The Fixer Upper

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “How ya’ doin’?” he asked.

  “What do you want?” I said stonily.

  He looked taken aback. “Hey now. You call that Southern hospitality?”

  “I don’t feel particularly hospitable right now, to tell you the truth.”

  “Bad day?” he asked, starting to step inside.

  “I’ve had better.” I stepped in front of him to keep him from going any farther. “No offense, Agent Harrell, but I’m kind of busy right now. So, if this is a social call, I’m going to have to ask you to give me a rain check.”

  His easygoing smile vanished. “Oh, it’s not social,” he said. “This is business. All business.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. “In that case, I’ll ask you to wait out here on the porch until I can get my attorney over here.”

  “You do that,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “I can wait.”

  I slammed the door and went for my cell phone.

  “Tee? Is Carter there?”

  “No,” Tee said. “I’m down at the newspaper. He’s at home, as far as I know. What’s up?”

  “The damned FBI is here again,” I said. “It’s that Agent Harrell. And he says he means business. I wouldn’t let him in. I’m not talking to him until your father gets here.”

  “Good thinking,” Tee said. “I’ll get hold of Dad and send him over there right away. Did the guy give you any idea of what he wants?”

  “I didn’t give him a chance. But I do know that that woman, Agent Allgood, showed up down in Miami at my father’s office today. They’re pressuring him to pressure me to wear the damned wire.”

  “Jesus!” Tee said. “These guys don’t give up.”

  “Neither do I,” I said grimly.

  After I hung up the phone, I ran upstairs and jumped in the shower, fuming. I had no intention of meeting with Harrell while looking like a fugitive from a pest-control convention.

  Did he think he could just drop in and scare the crap out of me with his big, bad FBI self? Uh-uh. No more. I was done being intimidated, patronized, pushed around. I nearly scrubbed the skin off my body while I plotted my revenge on all those who’d done me wrong. Leading the list were Alex Hodder and Congressman Anthony Licata, with Agents Harrell and Allgood right behind. And my father. I wouldn’t mind showing him up while I was at it. As I scrubbed, a plan began to form. It was evil, vindictive, and manipulative. It was a thing of real beauty.

  I washed my hair and blew it dry, then pulled it back in a semisevere French twist. I put on makeup, including enough black eyeliner to give me the feeling of a warrior queen. I dressed in my best pants suit, the black wool Dolce & Gabbana one with the tight-fitting jacket—what Lindsay always referred to as my “Power Ranger” suit. I put on pearl earrings and the gold Piaget watch Mitch had given me when I graduated from law school. For the first time since I’d arrived in Guthrie, I found the need for heels, my black Jimmy Choo boots.

  When I’d dressed, I stood in front of the wavy mirror on the back of the closet door and assessed the look. Hair: professional, not too dykey, not too girlie. Clothes: excellent. The pants suit, which had cost an un-godly sum, gave me a tall, slim, stripped-down silhouette. Jewelry: also excellent. The pearl Tiffany earrings had been my mother’s graduation gift. They were precious to me because I knew she’d chosen something she thought I’d like, rather than the funky, ethnic jewelry Lynda herself favored. As for the watch, I knew Mitch had bought it in a deliberate attempt to outspend Lynda, which he’d managed, in spades. He’d given me a piece more suitable for a Wall Street hedge funder than a junior lobbyist, because that’s what he secretly hoped I would someday become—the gift was aspirational rather than inspirational, but no matter. I’d noticed that Agent Harrell wore a Rolex. My Piaget would trump his in any contest. Shoes: double check. The wicked two-inch boot heel, along with my hairdo, would give me what I estimated was a one inch advantage over Agent Harrell.

  The doorbell was ringing again. I marched carefully down the stairs, clinging to the banister with both hands to avoid tripping and falling in the now-unaccustomed high heels. When I got downstairs, I could see three men through the front-door sidelights: Carter, Agent Harrell, and yes, Tee Berryhill. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. Showtime.

  47

  Jackson Harrell did a double take when I opened the door. I like to think he was astonished by my thirty-minute transformation.

  “Agent Harrell,” I said coolly, motioning him inside. “I can’t say it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  “My dear,” Carter said, kissing my cheek and giving me a malicious wink. “You look lovely tonight.”

  Tee trailed in the door last, giving me a long, searching look. When Harrell and Carter were out of earshot and eyesight, he kissed me too—only with a little more passion and a lot more tongue. “Love the outfit,” he whispered in my ear.

  I dragged the dining room chairs into the parlor, choreographing the seating so that Harrell was seated closest to the drafty windows.

  “Well now,” Harrell said, looking from me to the Berryhills. “Now that the whole choir is assembled, I guess we should just get down to brass tacks.”

  “Oh. Isn’t Agent Allgood joining us tonight?” I asked.

  Harrell shifted in his seat. “She’s out of town on business.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I understand she’s been down in Miami. I spoke to my father just now. He mentioned that Agent Allgood paid him a call. Unannounced. At his place of business.”

  Carter’s fluffy white eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  “Yep,” I said, making a show of crossing my legs. “I guess it’s a new tactic. Maybe something you guys learned from the Department of Homeland Security? Pressuring family members to get a witness to cooperate? Or maybe just trying to embarrass them by showing up and announcing to everybody within shouting distance that a federal agent wants to speak to them about ‘government’ business? Personally, I think it’s pretty tacky.”

  “Tacky? It’s unconscionable,” Carter said, his face coloring. He turned to Harrell. “You people have no business involving her parents. Miss Killebrew has told you she’ll cooperate. We gave you proof that Alex Hodder instructed my client to hire what she reliably believed was a massage therapist and a surfing instructor.”

  “Wakeboard instructor,” I told Carter. “Apparently there’s a difference.”

  “I don’t care if she was a mambo teacher,” Carter said. He was really getting himself worked up on my behalf. It was wonderful to behold. He leaned toward Harrell. His ears got quite pink when he was angry. “These efforts to intimidate Miss Killebrew must stop. Immediately. After our last discussion with you, we were assured that you would take the evidence we gave you—Alex Hodder’s golf scorecard, with his handwriting on it—and in return, we’d receive a written agreement from the U.S. attorney’s office that no charges against my client would be pursued.”

  “Hey!” Harrell said, holding up both hands as though to fend off a physical attack from Carter Berryhill. “Don’t get your boxers all bunched up at me, Mr. Lawyer. I’m the good guy here. I made the case for leaving Miss Killebrew out of this thing. My partner and I went to the wall for your client. We even took it to the SAC.”

  “SAC?” Tee said, looking puzzled.

  “Special agent in charge,” Carter explained.

  “Right,” Harrell went on. “The thing is, the U.S. attorney is another story. You can’t quote me on this, but the thing is: Congressman Licata is a Republican. And he happens to be on some key subcommittee that’s been jerking the Justice Department around on the matter of appropriations for nickel-and-dime stuff like travel and continuing education. You believe that? This motherfu…excuse me, allegedly corrupt public official, is telling us we can’t buy a coach ticket to Sheboygan to interview a suspect, and in the meantime, he’s taking under-the-table blow jobs in exchange for a vote on an oil bill.”

  Carter’s pink ears officially turned red. �
�Really, Agent Harrell, what’s that got to do with Miss Killebrew?”

  “My boss, and his boss, they want this case watertight. They want it signed, sealed, and delivered to a jury with a pretty pink bow on top. So, while the scorecard is good, excellent even, we’re gonna need just a little bit more.”

  He picked up the briefcase at his feet and laid it across his knees. He unsnapped the latches and brought out the plastic case he’d shown me on his last visit. It was the box with the bug.

  “Miss Killebrew,” he said, turning his back on Carter, “my instructions are to tell you that we will need you to get Alex Hodder, on tape, and on camera, discussing how he—using you as a dupe—hired prostitutes to service Representative Anthony Licata during your trip to Lyford Cay, Bahamas, last year. We’re gonna also need for you to get him to tie that into the fact that Hodder’s oil industry clients paid for that trip, with the intention of bribing Licata in exchange for his favorable vote on an energy bill that stood to make them billions in profits. And in exchange for that, of course, we will not be looking at prosecuting you for public corruption.”

  “Would you like anything else?” Tee asked. “Maybe while she’s at it she should get Hodder to confess to how he cheated on his taxes and provided a hideout for Osama bin Laden? That way she could score a hat trick—working for the FBI, the IRS, and the CIA all at the same time.”

  “Tee?” Carter said quietly.

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Absolutely not,” Carter said heatedly. “We had an agreement with you folks that Miss Killebrew would not be expected to try to entrap her former boss.”

  “You people are unbelievable,” Tee went on. “It’s an abuse of power, is what it is. You bully, you threaten, you intimidate, all in the name of ferreting out crime. Dempsey’s a private citizen. She’s committed no crime.”

  “Well, now,” Harrell started. “The crime thing, that’s still under investigation. We do have her American Express receipts, and we have statements from the prostitutes that she was the one who procured their services.”

  “Fine,” I repeated, a little louder this time. “I’ll do it. Okay? I’ll wear the friggin’ bug. I’ll call up Alex Hodder, and I’ll lure him down here, and somehow, I’ll get him to admit what he did. All of it. Okay?”

  “Say what?” Harrell said.

  “Now, Dempsey,” Carter said. “You absolutely do not have to do this.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m afraid I do have to do it. I want this thing done. Over with. I’m sick of having these charges hanging over my head. I’m sick of wondering if I’ll ever get another decent job, of wondering how I’ll support myself…I’m sick of that feeling of dread I get when my phone rings or there’s a knock at the door, of wondering if it’ll be Agent Harrell here, or his sidekick, or God knows who else.”

  Carter was shaking his head in sorrow. Tee was rolling his eyes. Harrell was practically jumping up and down for joy.

  “I’ll do it,” I told Harrell. “But in my own way, and in my own time.”

  “See,” Harrell said slowly, “we got a deadline on this thing—”

  “I said I’d do it,” I repeated. “But I do have a pressing family commitment that has to take precedence. Once that’s taken care of, I’ll set it up. Myself,” I emphasized. “I’ll get Alex to agree to meet me, and then it’s up to your people to make sure you get it all on tape or video or whatever. Because I am only doing this one time.”

  “Great!” Harrell said. He stood up, beaming. “The SAC is gonna be very pleased. And of course, Agent Allgood, I’ll call her tonight and give her the good news.”

  “You do that,” I said sourly, standing up and straightening the crease in my trousers.

  He looked around the room with interest. “Say, how’s that kitchen project of yours coming along? I’d love to see it. I watch all those home handyman shows on television, you know. Always got a little project of my own goin’. Kinda my hobby, you know? Maybe we could exchange restoration tips, like that.”

  I drew myself up to my full height and rested my fingertips ever so lightly on the sleeve of his starched shirt. “I don’t think so, Agent Harrell,” I said. “My kitchen is closed for the night.”

  Tee laughed out loud. “Come on, Jackson, old buddy,” he said. “I think the lady has had enough of you. I’ll show you to the door.”

  48

  The three of us were sitting around the kitchen table. I brought out the dust-covered bottle of Jack Daniel’s I’d found at the back of the top shelf in the closet in Uncle Norbert’s study and held it up for the men’s inspection. “The seal’s never been broken,” I pointed out.

  “Your uncle was not a teetotaler,” Carter said, “but he was a decidedly frugal man. This bottle was probably a Christmas gift from me, now that I think about it.”

  I took three tumblers off the kitchen shelf, cracked open a tray of ice cubes, and apportioned four small cubes to each glass before pouring three fingers’ worth of whiskey into each glass and handing them to my guests.

  As for myself, I topped the liquor off with a lot of water before rejoining Tee and Carter.

  Carter took a sip of the whiskey and nodded approvingly. “Well, Dempsey,” he said finally. “That was quite a performance you gave tonight.”

  “You were really, really scary looking, with the heels and the hair and all,” Tee agreed. “And that suit! I think I felt my balls shrink a little when you opened that front door.”

  “Son!” Carter said, trying to look shocked.

  “It’s all right, Carter,” I said, sipping my own whiskey. “I don’t know if I would have put it quite that way, but I definitely was trying to assert myself with Jackson Harrell tonight.”

  “Because?” Tee said, looking at me quizzically over his glass.

  “No offense, gentlemen,” I said, “but I am sick and damned tired of being pushed around by men.”

  “Your father?” Carter asked sympathetically.

  “Camerin Allgood showing up at his office put him over the edge,” I said. “He was so angry he was foaming at the mouth when he called tonight. He can’t fathom why I haven’t been cooperating with the FBI.”

  “But you have,” Carter said. “They’re being completely unreasonable.”

  “As is Mitch,” I said. “He’s even looked into hiring a new ‘top-notch’ criminal attorney to represent me.”

  Carter shrugged and tried not to look hurt. “He’s your father. He’s concerned about your well-being. It’s perfectly understandable. I’d be happy to catch your new attorney up to speed on things, if you’d like.”

  “I don’t want a new attorney,” I said quickly. “My father is not concerned with my well-being. He’s mainly concerned with his own reputation.”

  “Surely not,” Carter said.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” I said. “My father cares about me. He just doesn’t respect me, or my judgment. And let’s face it, this mess I’ve gotten myself into hasn’t given him much reason to have confidence in me.”

  “Your father is an idiot if he thinks you brought this on yourself,” Tee said hotly. “Does he know anything about this Alex Hodder character?”

  “Tee,” Carter said slowly. “I’m not sure it’s your place to call Mitch Killebrew an idiot.”

  “I’ve called him much worse,” I told father and son.

  “The thing is,” I said, turning to Carter, “I really shouldn’t even have asked you to come over here tonight. But I was just so…shaken…when Mitch called to tell me the FBI had come to see him. And then, when Harrell showed up on my doorstep…I just, I don’t know, I was terrified.”

  “You had every right to call me,” Carter said reassuringly. “I’m your attorney.”

  “But your retainer,” I started. “The Catfish. Tee said it was totaled. And I don’t have any money of my own. Not even any collateral.” I looked around the kitchen. “The house is Mitch’s. He’s paying for all of this.”

  “The Catfish is far from tota
led,” Carter said. “Those old Crown Victorias were built to take a beating. I spoke to Shawn at the body shop this afternoon. He’s ordered new glass for the windshields, and he thinks he can find some other body parts at an auto-salvage yard he knows about down in Jackson. Shawn assures me he can have the Catfish back to you by the end of the week.”

  “For real? But how much is that going to cost?”

  “Not a thing,” Carter said. “Shawn’s girlfriend had an unfortunate shoplifting incident a few months ago. I worked things out with the judge and the merchant, and Shawn was truly grateful.”

  I took a long sip of whiskey, and appreciated the slow burn as I let it trickle down my throat.

  I took a deep breath. “There are some things I need to tell you. Both of you. Alexander Hodder is a lot like Mitch Killebrew. I think that’s probably what attracted me to him in the first place.” I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I didn’t dare look at Tee.

  “My father is successful and demanding, and my whole life, no matter what I did, I could never quite figure out how to win his approval. When I decided to go to Georgetown, and take out loans to pay for it myself, because he refused to, I really thought I was striking a blow for my own independence. And when I did well in law school, and graduated with honors, I do think Mitch really was proud of me, in his own way.

  “Of course,” I added, “he was fit to be tied when I told him I was going to become a lobbyist instead of actually practicing law. Stephanie, one of my roommates in D.C.? She said I only became a lobbyist out of a perverse need to piss off my father.”

  I took another sip of Tennessee courage, and plunged ahead with my shameful confession.

  “I had job offers from other firms. But as soon as Alex Hodder interviewed me, I knew I’d take the job, if it was offered. It was, and I took it.”