“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.”
Nothing on Scarlet was as high up as it used to be, but more power to her. I hung her coat up in the closet while she got comfortable on the couch. She scooted all the way into the corner and her legs stuck straight out like a little kid’s.
“I saw a couch like this once in a porno,” she said. “It was an orgy couch. You have orgies here?”
“Not that I know of,” I said, scrunching my nose in disgust.
“Just as well,” she said, clicking her tongue. “I never enjoyed them much. I’m one of those women who likes to be the center of attention.”
“No kidding,” I said.
“I’ve decided I like being stateside,” she said. “And it’s important at my age to only do things you like. They don’t even put ice in their sodas on the ship, and they changed their policy on topless sunbathing. I can’t have tan lines. I bought a backless gown at Ralph Lauren to wear in the spring. If this blasted weather ever clears up.”
“I’m going to put on a pot of tea,” I said, so I didn’t have to think about Scarlet’s tan lines. “Do you want some?”
“No, but I’ll take a mimosa,” she said.
“We’re fresh out of mimosas,” I told her.
“I guess I’m still used to the cruise ship. I like my routine. What have you got that’s the next best thing?
“I’ve got coffee and Bailey’s or straight-up whiskey.”
“I’ll take the whiskey,” she said. “It’ll keep me warm when we go out later.”
I felt a headache brewing right between my eyes. I hadn’t planned on spending the day driving Scarlet to do errands. Especially not when I couldn’t have a glass of wine at the end of the day.
“What are your plans today?” I asked. “Do you need a ride to your hotel?”
“I’ve got a couple of errands,” she said. “But your guest room will be fine as far as accommodations. Do you have room service?”
“Guest room?” I asked, fear snaking down my spine. Nick was going to divorce me. Ours would be the shortest marriage on the planet.
“Are you daft, girl?” she asked. “Of course your guest room. I’m not going to bunk with you and Detective Hot Buns. I need my beauty rest, and newlyweds are far too active. I’ve been married five times, so I know about such things.”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“I can’t stay with your mother,” she said. “I’d kill her, and I’m too old to go to prison. They don’t let you kill people now like they used to. Social justice or some shit like that. My luggage will be delivered tomorrow.”
“Umm, I…” I couldn’t think of a thing to say. And I knew there was no use arguing. “I thought you always stayed at the Ballastone when you come to Savannah?”
“Well, there was a small hitch with that,” she said. “Ever since I became notorious and wanted for the murder of Big Mo, I’ve been blacklisted at the Ballastone.”
“That doesn’t seem right,” I said, pouring the whiskey
