A Teeny Bit of Trouble (3 page)

His giant dog skidded into the foyer. T-Bone was a giant mixed breed, a rescue with wiry, taffy-colored fur, a white belly, and intelligent amber eyes. His head reached Coop’s elbow, and Coop is 5' 10". T-Bone sniffed my outfit. Dammit, I’d forgotten that I was wearing it.

Emerson leaped back. “Will it bite?”

“No, honey,” Coop said. “Just let him smell you.”

She held still while the dog dragged his nose over her dress. The mammoth tail began to wag, then his pink tongue shot out, the size of a corned beef brisket. Emerson squirmed away. A wide grin creased her face as she looked up at Coop.

“Guess what happened? Mrs. Philpot deserted me. I get to live with you. Isn’t that super-great news?”

Coop’s dark eyebrows angled up. “Barb did what?”

“She’s gone.” Emerson pushed past him. “And I’m hungry. Got anything to eat?”

“I just made a bowl of jalapeño dip,” Coop said. “The kitchen is the first door on your right. The Doritos are on the counter.”

No wonder he had an ulcer. I ached to fix him an apple-and-brie omelet, just the thing for acid indigestion. And the child was so thin. She needed something more substantial than dip. She needed comfort food: mashed potatoes with butter, cream, and sea salt.

Emerson skipped off, her braids bouncing on her shoulders. T-Bone trotted after her. The minute she was gone, Coop gave me a questioning look.

Where to begin? I studied the Ansel Adams print on the wall behind him, black-and-white trees. Ebony vases sat on a bookshelf, next to carved ivory elephants. These were Coop’s signature colors. His brain was the same way. He wanted facts, no gray areas.

A knob moved in his throat. “Why are you wearing a scuba outfit?”

I didn’t want Emerson to overhear us, so I pulled him onto the porch and gave a quick summary. Barb’s phone call, the masked guy, the strangling, the chase, my lost phone, and my discovery of Emerson.

“She says Barb’s suitcase is missing,” I added. “So is her car. But how could she drive? When I ran off, she was on the floor and she wasn’t moving. Maybe Bill Clinton went back to her house and got rid of her body.”

“Did you see him go back?” Coop asked.

I shook my head.

“Did he have time to chase you, dispose of her body, and clean her house?”

I shrugged. “I lost track of time. But I know what I saw. He choked the life out of her.”

“For how long? A minute?”

“I didn’t time that, either. But it happened fast. Maybe ten or fifteen seconds? Barb’s face was red as a strawberry. And her eyes…” I broke off and shuddered. “My phone startled him. He let go. She fell. And she didn’t move.”

“She probably wasn’t dead.”

“She looked like it.” I stared hard into Coop’s eyes, wishing I could see behind them, where everything had a right side and a wrong side. A place where textbooks had been memorized, all those words pushing back his scary emotions.

“It takes longer than ten seconds to strangle someone, Teeny. See, during those fifteen seconds, Barb’s carotid arteries were compressed. Her brain wasn’t getting oxygen. So she passed out.”

“When people get strangled on TV, they die immediately,” I said.

“It takes longer in real life. Three or four minutes of nonstop strangulation. A little faster with a ligature. And, it depends on how strong the guy was and how much pressure he put on her carotids. After the guy ran away, Barb probably regained consciousness.”

I didn’t want a lecture on strangulation. I rubbed my forehead again. The dull ache had finally vanished, but I still felt dizzy. “I just know that man went back and killed her.”

“You don’t know what he did.”

“I can’t believe that Barb got up, cleaned the broken lamp, and left her house. Left her child. Why would she do that?”

His hand circled my wrist. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something, then he clamped them shut.

I shook him off. “I wouldn’t have gone to her house if you’d told me the truth. But you said you had to work late. I believed you.”

“I did have to work. I stayed at the office until eight thirty.”

“But I called. The answering service said nobody was there.”

“There’s no operator in our building. We use a service in Mount Pleasant. I was with my boss and two other lawyers. On my way home, I stopped by Barb’s house.”

“Yeah, she showed me your photograph.”

“What?” He looked puzzled.

“She took a picture of you with her cell phone.” I crossed my arms. “So what happened after that? Did you set up a DNA test? Talk about the future?”

“She didn’t want to discuss the test. She tried to seduce me.”

My pulse thrummed in my ears. “Is that why you didn’t answer your phone?”

“God, no. I turned it off earlier. She kept calling. I couldn’t get any work done.” He dragged the pink bottle from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and took a swig. “As for the seduction, I rejected her. I told her I loved you. She said she’d gotten rid of you once and she’d do it again. She threatened to abandon the little girl. To force me to raise her.”

“Barb told a different story. She said you still loved her.”

“She was trying to shake you up. She lied.”

“So did you. Why didn’t you tell me about Emerson? She’s the same little girl who showed up on your porch earlier this summer. You never said she was Barb’s child. You said your old roommate was pulling a prank.”

“He’s done things like that before. I tried to contact him, but he wouldn’t return my calls. That’s how Burke is. He sets up a practical joke and makes me squirm.”

“But didn’t you wonder about that child?”

“No, because she didn’t come back. I really believed it was a joke. I pushed the incident out of my mind. Then this afternoon, Barb phoned. She said I was the little girl’s dad. I was in shock. But I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to know why she’d waited a decade to tell me about Emerson. I’d planned to tell you everything.”

I narrowed my eyes. “When?”

“Tonight. I’ve been calling your house since ten o’clock.”

I wanted to believe him, I really did. But I couldn’t. “Let me get this straight. A ten-year-old girl showed up at your house. A girl with gray eyes, just like yours. And you never once connected her to Barb? Because eleven years ago, you and her were sleeping together.”

“It crossed my mind. But only for a second. Barb and I broke up after I started college. We had a blow up right around Halloween. If she’d been carrying my child, she would have forced me to marry her. She wouldn’t have kept quiet for ten years.”

Arithmetic wasn’t my specialty—I even had trouble reducing recipes. But I counted on my fingers, trying to do the math of Barb and Coop. “You and her broke up in late October. She gave birth to Emerson over a year later, the end of December. No one has a fourteen-month pregnancy. You had to know the child wasn’t yours. Yet you
still
went to her house?”

Coop’s brow puckered. “December? No, that’s not right. Barb said Emerson was born in September.”

“Well, somebody’s mistaken. Because Emerson claims her birthday is December twenty-third.”

“This doesn’t make sense. Barb was specific about the date, September fourth.”

“Even so, if Barb had been pregnant when you broke up with her, the baby would have been born in July or early August of the year.”

“Barb claimed that she went six weeks overdue. I should have known she was lying.”

From the kitchen, I could hear Emerson lecture T-Bone about the evils of preservatives. Coop set the Pepto bottle on a table. He took my hand and rubbed his thumb over my knuckles.

“I should have told you about Barb. But I was in panic-mode. I am so sorry. I wouldn’t ever hurt you. You’re the only thing that’s right in my life. When I look into the future, I see us together. All wrinkled and gray-haired. Just you and me.”

“But I need you to share your worries with me. Don’t hide them behind a lie. Even if you’re trying to protect me.” Tears pricked my eyes. I didn’t know much. I was too short and my grammar was all wrong. But deep down I knew that it would take more than a lie to make me stop loving him. I could identify his pine-and-cotton scent if I fell into a vat of ammonia. He had this way of tipping back his head when he laughed. And I got shaky when he gave me a lopsided smile. I am a shy person, but I felt brave whenever he took my hand and led me into a crowded restaurant.

Be a hard-ass, Teeny. The man has a separate set of rules for himself. And when he’s threatened, he shuts down emotionally
.

He kept stroking my hand. It felt just right. But my reaction was all wrong. A woman was missing, maybe even dead. A child had been abandoned. This touched my personal raw spot, one that had never healed.

“Coop, we should call the police.”

“And tell them what?”

“That a man strangled Barb Philpot.”

“But you said he used a key to get into her house.”

“Maybe he stole it.”

“The police will be more interested in you.” He glanced at my wet suit. “They’ll want to know why you were peeking through Barb’s window.”

“It was a door.”

“As your lawyer, I’m advising you to skip the police. At least for tonight.”

“Can lawyers give advice to their girlfriends?” I swallowed. Was I still a girlfriend?

“I’m not worried about an ethics violation. Barb told me she was going to leave the little girl. I believe she went through with that threat. I don’t know how the masked man figures into it. Maybe we’ll find out when Barb turns up.”

I looked into his eyes. Why was he so calm? Normally he was a worrywart. Always scanning for danger. He kept a stash of extra batteries in the pantry, paid his taxes before they were due, and stopped at yellow lights. Hurricane instructions were taped to his kitchen wall. I didn’t know what had made him this way, but I knew he longed to be different.

He stared back at me, his irises changing to pure gray. His gaze said,
Stick with me, Teeny. I’m trying to change
. Just last week, we’d driven to the Battery and traffic was backed up. He’d swerved down a one-way street, knowing full well that his truck was going in the wrong direction. He’d gritted his teeth, ignoring the honking horns. When he’d finally turned off King Street, he’d flashed a one-sided grin. “See?” he’d said. “I can break the rules.”

But I just wanted the truth, not a whole different man.

“Let’s get Emerson settled in the guest room.” He stepped closer, and his sweatpants brushed against the front of my rubber suit. “Then you and I will sort everything.”

Sort everything? Coop had lived in England for several years, and he’d picked up weird phrases from his ex-wife, a gorgeous British archeologist. I’d found out about Ava O’Malley the same way I’d found out about Emerson—by chance.

“Sort it yourself,” I said, pulling away from his grasp. “I’m going home.”

three

Fifteen minutes later, I was back on Rainbow Row, barricaded on the third floor of the Spencer-Jackson House. Sir was nestled beside me, the burglar alarm was set, and a walnut dresser blocked the bedroom door.

But I still didn’t feel safe. I’d never been comfortable in this mansion. It’s real pretty, a pink stucco with gray shutters, one of the most-photographed places in Charleston. Inside, the rooms were filled with priceless objects that dared me to break them. I was clumsy, better suited to a house with muddy floors and battered furniture. But I knew one thing: beauty isn’t the secret ingredient of a warm, welcoming home. I didn’t know what that ingredient was, but I was determined to find it.

Sometimes, though, when I baked supper for Coop, a sweet, butter-crust aroma wafted through the air, shimmering like notes in a gospel song, and a peaceable feeling wove through me. During those moments, I felt right at home in the Spencer-Jackson. Smells are real important to me.

Tonight, those fragrances were gone. The bedroom had a closed, musty odor. Lightning shivered behind the windows, showing a glimpse of shape-shifting rain, then the sky turned dark again.

I shut my eyes and imagined myself in The Picky Palate. If I bought it, I’d add a new recipe to the menu: I’m-Scared-to-Try-New-Things Tilapia would go nicely with Orange-You-Glad-You-Took-a-Risk Marinade. This sauce calls for 1 cup orange-flavored liqueur, ½ cup blood orange juice, and ½ cup peach juice. Whisk until smooth, then add: ¼ cup blood orange zest, ¼ cup finely chopped, skinned peaches, 4 garlic cloves (peeled and minced), 4 tablespoons stone-ground mustard, ½ cup safflower oil, 1 teaspoon sea salt, and 2 tablespoons chopped fresh pepper. Add ¼ cup chopped herbs, such as Italian parsley and lemon thyme. Serve over pan-fried tilapia.

Coop loved tilapia. But he was on Isle of Palms and I was on Rainbow Row.

Get a grip, Teeny
. I opened my night-table drawer and pulled out my emergency stash of Reese’s Cups. As my teeth sank through layers of peanut butter, I reminded myself that food had brought me and Coop together. When I was an itty girl, Aunt Bluette had taken me to an Easter egg hunt at the Bonaventure First Baptist Church. Even then, I could locate candy the way a bloodhound tracks convicts. I went straight for the chocolate ducks and Jelly Belly carrots.

As I toted my overflowing basket across the lawn, a big kid in a rabbit costume knocked me down. My candy spilled, and the rodent scampered off. Coop helped me to my feet. He was a year older than me, a serious boy who’d won punctuality awards. Me, I was a tardy, child slob, but I knew handsome when I saw it. And just like that, Coop had imprinted on my brain as if I were a baby goose. For the rest of the day, I’d toddled after him, trying to say his name, but I couldn’t shape the words.

I didn’t talk until I was three years old, mainly because I was afraid to open my mouth. If I did, someone shoved an asthma inhaler between my lips. When I finally worked up the nerve to speak, my first word was
turnip
, and I shouted it in front of everyone at First Baptist. I was sitting in the back pew with Mama, right behind the O’Malleys. Coop sat between them, dressed like a child evangelist—shiny black suit, starched white shirt, and a red bow tie.

Halfway through the sermon, he flicked a paper wad in my hair. I ate it. He laughed, a watery sound that whirled through the holy air, colliding with the preacher’s dry voice.