The Fixer Upper Part 47

"Great!" he exclaimed. "Should I turn on the news at six to watch footage of them slapping handcuffs on the sumb.i.t.c.h and hauling him off to jail?"

"Not just yet," I said. "The U.S. attorney for the Northern Georgia District called me."

"What's her name? Sharon something? She was just appointed last year. Supposed to be a real reformer-type prosecutor."

"Sharon Douglas," I said. "Yeah, she called to congratulate me, and to tell me not to expect any arrests just yet."

"Why the h.e.l.l not? You did what they asked, right?"

"She said I was 'magnificent,' whatever that means. I guess they want to make sure they've got all their is dotted and their ts crossed. She did a.s.sure me they've got both Alex Hodder and Tony Licata dead to rights. Her words, not mine."

"You don't sound very happy, Dempsey," Tee said. "What's the matter? This is the best possible outcome, right?"

"It is," I agreed. "But...it's weird. I just feel...kind of empty."

"Kinda like the day after Christmas, huh? You wait all year for that one day, tear through all your gifts and candy in an hour, and then the day after, you're wondering, what's so great about Christmas?"

"Something like that," I said. "Probably, I'm just tired."

"Pour yourself a stiff drink."

"I did. Now I just feel empty and...buzzed."

He laughed. "Take it easy, okay? I'll pick you up at seven, if that's all right. It's our night, remember?"

"I'll be ready," I promised.

"Dress warm," he said. "I've got a plan."

The late-afternoon sun made warm b.u.t.terscotch-colored puddles on the front porch. Jimmy Maynard was dragging his extension ladder from one side of the house to the other. He was back to his usual penny loafers and madras Bermuda shorts.

"Jimmy," I said, my hands on my hips. "Don't you have anything better to do than paint my house?"

He propped the ladder up against the porch rail, and wiped his hands on a rag. "Well, now, Dempsey, funny you should mention that. I'm gonna be working double time around here this week, 'cause I gotta finish this job up before I move on to my next one."

"Jimmy," I said. "You don't paint houses for a living, remember? You're supposed to be in the insurance and real estate business."

He nodded. "Oh yeah. Now I remember. Actually, I got just one more painting job after Birdsong, and then, I swear, Jimmy is putting the brushes away for good."

"Who's the next recipient?"

He scuffed the toe of his loafer in the gra.s.s. "Shirlene."

"Should I read anything into that?" I asked teasingly.

"Aw, h.e.l.l, I reckon so," he said. "You know what that d.a.m.ned fool gal went and did?"

"I can't imagine."

"She made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Said if I'd paint the outside of her house and get it ready to sell, she'd not only give me the listing, she'd give marriage to me another shot. You b'lieve that? I think she needs to have her head examined, don't you?"

"No," I said, throwing my arms around him and giving him a hug. "I think she's brilliant. I think she's the smartest lady I ever met. But here's what I want to know."

"What's that?"

"Why are we standing here when you've got a house to paint?"

"You like to paint?" he asked. "You're kinda dressed up for it."

"Be back in a minute," I told him.

And in five minutes, he had me up on a stepladder, cutting in around the edges of the parlor window with a bucket of dill pickle green paint. He'd sanded the old wood smooth, and as I brushed on the new green paint, I began to see why Jimmy loved his work.

New paint was about hope. It was about believing that underneath the dirt and the crud and the hurt, it was possible to find something solid and substantial. Something worth saving. And when you found something good, wasn't it right to try to fix it?

From four feet above me, Jimmy started whistling. After a few bars, I found myself whistling too. After an hour, we moved our ladders again and started to save a fresh patch of wall.

I only stopped painting when I realized the shadows were obscuring my ability to see where I was going, and it was almost dusk. "We're runnin' out of daylight," Jimmy announced, climbing down from his ladder.

We folded the drop cloth and stowed it in the back of his Jeep, then washed the brushes and put the paint cans in the corner on the front porch. Then Jimmy, still whistling, climbed in the Jeep. "Be good now," he admonished. "Or if you can't, at least be good at it."

It was almost six by the time I showered and dressed and came downstairs. Ella Kate was standing at the stove, stirring what looked and smelled like beef stew. "I've done cooked," she said, gesturing toward the pot. "There's enough, if you want some. I got corn bread too."

It wasn't the most gracious dinner invitation I'd ever had, but coming from Ella Kate, it was positively effusive.

"Thanks," I told her. "It smells wonderful, but I've got a dinner date."

She got a spoon from a drawer, and dumped some in a bowl for herself, and another helping in Shorty's bowl. She cut herself a generous wedge of corn bread, and slathered it with b.u.t.ter, remembering to break off a corner for Shorty.

"Going out with the Berryhill boy?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, ma'am," I said, bending over to scratch Shorty's ears.

"How'd your meetin' go today?" she asked. "I was watching CNN, till I dozed off, hoping I'd get to see them two crooks gettin' locked up in the jailhouse."

"It went pretty well," I said. "They haven't arrested Alex Hodder or Tony Licata yet, but I have it on good authority that it won't be long now."

"I seen you outside painting," she said, making it sound ominous. "Won't be long now."

"There's still a lot more to do," I told her. "I've been pretty distracted with all this FBI stuff lately, but now that that's over, I can't wait to get back to work on the house again."

"Huh," she said sourly. "There's a big ol' wet spot on the ceiling in my room. I believe that upstairs shower is leaking again. And I seen some little-bitty bugs flying around on the right side of the porch when I was comin' in the house today. Might be one of them termite swarms."

I laughed. "Bobby says this house is made of heart pine. He says these old boards are like iron, and not even the toughest termite could chew through them. But I'll have him take a look next time he comes."

The doorbell rang then, and I went out to meet my date.

65.

Tee was dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. The temperature had dropped a good twenty degrees just since sundown.

"Hey, you," he said, kissing me. "You ready to go?"

"Yep," I said, turning around. "Do I look all right? You said to dress warm."

I'd put on a pair of khaki slacks and a soft turquoise cotton-knit sweater, along with a pair of turquoise leather flats that Lynda had brought me from California.

"You look great," he said. "But then, I think you look great in everything, including your dead uncle's overalls."

And then he did a mincing pirouette of his own. "What about me? How do I look?"

"Fabulous," I said. "But then, I think you look fabulous in everything too."

We walked out to the Prius and drove off.

"You still haven't told me where we're going," I told him.

"No place fancy. I thought we might have a picnic."

"I love picnics, but in the dark?"

"This is sort of an indoor picnic," Tee said. "At my place."

"Okay," I said, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt.

We pulled into the drive at Carter's house, and walked down the path to Tee's place. I hadn't actually been there since the night before the storm. The tree that had smashed through his roof had been cut up into logs that were stacked neatly near the back door to Carter's house. The back-porch lights shone on the little house, illuminating a bright blue tarp covering the roof.

"Bobby Livesey's supposed to start working on the roof sometime this week," Tee said, opening the pottery shed door. "The tarp keeps things pretty dry, but it does get kinda chilly at night."

I stepped inside. Dozens and dozens of lit candles cast a cozy glow on the old brick walls. There were candles in Mason jars, candles in silver candelabra, candles in dime-store votive gla.s.ses, and candles in bra.s.s candlesticks. Except for the bed most of the furniture was pushed to the sides of the room, and covered with more tarps. But in the middle of the room, a large oriental rug had been laid with a red-checked picnic cloth. The cloth was set for two, down to gold-rimmed china, cut-crystal winegla.s.ses, silver flatware, and a small arrangement of white roses that had been poked into a silver teapot in the middle of the cloth.

I turned to Tee. "You did all this? For me?"

"You like?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck and showed him just how much I loved his idea of a picnic.

"This is the sweetest thing any man has ever done for me," I told him, laying my cheek against the warm flannel of his shirt.

"I'm just glad I didn't burn the place down," he said, pulling me closer. "Fire trucks really would have ruined the ambience."

"Nothing could ruin this," I said. "And, did you say something about dinner?"

"I did," he said, taking me by the hand and showing me the sofa cushion that was my designated seat for the evening. "Be right back," he said, disappearing into the tiny kitchenette.

A moment later, he was back, carrying a large black-and-gold tole-painted tray. A roast chicken had pride of place on the tray, and I could see a cut-gla.s.s dish of potato salad, a small dish of deviled eggs, a plate of grapes and sliced apples, and a plate with two chocolate-frosted cup-cakes.

"Tee!" I said. "Did you fix all this food yourself?"

He did another exaggerated pirouette. "No. But I paid the lady who caters all the fancy parties in town to fix it. That counts, right?"

"Absolutely."

He set the tray down, went out to the kitchenette, and came back with a tarnished silver champagne bucket-complete with a bottle of iced-down Mumm's.

"Sorry," he said, plopping down on the cushion beside mine. "I just unearthed the champagne bucket from Mom's silver cabinet down in the bas.e.m.e.nt. I didn't have time to actually polish it."

"It's beautiful. The whole table is beautiful. I am totally impressed," I said.

"All this stuff was kinda shoved in boxes down in the bas.e.m.e.nt," he said, popping the champagne cork. "I think Dad felt kind of overwhelmed by trying to keep up with polishing and cleaning it after Mom died, so he packed it all away."

"Your bas.e.m.e.nt sounds a lot more promising than the one at Birdsong," I said. "All I've found in our bas.e.m.e.nt is what looks like thirty years' worth of back issues of Mechanics Ill.u.s.trated and Field and Stream, along with cartons and cartons of old business files from Dempsey Mills."

He poured both of us gla.s.ses of champagne, and I was too overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness to point out that we were drinking out of red-wine gla.s.ses that were just the teensiest bit dusty.

We clinked gla.s.ses. "To us," Tee said. "And death to our enemies!"

"Or at least jail," I said, taking a sip of the champagne.

"You still sound kind of conflicted about all this business with Hodder and the FBI," Tee said, frowning. "What's that about?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I really thought I'd be so relieved, once I got out of that church, knowing I'd done what the feds wanted me to do, and that I was finally off the hook. But I don't know. I felt sort of...dirty. Because I'd stooped to his level."

"You couldn't stoop to his level, Dempsey," Tee said. "He's sc.u.m. He put you in a bind, and you did what you had to do to get out of it. Stop beating yourself up and comparing yourself to him."

"I'm trying. But you should have seen the look on Hodder's face, Tee, when he walked into that church. He was beyond p.i.s.sed. Murderous. That's the best way to describe it."

"Well, yeah. You had him over a barrel, and he knew it. He was busted, unless he dealt with you. And let's face it, he was handing over a big old wad of cash to you. I'm sure as far as he was concerned, you were the real criminal in the room."

"He made that point," I said ruefully. "Called me a stupid, pathetic b.i.t.c.h."

Tee shrugged and bit into a deviled egg. "Consider the source. Hey, speaking of the cash, what did you do with the money?"

"It's in the suitcase, under my bed. I get the w.i.l.l.i.e.s thinking about it. I guess Jackson Hodder or Camerin Allgood will be along to collect it as evidence in the next day or two."

I hesitated, and then went on. "Alex said...he said the only reason I was turning on him, you know, blackmailing him, was out of revenge." I chewed on the inside of my cheek. "He said I wanted revenge because he wouldn't sleep with me. He even said Licata told him he should have, uh, slept with me to keep me quiet. But then Alex said he'd rather, uh, sleep with a pro than an amateur like me."

Tee's face reddened. "Lying sociopath son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"I hauled off and slapped him as hard as I could," I said. "I forgot I had my keys in my hand. Tee, I slapped him so hard I drew blood. Also, I, uh, kinda kicked him in the nuts."