Swamp Cabbage (The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles Book 6)

by Paisley Ray

  “Trudy, why are you here? And where’s Dad?”

  “I decided to pop by. John’s fine. He’s in Canton.”

  That’s some pop in: 680 miles!

  I spoke the next words carefully so they wouldn’t sound gleeful. “You and Dad broke up?”

  “Can I get a glass of water?”

  I turned on the sink faucet while Rilda began opening cabinets and drawers.

  “Do you have bottled?”

  “No.”

  She took a sip from the glass I gave her. “This house smells funky.”

  “We got a Gullah Jack spirit thing. Rilda, this is Trudy, Trudy, meet Rilda, the local root doctor. She was cleansing the house so the unsavory types would disappear.” I wondered if she’d mismeasured the last batch she’d burned. As far as I could tell, it had had the reverse effect.

  I worked hard to contain my excitement. I mean one should be delicate in these matters and not exhibit asshole glee when one hears the news one’s been waiting for. Trudy and Dad’s thing had run its course. It had taken longer than I ever expected. Placing a hand on her shoulder, I gave my best heartfelt condolences. “You’re a survivor. Give it some time. I’m sure you’ll sort your life out and be the better for it.”

  The floodgates on her face opened, and beneath sniffles, she blabbered, “I haven’t told anyone. Is it that obvious?”

  “I’d never have guessed. I’m just surprised to see you down here.” A low rumbling thunder shook the house. “I figured you’d go hang at your sister’s place for solace.”

  Gasps puddled out from her throat, and she grimaced. “MUFON needed volunteers, and Sky’s spending the summer in New Mexico on some secret mission.”

  There was a moment of quiet, then she let loose, bawling her eyes out.

  Jeez, she was emotional. It wasn’t his nature, but Dad must’ve dumped her hard.

  “All da tear spillin’ gonna dry you out and wither your glow.”

  “Huh?” I grunted.

  Trudy blinked more tears. “How do you both know?”

  “When you expectin’?”

  THE KITCHEN WAS DIRECTLY BELOW my bedroom, and through the floorboards I detected rattling noises like cup-to-saucer clanking, but in my dreamy state I ignored the intrusion. That is until my bedroom door burst open and the doorknob clonked with the kind of force that puts dings in drywall. My eyes opened, but my back faced the door. I had a good idea who owned the slippered foot that tapped the pine floorboards. With each rap on the floor the sound resonated deeper, like a thumper machine that paving crews use to tamp the earth. Besides blinking, I didn’t move. How could I? Life had thrown a curve ball, and even though I tried to stay in the nosebleed section of the stadium, I’d been walloped on the side of the head by a fly ball. Trudy’s newsflash didn’t sit well. When she said, “Rachael, I’m carrying John’s baby,” sympathy symptoms in the form of a wave of nausea threatened the back of my throat.

  “John? He the daddy?” Rilda had asked.

  “Dad,” I’d said in a monotone voice and began looking for my car keys. I planned to brave the weather to get away from his girlfriend’s predicament. Purchasing a bottle of something that stung going down to dull my senses of Trudy Bleaux’s bombshell seemed like a good start. Then I remembered I was in South Carolina and liquor stores closed at five weekdays, two on Saturdays, and weren’t open on Sundays. Oh yeah, and I wasn’t twenty-one.

  I felt like I’d morphed into a soap opera, and I’d scoured the house for something to numb me to her presence. On my first sweep, I hadn’t found anything more than a congealed cough medicine bottle. Rilda saved the day when she produced a silver flask from her purse that bore a striking resemblance to Betts’s accessory of choice. Since Trudy was prego and didn’t drink anyway, Rilda and I shared the amber liquid as Dad’s girlfriend launched into why she’d bolted before she spilled the news to Dad.

  The more she talked, the better my drink tasted.

  “It’s just we discussed this once and broke up when John said he didn’t want another family.”

  She spoke like I wasn’t in the room. Duh, this was my father. Then it dawned on me. I’d be related to someone with Trudy characteristics.

  I moved onto the porch to watch the rain, and she followed. “I’m worried. What if he doesn’t want the baby? I mean I know once he sees it everything will be fine. It’s just. Oh Rachael, I’m scared.”

  She was a broken record and kept spinning the same lines to Rilda and me. It was a struggle to comfort someone I didn’t want anything to do with, and now she’d worked her way into Dad’s life and, by default, mine, permanently. Rilda kept pouring, and I kept drinking, down to the last drop.

  Francine’s foot stomping stopped, and she asked, “Why you sleeping in your clothes?”

  I began to sit up, but quickly lay back down.

  “Something smells in the house. You been puffing something you shouldn’t in here?”

  My answer was mostly a groan.

  Snapping a window shade open, she let sunlight stream in.

  “It’s early. Leave that shut.”

  “Early? It’s nearly eleven.”

  With effort I sat up halfway and ran my tongue over my lips in an attempt to saturate the cottonmouth that sealed them together.

  Francine settled in the corner chair. She pulled a Mallo Cup candy two-pack out of her MC Hammer hidden pant pocket. “O’Brien, what’s going on?”

  “I thought you were afraid of the Larkin property. Why are you back?”

  “For the record, being cautious isn’t the same as being afraid. A lesson lost on you. I needed some things, but you weren’t answering the phone. When I heard a voice on helium pick up, I figured I’d best get Campbell to drive me on over here to bail you out of whatever trouble you stirred up.”

  “Campbell’s here?”

  “Um-hmm. He’s in the kitchen. I’m fixing to cook some gumbo this afternoon.”

  I heard a flock of something noisy squawk in the trees beyond my window. “When I got back last night, I went to Rilda’s.”

  The candy wrapper crumpled as she tore it open. “Why you go and do that?”

  “If she cleansed the house, I hoped you’d move back.”

  Francine uncrossed her arms and let out a tsk.

  Swallowing a few times, I flushed my tongue around to hydrate my mouth. It didn’t help my raspy voice. “We worked upstairs to down, counterclockwise, when there was a knock on the door.”

  She stopped fiddling with the paper wrapper. “Fireman Forrest come to show you his extinguisher?”

  “That’s warped. Besides I have a bigger problem.”

  “I saw the empty flask in the kitchen and took a sniff. Whoo-wee that was strong. You should know by now, you have a low tolerance for spirits.”

  “Do not.”

  “Bubba Jackson and all them beer and wine bottles.”

  “That was different.”

  “Um-hmm.”

  “Last night, Trudy showed up.”

  “That aerobics instructor from Ohio? Your daddy still dating that youngin? He’s old enough to be her father.”

  “Thanks for that insight.”

  She apologized into the bite of one of the chocolaty circles and dropped a coconut cream glob onto her finger.

  “Things are messed up.”

  “I got a blue million things to do today, and watching you in bed ain’t one of ’em.”

  I leaned on my elbows and stretched my neck so I could see behind her shoulder.

  She turned to the wall, then grimaced. “I ain’t got time for your Simon Says nonsense. What you bothered at?”

  “Remember the painting that was there?”

  “There are paintings all over this house. The eyeballs creep me out. I put towels over all the ones in my bedroom.”

  “Surrender?”

  “Never.”

  “That’s not a question. It’s the name of the framed picture that was in the corner of my room. It’s gone.”
/>   “You sure about that?”

  “I look at it every time I wake up and before I go to sleep. Sure I’m sure. It’s the only original painting in the house. And that’s not all. The silver drawer in the dining room is short a dinner knife. I think Mr. Larkin has been robbed, and I think I know the culprit.”

  “Rachael,” an out-of-breath screech said more than asked, “you’re awake?”

  I had fantasized that Trudy showing up was a bad dream, but the purple spandex leotard and matching tights that stood in my doorway was no illusion.

  “The rain has stopped, just got back from a jog.” After sucking an inhale, she released it like a storm squall. “Let’s go exploring.”

  “I’m not in an explore kind of mood.”

  “There’s a man in the kitchen. His name. Oh, what it is? Chicken noodle.”

  “Campbell?” Francine said.

  “That’s it. Nice guy. Says he’s a lawyer.” She scrutinized Francine, then said to me, “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  I flung a wayward hand in the air.

  Francine popped the uneaten portion of candy into her mouth before stretching her hand across my bed. “Francine Battle. Rachael’s roommate.”

  “Trudy Bleaux. Rachael and I are practically family. What beautiful skin you have, you must detox. So you two share this big house?”

  A gulp went down Francine’s throat, and she murmured, “You have an on-off switch?”

  Trudy released Francine’s hand. Spinning around in the room, she inhaled. “I’m a high-energy, embrace-the-morning kinda girl. Back in Canton, I teach step aerobics.”

  “Why you do that?” Francine asked as she settled back into the chair.

  “Gets the blood pumping, boosts energy. Next to a healthy diet, raising your heart level is one of the best things for you.”

  Francine focused her attention on me. “Rilda must’ve left here in a hurry.”

  “Oh, she didn’t make it home,” Trudy said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “She spent the night.”

  “Where is she now?” Francine asked.

  Trudy began doing lunges at the foot of my bed. “Asleep. She took the room down the hall with the canopy bed.”

  Francine stood. “Rilda’s in my room? I got personal stuff in there.”

  “I’m claustrophobic and can’t catch a wink in anything enclosed. I’m settled into the room next to the hall bathroom. There’s an old black-and-white photograph on the wall. Looks like Eleanor Roosevelt. After I shared my secret news, I slept solid in the queen bed. First good night in weeks.”

  “You slept in Mom’s and Betts’s room?”

  “I didn’t know rooms had already been assigned. I explained it to Maeve, and she said not to worry, we’d sort things out for tonight? If it’s all right, you and I can share a room. It’ll be like a slumber party.”

  “This is not a slumber party, and we are not sharing a room. Wait, Mom’s here?”

  “Was. She and Betts said something about a quick errand.”

  “Errand? What errand?” I asked.

  Trudy began a set of jumping jacks. “Didn’t ask.”

  “In your state, are you sure you should be jumping like that?”

  Francine mumbled, “Crazy seems contagious in your family.” She proceeded to march across the room. “Root doctor or no root doctor, I got unique space limits.”

  Throwing the covers off, I asked Francine, “Where are you going?”

  “There’s too many people and too much goin’ on in this house for my liking.”

  I leapt out of bed to catch her arm. Beneath my teeth, I uttered a plea. “Don’t leave me now. I need you here.”

  “You need a shot of normal, and I’m not sure anyone has developed that remedy. I’m packing up and moving in with Campbell for a while.”

  Outside a motor hummed to a putter, and through the trees, we all caught sight of a pontoon pulling up to the rickety dock. Trudy bent down to get a closer look. “I think it’s your mom and her friend.”

  Francine peered over Trudy’s shoulder. “You got some beacon summoning all the freaky types.”

  I guessed a combination of Trudy’s high octane and her news had run Mom and Betts off, but they were back. Throwing on a pair of sweats, I hopped toward the hallway.

  “Oh goody. You changed your mind. We’ll start off easy. A brisk three-mile speed walk should loosen us up.”

  “I’m not going to exercise with you. I’m going to have a word with Mother’s friend about some things that are missing from the house.”

  The corners of Trudy’s mouth frumped.

  Using her hand like a windshield wiper in a downpour, Francine said, “You don’t know whether you’re washin’ or hangin’ out. That firewater has gone and scrambled your brain. You can’t go run her down, all accusing like.”

  “Watch me.”

  A FURY INSIDE ME propelled my bare feet down the stairs. Behind me, Trudy clipped at my heels and asked, “What’s this all about?”

  “Rachael thinks Betts is skimming household items.”

  I felt like the grand marshal leading a parade.

  “Who else could it be?” I asked.

  “It ain’t right, getting a wild hair without proof.”

  My feet landed on the first floor. “I’m not accusing, I’m confronting. There’s a difference.”

  Upstairs, I heard the click of a door handle. Standing near the top of the staircase, Rilda held a hand on the side of her head. “What da commotion?”

  “Girl fight, out back. My money’s on—”

  “Francine, that’s not funny.”

  Campbell stepped into the entry holding a half-eaten bagel, “What’s funny?”

  “Nothing,” I grumbled. As I pushed past, I thought of She-Devil, my college landlady and quasi friend. Before I confronted her, she had me avoiding a love interest and the Holiday Inn bar, but all that changed when I got my nerve up. “I’m having a conversation that I should’ve had ages ago.”

  “What’s eating her?” Campbell asked.

  I didn’t have time to explain my intentions, mostly because if I stood around, talking, I’d probably lose my courage. It wasn’t as though I pretended to like Betts. I only loosely tolerated her presence out of respect for Mom. But since Betts had been living under the same roof, and since this wasn’t the first time expensive things “went missing” when she was around, my mother’s companion was the only reasonable explanation I could think of. I remembered our first meeting hadn’t exactly been all shits and giggles. The memory of her slapping me my freshman summer in Canton still stung. Since then, she’d walked a fine line with me.

  The sky had cleared, and sunshine dried patches on the stone pathway. With vigor, I strode toward the water, my bare feet imprinting footprints into the wet earth. Ahead, I could see Mom and Betts securing a rope to a piling. Mom waved. “Rachael.”

  I could hear mumbles and footsteps behind me. There was no backing down now. My mother wasn’t going to like what I had to say, but that was tough love, wasn’t it?

  Betts lent Mom a hand from the dock and guided her to dry land. As I approached, Mom smiled. “Rachael, what’s going on? Who are all these people?”

  “There’s something you need to know.”

  “I know, dear,” she whispered. “Trudy. Isn’t it strange that she came all the way down here? I mean when your father and I argued, which rarely happened, I never drove across state lines to clear my head.”

  “Is that what she told you?”

  “Well, yes. You see Betts and I had to dash back to the emergency consultation site. Betts left her pendulum and a personal item she always carries behind. Francine, good to see you.”

  “That woman is stealing from the house. Silverware and art has vanished,” I began, but before I finished, an increasingly noisy hum droned toward us from the water. A boat, with POLICE painted on the side, like the kind you expect to see in the Everglades, skimmed the still water, creat
ing a wake that scythed behind. The massive fan propelled it to skip along the marsh as it jetted right for us.

  “That there our buddy Officer Wilkes?”

  I turned to face Francine and noticed Rilda at the porch door. “I think so.”

  “You know a policeman?” Trudy asked.

  “He answered the call the first night when Rachael and I saw the body in the shed.”

  The motor slowed, and the boat sat in just inches of water.

  “He looks like he’s madder than a mosquito in a mannequin factory,” Francine said.

  We all stood there and watched Officer Wilkes drift to shore. Stepping forward, his boot-clad feet splashed shallow water as he gave the rope he held a tug to help guide the craft to dry land. The synapses in my brain weren’t firing properly. I was so focused on throwing Betts under the bus in hopes of a quick confession that I hadn’t begun to fathom why the police boat was here. I hoped he had a set of handcuffs, ’cause I envisioned him jetting off with Betts’s wrists secured to the bench seat.

  “Ms. O’Brien, Ms. Battle,” he said and tipped his hat at the others.

  “Just passing by?” I asked.

  “No, ma’am. Official police business.”

  With exaggerated politeness, Francine asked, “Is there a problem, Officer?”

  “I’m afraid so. An unfortunate discovery. Body’s washed up on the bank of the Bull River.”

  “What does that have to do with us?” Campbell asked.

  “Night you called the fire department over, said you saw a body in your shed. Well, the description matches.”

  Francine’s feet tottered backward.

  Campbell lent a steadying arm.

  “Black male. Throat cut, rope burns around his ankles. We haven’t identified him yet, and until we do, I want y’all to stay put.”

  My heart accelerated, and a cold sweat broke out on my neck and forehead. “Body up the creek? Stay put?”

  “What you saying, exactly?” Francine asked.

  Officer Wilkes pointed to everyone. “Nobody leaves or comes to the Larkin property, ya hear? Should have the body ID’d by morning. I have a lot of questions. Especially you two.”