by Emmy Grace
I snap my head toward her and point to my dove gray teeth. “You mean something like this?”
“Well, yeah, but it could’ve been worse. What if it had been toxic?”
“It probably is.” I hadn’t thought of that, and the idea only skyrockets my anxiety.
“It’s a good thing you’re Lucky Boucher then, right?” She tries to smile as she wraps an arm around my shoulders. “We already know how this will turn out. You’re the luckiest girl on the planet. Your teeth will come through this just fine. You’ll see.”
I take a deep breath and hand her back the spoon. “I suppose I’d better tend to them first. The ice cream will have to wait.”
She pushes it back at me. “How about half and half? We can have one bowl now and eat the rest after? Sort of like pre-game. And then post-game celebration.”
It takes very little to talk me into ice cream. “One bowl and then I’m bleaching.”
“Deal.”
After we polish off our first bowl of frigid decadence, Regina gets a phone call and has to run back to her place for a second. She keeps her home office there.
“Go bleach. I’ll be back in time for round two,” she promises, giving me an air kiss before she rushes out the door.
I’m just peeling off the first whitening strip from its packaging to apply to my teeth when the phone rings. With a growl, I go see who it is. And when I do, I know I have to answer it. No matter what color my teeth are.
“Hi, Beebee!” I greet cheerfully. I smile, but leave my lips covering my teeth, and I bend my expression into one of casual lightheartedness.
I hope.
“You made it home safe, I see,” she says, her round face melting into her trademark smile. Beebee looks like the sweetest old lady you’d ever want to meet, but if you make her mad, you’d wish you never met her.
Grandma Boucher can put the fear in ferocious, if you know what I mean.
“I did. I’m fine. How are you?”
“What’s wrong with your mouth, chère? You’re talking awful funny.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not. Really.”
Beebee leans in close to the camera on the computer, making her eyes huge on my phone’s screen. “I didn’t raise no liar. Now you tell Beebee what’s going on or I’ll drive my carcass up to South Carolina and see for myself.”
I wait a tic and then smile my mirthless smile. “I had an accident with one of my products. Happy?”
She recoils, almost in horror. “Oh my!”
Yeah, that makes me feel loads better.
“I’m going to bleach my teeth and see if the stain will come out.”
“I’m sure that will help.” Neither her voice nor her expression is remotely convincing.
“I’m going to set the phone down while I put these strips on, okay?”
“That’s fine, chère. Do what you need to do.”
I’m pressing the first strip to my teeth when I hear Beebee chuckling. “What? Why are you laughing?”
“I see you’re wearing your favorite pants. The ones with the hole in the hiney and elastic around the waist. I know what that means.”
These pants are my favorite for many reasons, not the least of which is their ability to expand in order to accommodate gallons of ice cream. My waist circumference grows when I’m having a day like this. I’m convinced that every woman needs just such a pair of pants so that she can self-medicate in comfort, without the judgment of her clothing.
“It’s not just the teeth. I’ve stumbled on a case that’s frustrating me.”
“That’s kinda what I thought after last night. Tell Beebee all about it.” Her voice drops into that soothing tone that could finagle anything out of me when I was a little girl.
Not much has changed.
I press the second strip to my bottom teeth and take up the phone to sit down and do exactly as she asks. Sometimes just telling Beebee my troubles makes them feel less overwhelming. I wish I hadn’t gotten into the mess I did in Gator Cove. If I hadn’t, I’d never have moved to South Carolina.
Not that I don’t love it here; I’m just feeling a little homesick at the moment.
“So, what are you going to do now?”
“Go check out the plane, I guess.”
“To look for evidence of a dirty devil and try to find out your look-alike.”
“Right. And then I need to circle back around to the contractor.”
“Eye Patch.”
“Yes. Eye Patch.”
Like Regina and me, Beebee likes nicknames that help her keep people straight when I’m talking about them.
“Hi, Lucky!” Momma Leona’s face pops up really big for a few seconds and then disappears.
Beebee explains, “She’s on her way to work.”
“Hi, Momma. Have a good shift.” Momma Leona works part-time at the Goodwill store. She loves the work, and she’s forever bringing home some new find she got on the cheap before it had to go out onto the shelves.
Beebee starts up right where we left off after Momma Leona leaves. “Maybe you ought to take a look at his friend again, too. Gulfstream Guy. Seems too much coincidence for my liking that this fella fell from a plane, and that very plane seems to pop up in all sorts of ways.”
She’s right. Vickerman’s college buddy is one of the owners of the fleet of Gulfstreams, Vickerman was seen with DeLuca going up in the plane, Vickerman was seen with Lucky Look-alike rendezvousing at the plane. That plane seems to be central to this whole dang mess. But what are the other working pieces? The plane didn’t take him up and drop him off, unless autopilot has advanced a lot more than I’m aware. So then what’s going on that would bring people to the point of murder?
If I can find the answer to that question, the knot will unravel.
But that’s a pretty big if.
15
“A date with Tasty Cakes? No wonder you were so determined to get your teeth cleaned up.” Regina’s eyes flash with mischief.
“No, I was determined to get my teeth cleaned up because they were gray,” I say with emphasis.
“Sure, sure,” she says, not believing a word of it.
“I’m not interested in Liam Dunning, and he’s not interested in me. This is purely professional.”
“This isn’t your job.”
“Fine, then it’s purely hobby-ssional.”
“That’s not even a word.” She pauses, scrunching up her face. “Is it?”
“No, but it should be.”
“I thought maybe you’d learned it on that stupid calendar of yours.”
“No, and that ought to tell you how distracted I’ve been. I haven’t learned a new word in two days. Two days, Regina.”
“Oh, the humanity! Let me call the Red Cross Crisis Response Team.”
I pause from putting on lipstick (which I hope will diminish the last little bit of discoloration from my teeth) to send her the gift of a stink eye via the mirror. “Do you want me to stick your head in the toilet and give you a swirly? Because I’m not above doing that. I’ve had about enough of your sass for one day.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, and we both grin. I don’t have a single blood relative in my life, but Regina is closer than any sister I could have.
“You two have fun. Call me tomorrow. I want all the juicy details.”
She wiggles her fingers and exits before I can correct her. Coward.
The next time I hear someone at the door, it’s a loud thump. Once. Twice. Like the side of a fist meeting wood. And then silence.
Good grief, the man knocks like he looks—sharp and hard and maybe a little bit mean. I could say dull, thick, and a little bit mean, but I don’t think he’s dull or thick. At least not all the time.
I yank open the door. “Shhh, you’re gonna wake my animals.”
“So?”
“So, they get all upset and I’ll be here forever trying to get them calmed down and separated.”
“Get rid of some of them.”
I inhale, bringing a hand to my throat. “What absolute malarkey. I would never. I rescued all these animals from fates worse than death. The only way someone could get them away from me is to pry my house key from my cold, dead fingers. Got it?”
I push him outside, follow behind him, and lock the door.
“You didn’t rescue the pig. He wasn’t being mistreated.”
I don’t even look at him; I just start off toward the truck that’s still running. It sounds like a Harley Davidson rumbling in my driveway. “I’m not discussing the pig with you again.”
“Did you name him?”
“I did.”
“Dare I ask?”
“Gumbo. I named him Gumbo. Don’t you say a word.”
He shakes his head as he opens the door to his truck for me. I stare up at the seat, which feels like it’s a million miles away. “I’m too tired to wrestle with this truck. Can’t we just take my car?”
“Wrestle with—” Liam makes a face just before he winds his big hands around my waist, picks me up, and plops me in the seat.
Liam Dunning is a jerk of the highest order, but even I have to admit that it’s kinda hot to be picked up like you weigh nothing and deposited in a seat. I’m not fat, but I’m no small fry either. Beebee has always said I got all the curves the good Lord gave a woman and then half of someone else’s. That doesn’t seem to bother Liam’s muscles, though.
He slams the door and walks around to the other side. Once he’s behind the wheel, he glances over at me. “You were saying?”
Honestly, I have no idea.
We park far enough back from the airfield that the truck can’t be seen and we walk the rest of the way. It did occur to me that there’s a fence surrounding a big portion of the airfield, and I thought it was too tall to climb. I’m just about to voice my concern when Liam walks right up to said fence, grabs the bottom edge, and raises it for me to crawl under.
Small town security. Gotta love it.
I didn’t realize the fence had so much slack, but Liam must’ve noticed it. That or he’s broken in here before. Either way, we get in without a problem.
We walk along the grass to the office. I take out my lock picking set and get to work on the tumblers.
“You look for the flight log, and I’ll look for keys to the hangars.” Liam’s suggestion makes sense since he’s seen more of the office and the attached hangar than I have.
“That’s fine.”
The door opens with a muted click and I go through first, Liam close behind me. We flick on our flashlights. I circle around to the back of the long counter, while Liam heads through the door at the back of the office.
I’m rifling through binders, trying to find the one that contains flight logs when I hear a key jiggle in the lock. I drop straight down behind the counter and turn off my flashlight. I clamp a hand over my mouth and sit perfectly still, trying not to panic.
When I hear the door tug open, I take off in the direction Liam went, ducking through the first door I come to. As quietly as possible, I push the door shut behind me. I crouch down and wait.
I hear Kyle’s voice. “That cheating bastard and ole one-eye got what they deserved. The business is almost all ours.”
I breathe as slowly through my nose as I can so Kyle won’t hear my frantic huffing. That’s when I smell it. I don’t have to wonder what room I’m trapped inside. It’s a bathroom, and from what I can tell, they’re having some major sewer problems.
Saliva gushes into my mouth and I silently pray for Kyle to do what he has to do and leave so I can get the heck out of this place. The air seems to get thicker and thicker, hotter and hotter. Within a minute and a half, I can taste poop.
Please God, let him leave. Like now!
Part of me dies a little when I hear the squeak of a chair followed by his mumbled words. “Just get here whenever you can. I’ll be here all night.”
All night?
My eyes start watering. They’re burning from the smell. It has to be the worst stench in human existence.
If everyone in Salty Springs had food poisoning and they all came here to use the bathroom at the same time, didn’t flush for a week, and jacked up the heat to one hundred degrees, it couldn’t possibly smell any worse than it does right now. I don’t know how the metal hangars aren’t melting from the stink right now.
Despite the revolting funk, I remember the first time I met Kyle, and how I noticed the really strong scent of lemon. I assumed it was some kind of cleaning solution or terrible cologne, but now my money is on it being a cover scent. Cover scent for the toilet from hell. I’m so glad it’s dark, because I don’t even want to see what the inside of that sucker looks like.
At some point, my legs start to go numb from crouching in the corner as I wish for death. I don’t know how long I’ve been in here. Half an hour? An hour?
No.
Years. It’s bound to have been years since I entered this bathroom. Easily the worst mistake of my life, and I’ve made some doozies. I have to move, but I’m a little afraid to touch any surface. In the dark, I’m picturing feces-covered walls, ceiling, and floor. It’s bound to be everywhere.
Everywhere!
But if I’m to ever leave this place, I’ll need the use of my legs, so I have to move. As carefully as I might be if I were reaching out to touch a burning hot stove, I feel for the toilet. I can only hope that there’s a lid that I can close and sit on. If it hasn’t rotted off due to toxic fumes.
Thankfully, it’s not only intact, but lowered. I slide up onto it, first one butt cheek, then a small portion of the other. I perch there, just enough to get the pressure off my legs, and I wait. Surely Kyle was kidding about being here all night.
Surely.
It’s a good thing I didn’t put any money on that. I’d have lost.
Nine hours.
Nine hours have past when I check my phone for the ten trillionth time. That’s when finally, finally, I hear the sounds of Kyle’s stupid phone game go quiet. Seconds later, the squeak of his chair. The musical beeps of dialing are followed by ringing. He’s making a call on speakerphone.
A woman’s voice answers, but then he takes it off speaker.
“We may have a problem. Meet me at the hangar in half an hour.” A pause. “No, baby, that booty is worth it.” Another pause. “No, he never showed. We’ll have to find another way to get to him. Good thing he keeps more than one plane here.”
Is he referring to Philbin? Is that who he spoke with last night?
I’m distracted by the loud bang of a chair being pushed or kicked in a fit of anger. Then, thank the good Lord, I hear the opening and closing of the heavy front door.
And then…silence.
I wait until I’m fairly certain he’s gone, then I stand. Slowly, like a fawn testing her legs. When my legs seem to be functional, I straighten. And then I run.
I run for the bathroom door and I fling it open so hard it sounds like it cracks something on the wall inside. But I don’t even care. I need air.
I burst through the opening, Shawhank style. I’m half-running, half-stumbling, tempted to tear my shirt off, too. I mean, why not? I’ll have to burn all my clothes when I get home anyway.
After a few feet, I stop, gasping for air. I’m standing in the hallway, feet planted, legs braced, and arms spread when I hear a throat clear from behind me.
Slowly, I swivel my head until I find Liam Dunning, staring at me like a storm cloud glaring at the ground.
“If you’re going to keep pulling stunts like this, I’m going to need your phone number.”
“Me?” I’m incredulous. “Me? I just spent the night in a redneck gas chamber, being slowly suffocated by toxic turd fumes. And you have the nerve… the nerve…”
“I’m not the one who picked the lock.”
I make a noise. I’m not sure what to call it, but I’ll just say it’s a murderous noise. Because that’s how I
feel. There is a part of me—roughly ninety-nine one-hundredths—that wants to wrap my hands around Liam’s throat and squeeze until his smug face turns purple.
“You’re unbelievable. Un-be-liev-able!”
“But I’m right. You can’t deny it.”
I stare at Liam for a few seconds. “Don’t talk to me,” I say before I turn. Just before I stalk through the door, I glance at the counter where Kyle Trivett spent the night, thus holding me hostage. There’s a one hundred dollar bill lying there. If I weren’t an honest woman, I’d take it as payment for punitive damages. To my lungs. And my nostrils.
I explode through the door and out into the sunshine. I blink up at it like it’s the first time I’ve seen daylight in a decade.
It feels that way.
Okay, maybe that’s dramatic, but I’ll feel better when I can shower. With salt acid.
“Not concerned about being seen?” Liam asks from behind me.
To be honest, I didn’t even think about Kyle.
“Let him see. I’ll strangle you both and then go for a pancake breakfast. What do you think about that?”
I feel a little hysterical right now.
I keep stomping my way to his truck.
Liam doesn’t say anything else until we’re at his vehicle. I hear the click of the lock and then a long arm reaches past me to open the door. Only he doesn’t open the door right away.
“Hey,” he says from my right ear.
I ignore him.
“Hey,” he repeats. When I still don’t respond, he mutters, “I can do this all day if that’s how you want to play it.”
I take a deep, loud, furious breath and turn to look at Liam. In the early morning light, his eyes are the color of a puff of iridescent smoke. Pale and luminous and…amused.
“What?”
“I was joking.”
I stare blankly at him for many seconds before I reply. “Joking? You really need to work on that. I could’ve sworn you were just a jerk, through and through.”
He seesaws his head. “Fair enough. I can see that. I haven’t given you much reason to think anything else of me.”
“Lucky for both of us we don’t have to like each other to get to the bottom of whatever’s going on here.”
