in time. I lifted the necklace and studied the ring. One pearl was definitely larger. Why hadn’t Coop told me? He knew I loved family stories, mine and everyone else’s.

“Coop gave the pearls to me,” Minnie was saying. “I had the O’Malley diamond reset. I promised Coop that when he grew up and fell in love, I’d give the ring to his bride. I can’t tell you how many women he’s been through. I thought for sure Ava would wear my ring. It would’ve fit her big, British finger. But it stayed on mine. Now it’s hanging around your sweet, little neck. Well, I see why. You’re a dainty thing. Small boned like a Chihuahua. But prettier.”

I cupped the ring in my hand, trying to decode Minnie’s words. Coop hadn’t loved Ava enough to give her the O’Malley ring? I moved under the chandelier, and light glanced off the diamond. The stone seemed to say,
No, Coop didn’t give Ava the ring. But he didn’t tell you about the pearls.
His failure to share this story wasn’t a lie, but it felt like an important omission.

“This is an epic occasion,” Minnie said. “And it calls for a drink.”

She led me and Sir into Dracula’s library. Oil paintings hung on the bloodred walls, each canvas featuring ruined castles and rabid dogs. Through the bay window, a swimming pool reflected streaking clouds.

I sat down on a white silk sofa, and Sir flopped down on my feet. Minnie walked to a coffin-like bar. The shiny, black granite counter was empty except for a potted shamrock, its leaves folded tightly, as if praying that someone would remember to water it.

“What’s your poison, Teeny? We got everything.”

“I’m not sure.” I glanced at the shelves behind her, where liquor bottles and crystal glasses were lined up according to shape and size. My gaze stopped on an oak keg. They had Guinness on tap?

“I’m in the mood for a dirty martini,” she said. “Want one?”

“Please.” I set the peach basket on the coffee table. Minnie dropped ice into the martini glasses. She lifted a pitcher and dribbled water over the cubes.

“So, tell me,” she said. “Is Coop a good lover?”

She set the glasses inside a small freezer. I’d never discussed sex with an older woman, not even Aunt Bluette. So I ignored the question.

“Oh, come on. It’s just us girls.” Minnie poured olive juice, vermouth, and gin into a shaker. “One time I took a Magic Marker and wrote
I Love You with My Whole Heart, Body, and Soul
on Jack O’Malley Senior’s tallywacker. I signed my full name, too, Mary Francis Minerva Donoghue O’Malley. Jack was my husband.”

She crossed herself, then a smile lit up her wrinkled face. “Could you write that on my grandson’s privates?”

“With room to spare,” I said.

“I’m not one bit surprised.” Minnie laughed. She opened the freezer, dumped the cubes and water into the shamrock, then she finished making our drinks. She put them on a tray and walked toward me, her tennis shoes sparkling.

“The key is to drink fast.” She handed me a glass, then lifted hers. “May the hinges of our friendship never grow rusty.”

“Here’s to Irish men,” I said.

“Amen.” She downed her drink and burped. Then she walked back to the bar. “Want a refill?”

“I’m good.”

“Yeah, you better stay sober or Fat Irene will get pissed.” She mixed another martini. “I never understood why Jack Junior left the Church to marry a frigging Baptist. And a preacher’s daughter to boot. It broke my heart.”

“I’m Baptist,” I said a little defensively.

“So is Coop.” Minnie shrugged. “I’m not against all Protestants, even if they do everything ass backward. I’m against Fat Irene. She is so full of herself. Why, she acts like she’s discovered the cure for bird flu.”

Minnie refilled her glass. “Fat Irene is only fifty-eight, but she’s in bad shape. High blood pressure, high cholesterol, and highfalutin ways. She eats way too much salt and sugar. She’s got type two diabetes. She’s taking the pills now. But she doesn’t test her sugars and she doesn’t eat right. She’ll be on the shots pretty soon. I’d like to take a needle and stick her in the butt myself.”

“I didn’t know she was ill.”

“My gripe isn’t her health,” Minnie said. “My gripe is her personality. Can’t blame diabetes on meanness. People say she’s paranoid about burglars, but she’s really a control freak. And she’s too law-abiding. When Coop was eight years old, she made him memorize
Robert’s Rules of Order.
She taught him to make lists, too.”

“He still makes them,” I said. “The front of his refrigerator is crammed with Post-it notes.”

“Poor kid was a nervous wreck. When he was little, Fat Irene was always yelling at Jack Junior. Pitching fits. Breaking the crystal. I’m not saying Jack Junior was a saint. He might have fooled around with a nurse or two. But he was a good father.”

I sat up straight. The O’Malleys had been dysfunctional? “Dr. O’Malley was a ladies’ man?” I asked.

“And a workaholic. I thought for sure Jack Junior and Irene would get a divorce. Apparently Coop did, too. He became the perfect son. Never gave them a bit of trouble. Followed every rule. He thought if he behaved, his parents wouldn’t fight.”

“He’s still trying to be perfect.” I traced my finger over the rim of my glass.

“Yes, he’s a Boy Scout.”

“I was a Brownie and a Girl Scout.”

“Did you have a slew of badges?”

“Just one. The Make It, Eat It badge.”

“Coop had every single one.” Minnie sighed. “Fat lot of good it did him. Those badges were a bunch of crap. But I can’t blame the Boy Scouts for the way Coop turned out. You know his big failing?”

Situational ethics, I thought. When he gets into a sticky spot, he lies. I started to nod, then shook my head.

Minnie plucked the olive from her glass and tossed it over her shoulder. “He equates being wrong with being bad. He thinks nobody will love him if he screws up.”

“I’ll love him.”

“His ex-wife said that, too. Don’t worry, I’m not Ava’s fan. Never was. I knew from the get-go they’d never make it.” Minnie frowned. “But poor Coop got swept into all that British bullshit. Ava’s people go back to William the Conqueror. She tried to dominate Coop. But you’re wearing the ring. You know what it says? His heart is yours. If you want it.”

“I do.”

“Then get him to loosen up. Make him listen to Ozzy Osbourne. ‘Breaking All the Rules’ is a good song. Or R.E.M’s ‘Losing My Religion.’”

I repressed a smile.

She waved at a wide-screen TV. “You didn’t come here for Coop-Scoop, did you? You came to hide from a pervert. So let’s kick back and relax. Any special show you want to watch?”

“The Weather Channel would be nice,” I said.

“You don’t seem like a forecast junkie.”

“I like to know when storms are coming.”

She clicked a button on the channel changer, and the screen filled with churning water. “Oh, poo. It’s ‘Tumultuous Thursday.’ Let’s watch something less depressing.”

Was it Thursday? I’d lost track of time.

Minnie settled on the Syfy channel.
Tin Man
was playing. “What the hell is this?” Minnie cried, waving at the TV. “Why does that guy have a zipper in his head?”

“
Tin Man
is an updated version of
The Wizard of Oz,
” I said.

“Does it have tornadoes?”

“Yep.”

“I can’t catch a break from shitty weather.” Minnie sat down next to me. “A storm is coming, Teeny. A storm called Fat Irene.”

I thought she was joking until I heard a rustle of silk. A second later, Coop’s mother strode into the room. She wore a mud-brown muumuu, the fabric printed with crocodiles and palm trees.

“Teeny, so nice of you to finally join us,” Irene said, spitting out the word
nice.

“Don’t be rude,” Minnie said. “Teeny is wearing the ring. She’s practically family.”

Irene gave me a look that dismissed me as daughter-in-law material. Her nostrils opened like valves. “Do I smell chemicals?”

“It’s your horrible perfume.” Minnie flashed an impish grin, then she opened her cigarette case.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Irene said. “It leads to bladder cancer. You’d hate wearing a Depends.”

The women’s eyes locked. Irene was the first to look away. I didn’t want her to see my quick smile, so I lowered my chin. My hair swung forward, giving off a formaldehyde stench.

On the big television, the screen showed Dorothy Gale in a wicker jail. She was talking to the guy with a zipper in his head. “Here I was thinking this nightmare couldn’t get any weirder,” Dorothy said.

Minnie pinched my leg. “It wasn’t weird till Fat Irene crashed the party.”

“I heard that,” Irene said.

“Good.” Minnie lit a cigarette.

“Now who’s being rude?” Irene asked.

Minnie leaned against me. “I’ll say one thing for Irene. She’s a damn good eater. But she likes to eat things with hair and teeth.”

“A high compliment coming from you, an anorexic,” Irene said.

Minnie blew a smoke ring. “What’s for supper?”

Irene smoothed her hand down the crocodile dress, as if composing herself. When she finally spoke, her voice held the perfect blend of Southern manners and fangs. “Pork chops, mashed potatoes with pan gravy, string beans, glazed carrots, and jalapeño cornbread.”

Minnie smiled. “You should swallow an Orlistat. That pill will suck the fat out of your food and blow it out your ass. Then you’ll be the one wearing a Depends.”

Irene gave her a chilling gaze, then she turned to me. A finely honed intelligence shimmered behind her eyes. They were so much like Coop’s, I couldn’t breathe.

“We heard about your troubles,” she said.

I repressed an urge to grab my dog and bolt from the house.

Minnie blew another smoke ring. “Bad news travels through Bonaventure like the fat in Irene’s blood.”

Irene straightened the needlepoint pillows on the sofa, giving each one a karate chop. “Coop said a prowler broke into your house.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I put one hand on my neck. It was slick with perspiration.

“Quit yes mamming her,” Minnie said. “She ain’t the holy mother.”

Irene hacked the pillow next to me. She stared at my necklace. “My son is worried about you.”

Minnie lifted an ashtray and stubbed out her cigarette. “It’s scary when a pervert leaves a cream puff on your bed.”

“How many martinis have you had?” Irene asked.

“Not nearly enough,” Minnie said.

Irene gave her a warning glance. “You promised you’d behave.”

“I lied.” Minnie raised her glass. “To older whiskey, younger men, and faster horses.”

In the distance, the banished Chihuahuas howled. Irene pressed her fingers to her temples and squeezed. “If those dogs don’t hush, I’m having their vocal chords cut.”

“I’ll report you to PETA,” Minnie said.

“And I’ll make sure you end up in a nursing home.”

“Excuse me, Teeny.” Minnie rose from the sofa and marched off.

Irene’s big breasts heaved beneath her muumuu, the fabric quivering as if the crocodiles had come to life.

“So, Teeny, how did you manage to attract a pervert?” Her tone was brusque, tinged with doubt, as if I’d been visited by aliens.

My mouth went dry. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“You sure know how to cause trouble,” Irene said. “Coop might lose his job. But he’s not worried about that, he’s worried about
you
.”