“Oh, my god.” She clapped one hand to her cheek. “If I lost my cell, I’d be totally freaked. It’s got my Facebook password and everything.”
Great. I hadn’t thought about that. My Nokia was crammed with pictures of Sir and Coop and my cakes. If Barb’s strangler had found the phone, I’d be dead baker walking.
“I’m sorry about your troubles.” The redhead squinted at my wet suit again. “But you need to leave. If my mama sees you, she’ll think I’m hanging out with bad people. She’ll ground me.”
I gathered up my courage and crept back to the rental. The floodlights were off, and darkness pooled in the long, empty driveway. Only the Lord knew where I’d dropped my phone. But I had to find it. I forced myself to scuttle forward. The floodlights came on, streaking down the concrete. A high-pitched girlie voice cried, “Get off my property, you freak.”
A little girl stood on the front porch. She yanked two iPod wires out of her ears and glared. Her skinny legs protruded from a pink nightgown. Two dark blond braids fell past her shoulders. I gazed at the child’s huge gray eyes, and all the breath rushed out of my lungs.
“What’s your name?” I asked. But I knew. This was the child who’d knocked on Coop’s front door all those weeks ago. Suddenly everything clicked into place. This is Barb’s child.
“I’m Emerson Philpot,” she said in a loud, arrogant voice. She moved to the edge of the porch. The wind lifted her braids and she slapped them down.
I started to introduce myself, but she cut me off. “I know who you are. You’re my daddy’s booty-call. If you don’t get out of my damn driveway, I’ll scream. It’s against the law to scream after dark on Sullivan’s Island.”
My ears rang with one word: Daddy. I pushed my hair out of my face. How could Barb run away? She’d been choked. But it had happened so fast, I couldn’t be sure. I half-expected her to walk out that front door, her caftan billowing.
“Where’s your mama?” My voice sounded high and unnatural, as if I’d sipped helium.
“Gone. Her car isn’t in the garage, and her suitcase is missing. She runned off and left me. I’m not staying by myself. I’m going inside to pack. Then you’re taking me to Daddy. He’ll know what to do.”
She darted into the house, leaving the door ajar. My collision with the garden gnome had left me with a dull headache, but I made myself go inside. Barb’s body wasn’t on the floor. The broken lamp was missing, and the shattered bits had been swept up. Maybe I was hallucinating. Or dreaming. I pinched my hand.
Ouch, that hurt. Okay, so this was real.
A portable phone sat on a rattan table. I lifted the receiver and called Coop’s cell phone. I got turfed straight to voice mail. Next, I called his house. A busy signal. I started to punch in 911—it was the right thing to do—but my finger froze over the 9. Just two months ago, I’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the cops had accused me of killing a guy. Well, actually he’d been my ex-fiancé. I’d caught him playing naked badminton with two naked skanks, and I’d attacked them with peaches. When the ex turned up dead, the police had interrogated me. I’d told the truth, but it had sounded weird and unbelievable, and I’d ended up in trouble.
Don’t think about it. Don’t you dare.
It wasn’t my personality to dwell on the past, especially if it dredged up hurtful memories, but I reminded myself of three important facts. One, the truth hadn’t set my ass free. Two, Coop had made sure that my name was cleared (and I wanted to keep it that way). Three, the experience hadn’t been a total loss because I’d invented some unforgettable recipes: Keep-Your-Big-Mouth-Shut Scones and I-Learned-My-Lesson Lemon Curd.
The Sullivan’s Island cop would dismiss me as a loon if I told him that Bill Clinton had strangled a woman. But I’d be in a mess if I admitted that I’d quarreled with a woman and now that woman was missing.
So was my phone. If it was in Barb’s driveway, all I had to do was call myself and listen for the ringtone. I tapped in my number, then I set the receiver on the table and ran out the front door. I waited for the quirky notes of The Twilight Zone to rise up, but I only heard clanging wind chimes, thunder, and distant surf.
I pushed out a long sigh, and air whistled through the thin gap between my front teeth. Emerson ran onto the porch, clutching a backpack in one arm, a stuffed hedgehog in the other. She’d changed into a blue gingham dress. On her feet were red shoes, as if she’d been off to see the wizard but took a wrong turn.
“Did you hear any strange noises tonight?” I asked. “A vacuum cleaner? Screams?”
“You are so weird. I want to leave. Now.”
“I need to call Coop and tell him what’s happened.”
“Do that, and I’ll bite you.”
We walked to my convertible. She kicked sand while I put up the top. Minutes later, as we headed toward Isle of Palms, my headache shrank to a dull flicker. I cut my gaze to Emerson, studying her profile. She had a low forehead, a turned-up nose, and wide lips. The Philpots had distinctive features—high foreheads, bulging green eyes, and butterfly ears. Emerson didn’t look like them. Except for her gray eyes, she didn’t resemble Coop. Was he her daddy or not? And why hadn’t he told me about her?
She stuck out her tongue. “Stop looking at me, you skeezer.”
“My name is Teeny.”
“Duh. It’s a stupid name. And you live in a stupid house. Mrs. Philpot said you painted it with Pepto-Bismol.”
I pinched the steering wheel. “How do you know where I live?”
“We drove by your house a hundred-million times a day.” Emerson tapped her braids together. “I saw you walking a hideous mutt.”
I pushed my shoe against the gas pedal a little too hard, and the car shot forward. They’d been spying on me? “My dog isn’t hideous,” I said.
“His face is all smooshed in.”
“It’s supposed to look that way. He’s an English bulldog.”
“I know what he is. But what are you? A midget? You should trade the bulldog for a Yorkie. The next time you walk around the Battery, you won’t look silly. Mrs. Philpot said that a small woman needs a small dog. The scale is better.”
“Thanks for the advice,” I said.
“Want more? Get braces on your teeth. And cut your hair. It’s so huge it deserves its own zip code. Mrs. Philpot said that you’re a dead ringer for Cousin Itt, that furry character in The Addams Family.”
“I’ve been called that before.” I shrugged. I’m only 5' 1¾" tall and I’ve got big, bad blond hair. “But why do you call your mom Mrs. Philpot?”
Emerson lifted a braid and sliced it through the air, as if chopping my question into little pieces. I wasn’t ready to give up. “How old are you? Ten?”
“I’ll be eleven on December twenty-third. And you’re not invited to my party.”
“Happy Birthday in advance,” I said.
“I bet Mrs. Philpot won’t come to my party.” Emerson slumped down in her seat. “I ought to charge her with child abandonment. I saw that on Laura Norder.”
“What’s that?”
“Are you serious? It’s a TV show. Cops, lawyers, bad guys. It got cancelled, but you can catch the reruns.”
“You mean Law & Order?” I asked.
“That’s exactly what I said.” Her chest puffed up. “You better not make fun of me. I’m a straight A student at Chatham Academy.”
I was still peeved over her remarks about Sir, so I said, “Is that a reform school?”
She rolled her eyes. “A private academy in Florida. Near Naples. I live there year-round. I have my own quarter horse, and lots and lots of friends.”
“Sounds like a cool place.” I glanced at her. Her face was impassive. Behind her, the dark landscape whirled by, dotted with lights from beach houses.
“Nobody but country skanks say cool,” she said. “And keep your eyes on the road. I don’t want to die in this butt-ugly car.”
I put both hands on the wheel and stared straight ahead. The
headlights cut two cones onto the pavement. Everything about Barb was an enigma. She was missing. She’d sent her daughter to a boarding school. Had mothering put a crimp in her style?
I turned into Coop’s long, sandy driveway. Lightning flickered over the dunes, brightening the gray, clapboard house. The square windows blazed with a honeyed glow. Thank goodness Coop was home. I let out a huge breath and parked behind his red truck. He might be an asshole liar, but he’d know what to do.
Emerson scrambled out of my car, dragging her backpack and hedgehog. She trudged through the sandy yard to the front door. I walked behind her, taking huge gulps of air. A storm was blowing in, and I smelled the faint tinge of sulphur.
From inside the house, I heard a deep bark, then Coop opened the door. His eyes were a striking mix of gray and blue. That’s the first thing I always notice about him. They skipped from me to Emerson.
“What’s going on?” He folded his arms and his white t-shirt stretched over his wide shoulders, showing the outline of his deltoids. A Pepto-Bismol bottle jutted up from the hip pocket of his sweat pants.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” I said.
Coop looked troubled. His face was finely-chiseled, with a square, masculine jaw. When he was happy, his whole face became a soft oval, but fear hardened his bones.
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 for
ced 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.
A Teeny Bit of Trouble Page 2
