Gone With a Handsomer Man by Michael Lee West

That’s what makes things like Splenda so sweet. I don’t know how it got into my dessert—or maybe it was that latte I drank—but it did.”
    “Can people be allergic to that?” I asked.
    “Apparently so. The first time it happened, I thought I had a rash. And it didn’t hit me right away, so I never associated it with sucralose. After that, whenever I ate something with artificial sweetening, my symptoms got worse and worse. This time, I turned blood red and started itching. Even my ears swelled.”
    “You poor thing.” I studied her face. Her ears did look big.
    “Not everybody with sucralose allergies does this.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a gold compact, and studied her face. “The emergency room doctor blamed it on my quirky body chemistry. Well, I am allergic to just about everything. He pumped me full of steroids and told me to avoid artificial sweeteners like the plague.”
    “I wish I’d known,” I said. “I could have made your supper.”
    “You’re too sweet.” She snapped the compact shut, her bracelets clattering. “Estaurado, run and get Teeny’s clothes.”
    He twisted his head, as if trying to understand.
    She repeated her command with exaggerated slowness and Estaurado stepped into the corridor. “I have to be so careful with him, Teeny. He misunderstands every word I say. Just yesterday, he told me he was getting sick and threw out a foreign word, constipación . Well, I dosed him up with Ex-Lax. Little did I know constipación was the common cold.”
    “Get a Spanish dictionary,” I said.
    “Oh, I’ve got several. The man is just too literal—though I’m sure he’d say it’s the other way around.” She rolled her eyes. “Never mind him. I got into a huge fight with Bing Laden. But I got your clothes.”
    Estaurado returned with four bulging Hefty bags. “ Su ropa, senorita. ”
    “See what I mean?” Miss Dora rolled her eyes. “Now he’s mixing up ropes and clothing. Darlin’, I’m sure your pretty outfits are wrinkled to high heaven. When I got to Bing’s, everything you owned was laying in his front yard.”
    While she talked, she bustled around the entry hall, straightening pictures and rearranging knickknacks. “This place needs fluffing in the worst way,” she said. “It’s not formal enough.”
    I glanced around. If it had been mine, I’d have packed up the silver and the porcelain figurines and popped a fig cake into the oven. This house took itself too seriously. It needed the opposite of formal.
    Miss Dora pushed a fat white envelope into my hand and said, “Don’t spend wisely—squander it.”
    I pushed it back, but she grabbed my hand. “Keep it, darlin’. Only god knows what you’ve had to tolerate the last few months, engaged to that pussymonger. Speaking of men, I was supposed to meet a client twenty minutes ago.”
    Estaurado shuffled toward me and held out a box. “For you, senorita,” he said.
    He waved one hand, indicating that I should open the box. I pulled off the lid and saw six tiny figurines laying on a cotton strip.
    “What are they?”
    “Worry dolls, senorita.”
    “Why, thank you,” I said, touched by the gesture.
    His face dissolved into wrinkles as he smiled, and crooked front teeth pressed against his bottom lip.
    Miss Dora peeked over my shoulder. “You’re supposed to tell them your problems and stick them under your pillow. Speaking of troubles, I’ll be in a fine mess if I don’t leave this second. Tell you what, I’ll try to stop by later. Maybe I’ll treat you to an early supper.”
    “I’d enjoy that.”
    “See you then.” She lifted one hand and wiggled her fingers. “Come, Estaurado.”
    Miss Dora blew me a kiss and breezed out the door, into the corridor, with Estaurado bobbing in her wake.
    I squatted beside the trash bags. Inside the first one, I found a shoe box with a silvery key. It was my spare to Bing’s house. I started to throw it away, then I remembered Bing’s upcoming trip