“Which is?” I couldn’t help my curiosity about this strange woman.
“Cupcakes. Now I can buy the cupcake bakery downtown. We had the money before, but Gene insisted it was a bad investment. He didn’t want his wife to be covered in flour during his stupid reality TV show. I thought it would be cute. But he forbade me and refused to allow me to buy the business.” She took several long drags from her Bloody Mary straw. “Now I can live my life the way I want. Men are only good for one thing.”
She was slurring her words now, practically shouting. I didn’t ask what the one thing was, but I kind of suspected. Thinking of Gene, I felt some bile and Bloody Mary creep up my esophagus.
“Well, good for you. I’ll come by for a dozen cupcakes,” I said, edging toward the table, where I set down my glass of liquid fire. “Thanks again for the cocktail. You take care, you hear?”
I gave a little wave and scurried back inside. There was no sign of the young guy—who was he to Barbie, anyway?—and I took a right, thinking I was headed toward the front door. The place was sprawling and disorienting.
Instead, I found myself in the kitchen. I paused, trying to get my bearings, because this didn’t look like anything I’d passed on the way to the pool. My gaze scanned the room and landed on the granite island counter.
There was a framed portrait of Gene as a young man lying next to a stack of photos. Since a large white poster board and a tube of glue also rested nearby, I assumed this would end up as a collage for the funeral. I quickly looked at the top photo in the stack. It was of Gene and Barbie. From the looks of Gene, it was taken several years and many pounds ago. He was shirtless and tan, she was in a bikini.
Knowing that I probably shouldn’t—but unable to help myself—I rifled through the photos. Surprisingly, they weren’t raunchy or tacky. There was Gene as a baby, then in grade school missing a front tooth, then a photo of him in a maroon cap and gown, in front of Wahoo High School.
Where had he taken a wrong turn in life?
There were others of him on boats, and posing with gators. I came to the second to last in the stack and paused, bringing the photo closer to my face.
It was of Gene. He was wearing a white T-shirt that saidDo you like pancakes? Well, how ’bout IHOP on that ass?
I had to hand it to him. Gene had been a master of the tacky T-shirt.
But that’s not what had captured my attention. There was a massive gator and two other men. One was Tyler Carr, my sister’s boyfriend. Even thinking that made me throw up in my mouth a little. The other guy wore sunglasses and a fishing hat, and between the white-hot Florida sun and the gator’s tail that partially obscured his face, it was hard to know what he really looked like. Had I seen that man before? He looked vaguely familiar.
I held the photo between my thumb and forefinger, briefly wondering if I should slip it into my purse. Vera needed to see a photo of her crush next to Gene. But taking the photo was theft, and that wasn’t cool or legal.
Glancing about to make sure no one was around, I slipped the phone out of my back pocket and snapped a picture of the photo. Once I’d arranged everything the way I found it, I wandered off, trying to find the front door. Okay, maybe I paused to snoop a little.
I ended up in a long hallway, stopping to inspect a photo on the wall. It was of Barbie, in a bikini, standing next to a strung-up dead alligator suspended from a hook. I winced.
The sound of a male voice coming from a nearby room with a half-open door hit my ears. It could be Chad, but I wasn’t sure. I stepped closer, but not enough so that I’d be spotted, and flattened myself against the wall. My heart started to pound, and I held my breath as I listened.
“No, she’s not going to tell anyone anything. Don’t worry. She doesn’t know much at all. Gene kept her in the dark.”
A panting noise filled the air. It got closer. Oh, crap. The dog. The sound of nails clicking on tile echoed. I tilted my head, hoping to hear a little more. The dog was next to me now, pushing its snout into my crotch. I tried to wave it away.
“And she doesn’t follow politics, read the paper, or watch the news. Her head is filled with sugar and spice and cupcakes. And shoes, of course.” Chad chuckled. “There’s no way anyone will figure out it was us. We have an airtight plan. Don’t sweat it.”
The dog let out a short, sharp bark. I was seconds away from being discovered so I turned and ran down the hall, then made a left. The dog followed, its tail wagging. It thought it was a game.
“Shoo,” I hissed.
I wove my way around a gilded leopard-print fainting couch. Where was the front door? Ah, there. By the tacky painting of Gene on the throne. I opened the door just as I heard Chad’s voice bounce off the walls of the living room.
“What is it, Brownie? What’s wrong, boy?”
The dog wuffed again. I shut the door softly, sprinted to my truck, and peeled out of the driveway, wondering what the newly elected Tyler Carr had in common with the newly dead Gator Gene.
Chapter Twelve
It took me a solid fifteen minutes of driving aimlessly to calm down. Now I wished Jack had been with me, because I desperately wanted to discuss what I’d just seen and heard with someone. I’d tell Jack later, although I also pondered whether I should let my sister in on my snooping secret.
Probably not the best idea.
Although, did I want to tell Jack? Since he was married and all? He was knowledgeable about crime, though. I’d have to think on this.
After stopping at the Crow’s Nest and buying two giant coffees and a dozen of Vera’s favorite maple bacon donuts, I drove home, vowing to keep my mouth shut around my sister about Barbie and Chad.