“Port Canaveral?” I asked. “Who in the world would take a taxi to Savannah from Port Canaveral? That must have cost a fortune.”
“She paid me a thousand bucks plus my fare,” he said, chortling. “It’d be foolish to turn it down.”
My blood ran cold. There was only one person who would pay a thousand dollars to spend hours in a cab in miserable weather. I peeked gingerly into the back window, expecting to see Aunt Scarlet looking like a wizened prune in one of the fur coats she enjoyed and talking the cabbie’s ear off. Or at least trying to seduce him. Aunt Scarlet never let a younger man go to waste.
But she wasn’t talking his ear off. Her head was slumped down on her chest and she was fast asleep. At least, I assumed she was asleep.
“Is she alive?” I asked, squinting to get a better look.
“Definitely,” he said. “She’s been snoring like a jackhammer.”
Even as he spoke the words I heard a sound like a lawn mower starting, and her snores resonated through the cab and out the window.
“How have you listened to that for hours?” I asked. “I would’ve strangled myself by now.”
“Eh,” he said, shrugging. “I’m mostly deaf, and I just turn up the radio real loud. If you play Black Sabbath it sounds like she’s part of the band.”
“I’ll remember that,” I said. “I suppose I need to take her off your hands.” I was debating whether or not to pay him another thousand dollars to take her back to the boat dock. Having Scarlet in town was a double-edged sword. She was entertaining from time to time, but she almost always brought trouble with her.
I stared at her a few more seconds, continuing my internal debate, when her eyes popped open and her head snapped up. She let out a little scream at the sight of me staring at her through the window, and then she grabbed her chest.
The cabbie decided to be helpful and roll down her window. I shot him a scowl, but he rolled his own window up and went back to his crossword.
“What in the fresh hell is wrong with you?” Scarlet asked. “I could feel you staring at me. I got eyes in the back of my head. You don’t survive the Nazis without having extra eyes. They used to watch me sleep all the time. I could lie still for hours. And then as soon as they’d drift off I’d jump up and snap their necks. I grew up wringing chicken necks. Human necks aren’t much different.”
“Hmm,” I said. The cabbie had stopped his crossword and wasn’t even pretending not to eavesdrop.
“My dad fought the Nazis,” the cabbie said, over his shoulder. “Got his foot shot off.”
“It happens,” Scarlet said, shrugging. “I still got a bullet in my hip. It’s been in there so long I figure it’s holding things together. You sure you’re married?”
“Forty-five years,” he said. He grinned, showing a gap in his teeth.
“Hmmmph,” Scarlet said. “Well, I’d guess you’d best hold on to her. You’re not getting any younger.”
I let out a sigh and opened the car door. “Let’s get inside,” I said. “It’s wet and freezing.”
“I was wondering if you had the good sense God gave you to get out of the rain,” she said. “Pregnancy must be making you dumb. What are you wearing? Are you emo? I read all about them in Teen People. They have sex hanging upside down like bats.”
I pressed my lips together and helped her out of the car. She was ninety pounds of woman and fifty pounds of fur coat. I didn’t know how she was keeping herself upright. Her hair was flame red and covered in a plastic kerchief to protect it from the rain. She was carrying a Louis Vuitton travel bag and she shoved it at me while she said her goodbyes to the cabbie.
“Good luck,” he said to me, and then drove off.
“Strange man,” Scarlet said. “Not what he seems. I’d keep an eye on him if I were you. I memorized his license number just in case.”
“Good thinking,” I said, helping her up the three short stairs and to the front door I’d left open.
“Do you live in a museum? Why is this door so big? How come you don’t have rocking chairs? What kind of house doesn’t have a porch?”
I’d personally wondered the same thing. Nick’s house wasn’t the typical Savannah home. It was a big white elephant of a house—sleek and modern and square—with floor-to-ceiling windows at the front and the back so you could see all the way through.
I wasn’t the sleek and modern type. I made Joanna Gaines look like a city slicker. And I loved a good wraparound porch with rocking chairs.
“Maybe I’ll add one,” I said. “Let’s get you in and warmed up.”
“I’m warm as a glass of brandy,” she said.
I took off the slicker and rain boots and left them on the porch, and then I closed the front door behind us. “This is a nice surprise,” I said. “Did you have your luggage sent to the hotel? What happened to your cruise?”
She moved into the main living area and stared at the giant black leather sectional and glass tables. There was art on the walls and rugs that were probably more expensive than the entire house. I hated the living room. The only redeeming thing about it was the view out the back. The main rooms of the house were sterile and cold, but Nick’s office and the kitchen and most of the bedrooms were very cozy. It was like his interior decorator had split personalities.
I’d never actually told Nick that I hated this part of the house. I hadn’t thought I’d ever be living here. At least not full time. But now that I was, it seemed like something I should mention.
“The ship caught on fire in South Africa,” she finally said. “A little mishap in one of the staterooms. Lots of damage. They had to evacuate the whole ship. Took three days to get a new one and rebook the passengers for the rest of the trip.”
“And why didn’t you reboard?” I asked, suspicious.
“The captain recommended I sit this one out,” she said. “He thought it’d be too strenuous for a woman my age to make that kind of trip alone, so they got me a ticket on a flight back to the US. I told him nonsense. I’m fit as a fiddle. It’s age discrimination. I’m going to sue.”
I pursed my lips. I could only assume she meant she’d burned down the ship and they’d told her not to come back.
“I like it better here anyway,” she said, flicking her hand like it was no big deal.
Scarlet shrugged out of the fur, and I caught it just as it was about to hit the floor. And then she untied the plastic kerchief over her head. She’d taken to wearing wigs since the extensions hadn’t worked out so great, and today’s was a Sharon Osbourne wig in bright red.
She was dressed in one of her habitual jogging suits, this one terrycloth and the same color as her hair, with white racing stripes down the legs and jacket sleeves. She turned around and I saw the word Juicy written on her butt, and I couldn’t do anything but shake my head.
“Your butt is a billboard,” I told her.
She twisted her body so she could see her behind and smiled. “Men used to look at it all the time, but things aren’t as high up as they used to be. I figured giving a little attention to the area couldn’t hurt. I can still pop it like it’s hot.”