Charlie felt the implied dig. Her price had been exactly zero.
“I tried to do this easy,” Flora said. “I was being honest when I said I didn’t want to get Meemaw and Paw into trouble. I need the money now. Not in two years. Not while I’m waiting for Paw to fall off the wagon. This town is about to take off. More people are coming up from Atlanta. We’ll get liquor sales approved any day now. The economy’s on the upswing. Right now is the time to buy.”
Charlie said, “You’re pretty convincing—except for the part where you turned into a drug dealer.”
“Three million dollars,” Flora told her. “That’s the amount of money that was in the trust after the lawyers got paid. It’s down to less than nine hundred grand, last time I checked. Putting it into land is the only investment that makes sense. Land never drops in value.”
Charlie said, “Your mother wouldn’t have wanted this.”
“You didn’t know my mama.”
“No, but I know what mothers are like,” Charlie said. “My mother loved me with her last breath, Flora. Her last breath. You were with your mom when she died, same as I was. I know she was the same way with you. She wanted you to do good things.”
“She wanted me to survive,” Flora countered. “That’s what she told me with her last breath, right before that semi near about took off her head. She was yelling at me, telling me to get out of this shitty place and make something of myself no matter who I had to step over to get there. You can’t do that with nine hundred grand.”
“You can if you don’t drive a fifty-thousand-dollar Porsche.”
“It was sixty-eight thousand,” Flora countered. “And it was leased, ’cause that’s better for the taxes. Driving a flashy car is part of the cost of doing business. You’ve gotta put on a show for people. Success breeds success.”
“You sold meth to kids. You hooked your own grandfather—” Charlie ran out of words. Telling the conniving shit that she was hurting people seemed like a vast waste of time. Flora knew she hurt people. That was part of the fun.
Charlie had her keys in her hand. “Don’t ever try to get in touch with me again. Don’t even think about asking for my help. Or my father’s. I’m finished with you.”
“Don’t worry about me, Miss Quinn. I’ll figure something out.”
“I bet you will.” Charlie wanted to leave, but she could not let it go. She hadn’t felt this angry, this used, in a long time. “I was really worried about you. I spent my whole day trying to figure out how to help.”
“You did help me. You got me outta that mess in there. And you were right about letting them talk, because they told me a lot with their questions.”
“What did they tell you?”
“That they don’t really have a case. That if it comes down to it, Paw and Oliver look guiltier than I do, just like I meant it to look. That I can wind things down for a while, wait out Mr. Coin’s interest, and start back up again when I’m ready.” She shrugged. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter to me what I’m selling. People want what they want, and if you’re willing to give it to them, there’s profit to be made.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re a good person, Miss Quinn. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.” Flora grinned, showing her teeth. “You’re honest and fair. Friendly and helpful. Considerate and—”
“Shut the fuck up.” Charlie walked toward her car before she got charged with assaulting a minor.
She’d be damned if she let a teenage meth queen humiliate her with the Girl Scout oath.
7
Charlie sat at the kitchen table with a leftover cinnamon bun and a ginger ale. She did not know which one her stomach needed more. Frankly, it did not matter. She was too exhausted to lift her arms to pick up either of them. She could only sit in her chair staring blankly at the salt and pepper shakers on the table.
Ben had bought them when they moved in together. One was shaped like Pepé Le Pew, the other Penelope Pussycat.
“Get it?” Ben had asked. “Pepé is the pepper.”
She let her eyes find the clock on the wall. He was late getting home from work. This was one of his on-call nights. The assistant district attorneys took turns catching after-hours cases. He usually called Charlie to let her know if he was running late. Maybe that was the reason her cell phone had rung outside the diner.
Charlie forced herself to stand up. It was cheaper if she checked her phone messages through the home phone. She found the cordless by the fridge where she’d left it this afternoon. Dorito-dust fingerprints were still on the numbers. She heard her cell phone ring in her purse and in her ear. She pressed in the code for her mailbox.
“Hey, babe,” Ben said on the message. “Did you see that call from Visa? Our card number got jacked this morning. Somebody dropped a buttload of cash at Spenser’s. Can you believe that place is still open?”
Charlie hung up the phone.
The YWCA bathroom. Her purse spilled onto the floor.
Flora must have copied the number on the Visa before she put the card back in the wrong place.
“Jesus.” Charlie sank back into the chair.
What the hell had happened to her today?
At the age of thirteen, Charlie had stopped trusting people. You didn’t watch your mother die in front of you without turning into a cynic. Florabama Faulkner had somehow managed to sneak past Charlie’s bullshit detector. The girl was obviously good at deceiving people. Maude had been fooled. Or at least she had let a lot go unchecked. Then again, Ken Coin had seen through the act.
Which hurt on a lot of levels.
Was Charlie really that gullible? Or was Flora really that good?
Ben’s car pulled into the garage. His radio was up so loud that she could hear Bruce Springsteen clearly singing about Philadelphia. Or as clearly as Bruce Springsteen was capable of.
She closed her eyes. She listened to his car door open and close. The kitchen door open and close. She didn’t open her eyes until his keys clicked onto the hook beside hers.
“Hey, babe.” Ben kissed the top of her head. He sat down at the table across from her. “I heard you were at the station today.”
“Did you hear why?”
“The boss has been uncharacte?ristically silent, but I Scooby-Doo’d it out that it pertains to those apartments.”
She nodded, knowing she could not fill in the details. Flora was a budding psychopath, but Charlie couldn’t break attorney—client privilege. Even if the girl deserved it.
Ben said, “Coin wasn’t happy when he got back from the station, so I am assuming you did a good job.” He picked up the cinnamon bun and took a bite. He watched Charlie as he chewed. “I thought you weren’t going to those apartments by yourself because they’re dangerous?”
“I’m sorry I lied.”
“I knew you were lying, but I had to get my objection on the record so I could say I told you so.”
“You earned it.”
“I told you so.” He offered her the rest of the cinnamon bun.
She shook her head.