The Fixer Upper (30 page)

I
sat at the kitchen table and stared down at my cell phone. I’d spent the past hour rehearsing what I’d say to Alex, and how I’d say it. You can do this, I told myself. You have to do it. His cell number was still programmed into my phone. All I had to do was touch the line with his number, and it would dial. All I had to do was work up the nerve.

The Jack Daniel’s bottle was sitting on the countertop, right where I’d left it the night before. I opened the freezer and took out one of the aluminum ice cube trays. I took one of the tumblers from the dish drainer and filled it with ice cubes, and then I poured three fingers of courage over the ice.

It wasn’t five o’clock. It wasn’t even noon. I tipped the glass to my lips and took a swallow. It burned going down. I took another swallow, and this one didn’t burn nearly as much.

When I’d downed the whiskey, I picked up my cell phone and tapped the icon for Alex Hodder’s cell phone number. It rang once, and I got a recording telling me the number had been changed. I should have figured as much after the last time Alex had called me from a blocked number.

I tried calling the Hodder and Associates number, and got a recording saying the number had been changed to an unlisted one “at the request of the recipient.” “Who ever heard of a lobbying firm with an unlisted number?” I muttered.

Damn. Reluctantly, I dug out the business card Jackson Harrell had given me on his first visit. I got the Atlanta field office, and asked for Harrell. The receptionist told me he was away from the phone, but invited me to leave a voice message.

“Agent Harrell, this is Dempsey Killebrew. I’ve been trying to reach Alex Hodder, but all the numbers I have for him have been changed or disconnected. So I may need your help with that.”

I hung up and fumed. The kitchen counter was still waiting to be tiled, but I didn’t want to start a new project until I could complete the job in one sitting. I walked out into the parlor and took another look at the peeling wallpaper there. I’d been itching to strip it from the walls, but it was nowhere near the top of my to-do list.

No matter. I was in the mood to tear down or rip up. Wallpaper seemed like a fine medium with which to work out aggression. I dragged a ladder into the parlor, then I ran upstairs and donned my work clothes—Norbert’s overalls, a T-shirt, and the Chuck Taylors. I slipped the cell phone into the bib pocket of the overalls.

Back in the kitchen, I poured a cup of Spic and Span into the bottom of a bucket, and filled it halfway up with the hottest water I could stand. Then, taking a big sponge and a pair of rubber gloves and a plastic drop cloth, I went out to the parlor. I climbed up the ladder and with the sponge slopped soapy water at the top corner of the first strip of wallpaper, trying to make sure the liquid saturated the old paper. I wet the whole strip, from ceiling to floor. I waited five minutes, then, removing the rubber gloves, I picked at the edge of the wallpaper with my fingernail, worrying it away from the wall little by little. I slathered on some more soapy water, and was rewarded with the sight of the paper bubbling up as the chemicals dissolved the old glue. Finally, I grasped the upper edge of the first strip of paper and slowly pulled it away from the wall. I managed to pull off a two-foot strip of paper before it tore.

I was starting to soak down the bottom half of the wall again when I heard clattering noises from the front porch. I climbed down and went to the door.

Jimmy Maynard stood on the porch. He’d laid out a canvas drop cloth over the whole length of the porch floor, and was now leaning a tall aluminum extension ladder against the front wall. The day was sunny, but the temperatures were in the low sixties, and Jimmy was dressed, as always, in a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts, a paint-spattered Margaritaville T-shirt, and immaculate Top-Siders.

“Well, hey, Dempsey,” he said. “How’s it goin’?”

“Jimmy,” I said, looking around the porch. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Finishin’ what I started,” he said.

“Jimmy, I can’t have you painting my house,” I protested. “I can’t pay you for this. It’s just not in the budget. I’ve got a new roof to pay for, and we’ve still got bathrooms to do.”

His face colored deep red, and he stubbed at the floor with the toe of his shoe. “Uh, look, Dempsey. See, this is my way of apologizin’ to you for the way I cut up at the country club the other night.”

“Now wait,” I said.

He shook his head obstinately. “Naw. I made an ass of myself and embarrassed you in front of half the population of Guthrie. Shirlene was right. It was inexcusable. And I want you to know, I’ve been on the wagon ever since. Well, not from beer, but whiskey. Definitely whiskey.”

My lips twitched with suppressed laughter, and I hoped he wouldn’t smell the Tennessee sour mash on my own breath. “You weren’t that bad, Jimmy,” I said. “Let’s forget it—deal?”

He put out his hand and we shook. “Deal,” he said. “But, uh, hey. You mind if I ask you something?”

“I guess not. Doesn’t seem like it’s possible to keep a lot of secrets in this town.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” he said. “What about you and the Berryhill kid? The other night. After I got myself shit-faced, the two of you dropped me at my place. You even put me to bed, right?”

I looked away, sensing what was coming. “That’s right. Shirlene took your car back to her place.”

“And what happened after that? Between you and Tee Berryhill? I mean, it’s a damned fact that he’s got the hots for you in a major way.”

“What makes you think anything happened?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

Jimmy howled like a lovesick bassett hound. “I knew it. I’m passed out drunk in the bed and he snakes my girl right out from under me.”

I gave Jimmy a playful punch on the arm. “Jimmy Maynard, you
and I know that I am not your girl. You don’t even really want me to be. I don’t want to be mean about it, but you said it yourself. You’re too old for me.”

He laughed good-naturedly. “Well, hell, since you put it that way, I guess you’re right. I reckon I’m just like the dog that chases cars because he can. He don’t stop to consider what’d happen if he ever caught one.”

“Well, maybe you need to consider chasing a car that’s more vintage appropriate,” I told him. “And speaking of which, Shirlene stopped by to see me the day after your, uh, accidental alcohol overdose,” I said.

“Awww, hell,” he said. “I bet she gave you chapter and verse about what a bad boy Jimmy Maynard is.”

“Not at all. Of course, I didn’t realize when we met at the club that you two had once been married.”

He sighed. “Ancient history.”

“Not that ancient. You know, I think she mostly came over here to check me out—to see just how involved I was with you.”

“Oh yeah?” He looked at me sideways. “What’d you tell her?”

“The truth. That we were just pals. And that I intended to keep it that way.”

“Gotcha,” Jimmy said, trying to look sad. I was not convinced. “I bet she told you you were smart to steer clear of me.”

“Not exactly. What she did say was that marrying Wayne Peppers was the biggest mistake of her life.”

“She told you that?”

I crossed my heart with my forefinger, and just as I did, the bib of my overalls started to ring. I dug out the cell phone and looked at the readout screen. government caller, it said.

“Excuse me, Jimmy,” I said, and I turned and went back inside the house.

“Miss Killebrew?” The caller was Camerin Allgood. Now they were tag-teaming me.

“Hello, Agent Allgood,” I said coolly, walking rapidly back to the kitchen. “I understand you met my father.”

“He told you that, did he?”

“Bringing my father into this was totally unnecessary,” I said. “And I don’t appreciate it. At all.”

“Understood.”

She was a cool customer, I’d give her that. Unflappable. I wished I could be unflappable.

“You’re looking for a phone number for Alex Hodder?”

“Yes. Neither of the numbers I have is working. I thought you people could probably get me a number for him.”

Silence. Nothing. I could hear the wheels turning under that blond hair of hers.

“We might be able to do that,” she said finally. “What did you have in mind?”

“I have in mind to call Alex and set up a meeting so we can get the proof you people need to put him in jail and my life back together again. That’s what I had in mind.”

So much for unflappable. I was more like unglued. I walked over to the counter and poured another three fingers of Jack Daniel’s over the half-melted ice cubes in my tumbler. I knocked back half of it in one big swig.

“Miss Killebrew? This is what we were afraid of. You seem like a very emotional young woman. The SAC and I would like to sit down with you before you contact Mr. Hodder. We can coach you, give you some scenarios that might work.”

“Emotional?” I said. “You think? This is my life we’re talking about here, Agent Allgood. In case Agent Harrell didn’t fill you in on the conversation we had yesterday, I’ll repeat the gist of it for you. I’m going to do what you want. I’m going to set up a meeting with Alex Hodder. At that point, you can feel free to coach me, or give me scenarios or a printed script.”

I downed the rest of the icy whiskey. And down deep in my gut, I felt a warm calm wash upward and spill over into my frontal lobe. I was aware that it was only a temporary, alcohol-induced state, but I didn’t care. I was suddenly, magically, in control.

“And, Agent Allgood?” I said sweetly. “You can get us on video or
film or satellite dish for all I care. But this is a one-shot deal, as far as I’m concerned. My lawyer is going to draw up an agreement, and you people and the rest of your gang at the Justice Department had better get on board. I want an agreement that in return for my full cooperation, no charges will be pursued against me.”

“That’s not how it works,” she sputtered. “The U.S. attorney may agree to draft something, but—”

“All or nothing,” I said. “But I’m going to need that phone number so I can get the ball rolling on my end.”

She sighed, and then she gave me the number.

“We’ll want to set up the meeting in D.C.,” she said urgently. “Someplace public, where we can get clear access with our equipment. We’ll fly you up a few days early, go through some possible scenarios. You’ll have to get Hodder to be very explicit in admitting his role in the public-corruption charges. We wouldn’t expect you to get him to admit to the bribes, but we would like to tie in Licata’s vote on the oil bills. And speaking of which, it would be good to get Congressman Licata—”

“Good-bye, Agent Allgood,” I said. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I know something. And one more thing. Stay the hell away from my family.”

I clicked the phone shut. I picked up the Jack Daniel’s bottle and kissed the black label with an exaggerated smack. “My hero.”

Even though my buddy Jack Daniel had my back, I was still uneasy about making the phone call and setting my plan in action. So I stalled. I boiled some eggs, diced them, and mixed them up with some mayonnaise and sweet-pickle relish. Egg salad. This was about the extent of my culinary repertoire. I’d had a roommate in college who swore she couldn’t study without an egg salad sandwich, so I’d learned to make them by default. I slathered more mayonnaise on two slices of mushy white bread, slapped the sandwich together, and then cut it into four neat squares, which I placed on a plate. I fished a can of Coke out of the fridge, and poured it over a glass of ice.

I put the meal on an aluminum tray painted with garish white and green magnolia blossoms, and added a paper napkin and the salt shaker. I was just about to head down the hall to Ella Kate’s room when I heard a slow, deliberate thump coming from that direction.

Thump. Slide. Thump. Slide. I held my breath, waiting for her to make her way to the kitchen.

I busied myself with making a sandwich for myself, augmented with slices of bread-and-butter pickle. I popped a Diet Coke and sipped a little. I hoped I wouldn’t lose my buzz.

She thumped and slid her walker into the kitchen. Her face was pale, with a thin sheen of perspiration. She was still wearing the green hospital scrubs, now accessorized with a pair of slip-on disposable surgical booties.

“I made you some lunch,” I said, pointing to the tray. “I was going to bring it to your room.”

“Never mind,” Ella Kate said. She held on to the walker with one hand, and tried to lift the tray with the other, but it wobbled precariously, slopping Coke over onto the tray.

“Let me help,” I said, picking up the tray. “Do you feel like eating here in the kitchen, or shall I take the tray back to your room?”

I could tell she hated taking anything from me, especially assistance. But she was nearly helpless, and we both knew it.

“I’ll eat here,” she said finally, bumping the walker over toward the table. She grasped the back of the high-backed oak chair and gritted her teeth in concentration while trying to slide it back and away from the table without losing her balance.

I wanted to help, but knew it was the last thing she wanted from me. She swayed a little, then managed to lower herself onto the seat of the chair. Wordlessly, I slid the tray in front of her.

“I’ll come back when you’re done,” I said, and I fled upstairs, to my own room, and my own impossible task. I sat on the edge of my bed and willed myself to get on with it.

I’d written Alex’s number on the back of my hand. I punched in the number and held my breath. He picked up after two rings.

“Christ!” he said. “Dempsey? How the hell did you get this number?”

I’d imagined all kinds of opening lines to and from him, but this was one I hadn’t thought about. I decided to go with the truth.

“Alex? Are you all right? Look, I’m sorry, but I got your number from the FBI, because the last number you called me from was blocked.”

“The FBI! Christ.”

“I know. It’s unbelievable. Look, Alex. We really need to talk.”

“I can’t go into that right now,” he said, his voice lowered. “I’ll have to call you back. I’m in a meeting here.”

“That’s what I need to talk to you about,” I said, deliberately letting a note of panic creep into my voice. “We need to meet, Alex. It’s really, really important. These FBI agents keep showing up down here. They won’t leave me alone. They even went to see my dad, at his office in Miami.”