A Teeny Bit of Trouble (35 page)

“I wish you could.” I wanted to say more, but I held back.

“Will you talk to Mr. Philpot? Ask him if I can be your child.”

I pulled her against me, feeling her fragile bones. I held her the way Aunt Bluette used to hold me.

“You bet I’ll talk to him,” I whispered.

“Promise?”

“I pinky-swear you.” I held out my hand.

A sob tore out of her throat. She clasped her little finger around mine, then she pushed her face into my stomach again. I draped my arms around her, the stuffed hedgehog trapped between us.

“Are you gonna make me go back to the Philpots’?”

“No, but I need to call Helen. I’ll ask her if you can spend the night.”

“She won’t let me.” Emerson rubbed her nose, smearing dirt across her cheek. “Don’t make me go back. Helen’s like a viper. Resistant to her own poison.”

“You’ve got half of Georgia on your feet,” I said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She held still while I ran a wet cloth over her face and neck. Then, ignoring her pleading glances, I called Helen. It hurt my heart to dial that number, but for once I was going to do things by the book. I didn’t want to give the Philpots a reason to keep Emerson away from me.

Helen answered with a high-pitched hello.

“It’s Teeny Templeton,” I said. “Emerson’s at my house.”

“
Your
house?” Helen cried. “I didn’t know she was gone.”

“She’s welcome to spend the night at the farm.”

“No,” she said sharply. “I’ll send someone to fetch her.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can bring her,” I said, but Helen had already hung up. I set the receiver in the cradle.

Emerson pulled out a chair and sat down. “Helen didn’t know I was missing, did she?”

“She sounded upset.”

Emerson drummed her fingers on the table. “You can’t imagine. She went wild when the police found a cooler full of eyeballs in Norris’s car. Everybody was screaming. So I ran to you.”

All the air left the room. I couldn’t process her words. I pictured the eyeballs trapped in small plastic pouches like the boiled eggs in the Publix deli. “Was he arrested?”

Emerson shook her head. “The police tried, but he runned away. Helen was crying. She says Norris was framed.”

I remembered the three unsolved anagram in Barb’s note. I found a pad and pencil in the drawer, and I wrote down
A Thousand Livers, Anal Fink Berm Jinn,
and
Cede Nephritis Ion Up.
I set the pad in front of Emerson. “Can you solve these anagrams?”

Emerson traced her finger under
A Thousand Livers
and pursed her lips. “A Dative Hurls Son? No, that’s not it.” She gave me a sly look. “Vlado the Russian?”

“Do you know who he is?”

“Mama’s friend.”

My chest tightened. “Did she have any other friends?”

“Dr. Finnegan.” She yawned. “I’m hungry. If I don’t eat, I’ll shrivel up like a doodlebug.”

“What about the other anagrams?” I asked.

“
Anal Fink Berm Jinn
is Benjamin Franklin.” She pushed the notepad away. “That’s all for now. I’ve got to eat.”

While I made grilled cheese sandwiches, I glanced at the pad. Vlado the Russian hadn’t been Barb’s friend; he’d been an employee. As for Benjamin Franklin, Barb was probably referring to a Cayman Island bank. But what was hidden in a lock box? What about
Cede Nephritis Ion Up
? Could it be the name of a surgeon, or several surgeons?

I glanced at the notepad and picked out
Son.
Or maybe it was Noris with one R?

Emerson wolfed down the sandwiches. She wouldn’t solve the other anagrams until I’d combed her hair. I gently ran a brush through it, but it was so knotted, I was afraid I’d hurt her. She gripped the hedgehog between her knees, wincing each time I hit a tangle.

“I’m sorry, honey.” I bit my lip. “I’m trying to be careful.”

She tipped back her head, her eyes filling poignantly with tears, and dropped her hedgehog. It bounced on the floor.

“That’s okay, Teeny. You can pull all the hairs you want. Just keep me. Don’t let me go.”

I smoothed the brush over her snarls. The rhythmic movements jostled something that I’d forgotten. When I’d snooped in Lester’s bedroom, the rug had been missing. Kendall had said she’d vacuumed a rug. What had happened to it?

“You sure do have a lot of rugs in your house,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“What happened to the rug in Lester’s room?”

“Green food coloring accidentally got spilled on it. And some red coloring too. So Helen paid a man to haul it off.”

I didn’t ask how the dye had gotten there. But I said, “The rug couldn’t be cleaned?”

“Helen’s decorator told her to get rid of it. They were all set to buy a new one. Then this trouble with Norris happened.”

I kept working on Emerson’s knots. Sir eased under the table and bit into the hedgehog. I started to grab him when the phone rang.

“Yodelaheho,” Red said. “I got news.”

“I know about the eyeballs.”

“How’d you hear that, girlie?”

“The peach trees have eyes.”

“Then I guess you heard about the man in the wheelchair? Somebody poured acid on Josh Eikenberry. And Norris was spotted at the Savannah airport. They’ll get him, homegirl.”

I let out a huge breath. But I couldn’t resist a dig. “So the only person who’s missing is O’Malley.”

“He’ll call you tonight. Hey, I gotta go. Irene and Dr. O just got home, and we’re going out to dinner.

“Moo,” I said.

“Baaa,” he answered.

I hung up. Sir raced past me, gripping the hedgehog in his teeth, and bolted into the dining room. Emerson popped out of her chair and ran after him.

“Give it back!” she shrieked.

I hurried into the dining room. Sir crouched under the dining room table, biting the hedgehog. Emerson plunged under the table, grabbed the hedgehog, and yanked. Sir growled, tugging in the opposite direction.

“Drop it,” Emerson yelled.

Sir’s jaws clamped down harder; he shook his head from side to side. The hedgehog burst apart. Bundles of money tumbled to the rug, each green pile stamped with Benjamin Franklin’s portrait.

thirty-one

Sir bit into the remains of the hedgehog. He shook the critter like he was breaking its neck. Another band of money flew out.

I crawled under the table and clapped my hands. “Sir, leave it!”

He gave the hedgehog head one last, defiant shake, and a white card tumbled to the floor.

Emerson snatched it.

“What’s on the card, Emerson?”

“Nothing.”

I waited for her to explain, but she clamped her lips together and stared at the rug.

I lifted a green stack. It weighed as much as a slice of red velvet cake. But I wasn’t holding cake. I wasn’t holding money. I was holding greed. How could it weigh so little?

“Emerson, look at me. These are hundred-dollar notes. Lord knows how many. How did they get in the hedgehog?”

“Mrs. Philpot put the bundles in there when she thought I was sleeping.”

Sir crept out from the table and sat in a patch of sunlight with his back to me, his fur bunching along his neck. He glanced over his shoulder and gave me the guilty eye.

I inched closer to Emerson and held out my hand. “Give me that white card.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”

“Fine. I’ll call Lester.” I started to crawl away, but Emerson snatched my arm.

“Take it.” She threw the card down. “Just take everything.”

The raised black print spelled out
CAYMAN INTERNATIONAL BANK AND TRUST.
I flipped the card. Numbers were scrawled on the back.

“That’s my real daddy’s phone number,” she said.

“It’s an account number,” I said.

She tilted her head. “Does it lead to more money? Because I need it. I heard Mr. Philpot talking on the phone. He’s taking me out of Chatham. He’s sending me to a Christian academy in Alabama. I’ll have to wear a uniform. I’ll have to pray fifty times a hour or they’ll stone me.”

“They won’t stone you, Emerson.”

She grabbed my hands. “Keep me for your child and I’ll split the money with you.”

“Let’s put everything back inside the hedgehog.”

“Are you going to tell Coop about the money?”

“Yes. But not today.”

Fifteen minutes later, a woman in a white tennis tutu picked up Emerson. After they left, I stitched up the hedgehog, then I put it in Mama’s closet, next to Barb’s diary. I cradled my head in my hands. What if Lester wouldn’t let me be a part of Emerson’s life? What if Coop ran off with Chlamydia Smith? Could I raise a little girl by myself? Wouldn’t she need a strong male influence? I’d never had one, and just look how I’d turned out.

I didn’t like unanswered questions. I liked sure things. So I went into the orchard and gathered ten ripe peaches. I came inside and made Aunt Bluette’s Summer Chutney. Skin and chop peaches, taking care to remove the deadly, arsenic-like pits. Add lemon juice, peach brandy, brown sugar, honey, minced ginger and garlic, raisins and currants, peppers and spices. Mix with peach vinegar, peach juice, and canola oil. Pour ingredients over peaches and cook until the liquid is thick, about forty minutes. Cool and ladle into sterilized jars. Refrigerate. Discard after seven days, unless you plan to poison someone.

The phone rang. It was Zee. “Did you hear about Norris?” she cried. “Every policeman in Georgia is at the Savannah Airport. They’ve got him cornered. They’re gonna put his ass in prison, and he’ll never get out. Me and Asia are at Dublin’s Sport’s Bar. They’ve got live coverage. Why don’t you join us?”

“Think I’ll stay home. But thanks for watching my back.”

“Anytime, sister. Anytime.”

Dot called later that afternoon. “Are you watching the news? A SWAT team swooped down on the Savannah Airport. It’s so exciting.”

“I hope Norris doesn’t get away.”

“The sharpshooters will put a bullet between his eyes. Why don’t you come over? We’ll drink margaritas and watch the SWAT team whack Norris. I’m dying to show you my awesome kitchen. And don’t say no. I left my earrings on your coffee table. They were Mama’s. I’d hate to lose them.”

She was talking so fast, I felt dizzy. But a margarita did sound nice. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a real girl’s night out. I ran upstairs, put on the taffeta skirt, rushed to the parlor. Sir was stretched out in front of the TV. The tail end of
The Wiz
was on, and Glinda the Good Witch was saying, “Home is a place we all must find, child.”

I closed the pocket doors and left.

*   *   *

Dot lived in a miniature skyscraper, nothing but glass and steel. She opened the front door, letting out a blast of cold air. She wore enough Shalimar to cause instant respiratory arrest, but she seemed immune to the vapors. I, however, was not. I took a puff from my inhaler.

“You ought to see a pulmonologist,” Dot said. She wore a black, form-fitting bodysuit that was extra tight over her crotch, showing two bulging camel toes. She’d pinned a praying hands brooch to her sling. In her free hand she held a broom, putting me in mind of the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Love your skirt,” she said. “It’s so poofy and stylish. Where’d you get it?”

“Mama’s closet.” I pulled Dot’s hoop earrings out of my pocket and held them out.

“Thanks, honey bear.” She put on the earrings with one hand, then she led me into her foyer. It was straight out of
Battlestar Galactica,
unfurnished except for a metal staircase.

“I’m not through decorating,” she said. “I’m saving my money to buy a set of Lucite chairs for the dining room. I just love chairs. I can’t quit buying them.”

She set the broom beside the door, then she took my hand and pulled me into a hall. At the end was a large, ultramodern kitchen. Concrete counters. Stainless steel cabinets. A six-burner Wolf stove with red knobs—the Holy Grail of appliances. I went straight to it.

Dot laughed. “Don’t pee on yourself until you’ve seen my Thermadore convection ovens.”

“You could host a cooking decathlon.” I walked past the small TV that sat on the counter. The screen showed an aerial view of the Savannah Airport parking lot. I turned away from it and faced the sink. It was stainless, deep enough to soak a thirty-pound turkey.

“Stop coveting my kitchen and let’s get drunk.” She tipped a pitcher over a salt-rimmed glass. The margarita mixture plopped out, resembling slushy lime sherbet. “I made an extra-strong batch,” she said. “Heavy on the triple sec, a touch of PGA. I put food coloring in it too. That’s why it’s so green.”

In the background, I heard bird calls and chirping. “Your budgies sound happy,” I said.

“They do, don’t they? I still can’t believe that Norris set them loose. I’m just grateful he didn’t bite off their little heads.” She thrust her hand into a Doritos bag and pulled out a handful of chips. “Drink up before the ice melts.”

I took a sip of the margarita. It felt cold against the back of my throat, the perfect blend of salty and sweet.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” She smiled. “If you get tipsy, you can crash in my guest room.”

“I can’t stay long. I need to get back to the farm.”

“You expecting Coop?”

If I said yes, I’d have to raise my lie tally, and I’d been so good. An honest “no” would lead to questions that I didn’t want to answer. “I love that old farm,” I finally said.

“Quit trying to change the subject.” She lifted her glass. “I never understood why Coop dropped you in high school. I guess Barb-the-Train offered dividends.”

It felt wrong to slander the dead, so I took another sip of the margarita.

“Wasn’t Coop married to a British woman?” Dot shifted her eyes to the left, as if she’d suddenly spotted Ava.

I looked, too, but I only saw a trash compactor. “They’re divorced.”

“Was she a blonde?”

“Brunette.” I set down my glass. “Why?

“’Cause I’m seeing a pattern. Coop screws blondes and marries brunettes. After all, his mama has dark hair.”

Dot’s words hit me like an openhanded slap. This wasn’t the first time that I’d wondered about Coop’s preferences. I lifted my glass and swallowed another icy mouthful. I had a strange feeling that something was moving on my leg. I yanked up my skirt, but I only saw a few red scratches on my knee.