Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles)

by Paisley Ray

  “Have you told your dad yet?” Macy asked.

  “I’m not going to tell him anything.”

  “You’re just going to disappear for a week?” she asked.

  I zoned out at the bright sunlight that cast in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and didn’t immediately answer her. Students seated at tables near the windows held a hand to shield their eyes, and a few wore sunglasses while they ate. “Kind of,” I said, wondering if I’d received the “avoidance” genetic strand from my maternal gene pool. “He hasn’t mentioned the spring break. I think he forgot.”

  “That’s convenient,” Macy said.

  “The pieces are falling into place.”

  Macy and I joined Bridget at a table. She’d put her books on chairs to save them for us. She stood and cheerily said, “Gosh, Rachael, you look good in that color.”

  “I’m wearing denim. Everyone looks good in blue jeans.” I wished Bridget would get some emotional etiquette into her head. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand that when you cause bodily harm that requires a hospital visit and physical therapy even if it was a nitwitted accident, it takes time for the injured party to speak to you on pleasant terms.

  “You’re not wearing the Velcro contraption,” Bridget said. “Are you in pain?”

  “What do you think?”

  Bridget grimaced. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “Rach, have you heard from Travis lately?” Macy asked.

  I’d been talking to Kentucky Travis every week, and Macy overheard the end of a call. She figured he and I would be hooking up and wanted to reconnect with his roommate, Ryder Ridgemont. She fixated on me arranging a double date. I avoided her eyes and concentrated on my lunch, the only meal I’d eat at the cafeteria today on my new plan. Bridget yammered on and on about spring break, and her classes. When she ran out of material, she said, “I have to stop by the bookstore. Anyone need anything?”

  Macy pushed her tray aside, leaving half her sandwich on her plate. “I’ll come with. I need a couple of blue books.”

  “See you back at the dorm,” I said, and gooped refried beans and processed cheese on my nachos. Francine came out of the self-serve line with Clay behind her. My heart pattered. I’d hadn’t seen him since I’d been on crutches, but now I just had a slight limp. I waved at Clay, but he didn’t see me. Francine met my gaze and moseyed toward me.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  She put her tray down across from mine. “It’s going.”

  “That doesn’t sound like sunshine and happiness.”

  “I came here for a bit of peace. Y’all missed a big ruckus in your friend Bridget’s room this morning.”

  “Bridget is not my friend. She is an acquaintance by association.”

  Francine cut into a ham steak. “Wait a minute. Aren’t ya going on spring break with her?”

  “Against my better judgment, yes.”

  “Your acquaintance had a surprise visitor.”

  “What guy is ogling over her royal perkiness now?”

  “An older one. And I wouldn’t describe it as an ogle.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I was in Chantel’s room across the hall with the door open. Wait til’ you see her. She went and got a Flock of Seagulls cut.”

  “Like the band?”

  Francine nodded. “She splurged on some new mousse and jojoba oil.”

  “Why?”

  Francine pursed her lips. “Black hair isn’t like the fluffy chinchilla coat you grow. Our scalps get dry and our hair breaks.”

  “It does?”

  Instead of rolling her eyes, Francine circled her head. “You aren’t well versed in ethnic, are you?”

  I shrugged.

  “We were conditionin’ and styling my hair. I’m plannin’ on meetin’ Roger for a dinner date.”

  “The guy you’ve been hot n’ heavy with. The same one you made-out in the hallway last semester?”

  Francine unleashed a smirk and arranged mashed potato to look like a gumdrop on top of her neatly cut ham slice “Three men knocked on Bridget’s door. One was a city of Greensboro detective.”

  I stopped chewing my nacho and stored it in my cheek. “Are you serious?”

  “I don’t make stuff this good up.”

  “What did they want?”

  The detective asked Bridget to verify her identity. Told her they needed to discuss a matter in private.”

  As Francine spoke, I extinguished my peripheral vision and tunneled my focus on her voice.

  “Let me tell you, that girl didn’t look so good. Her face turned pasty white, more so than usual.”

  I pushed my tray aside. “You have my full attention.”

  “The bacon boys stepped inside her room and shut her door.”

  “And?”

  Francine took another bite from her plate. She chewed that morsel twenty seven times. After she swallowed, she bent across the table and lowered her voice. “Now I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me and Chantel.”

  “What did your Bayou ears overhear?”

  “Chantel and I took to studying in the hallway, outside Bridget’s door. We didn’t purposely snoop, but they talked so loudly.”

  I patted Francine’s arm. “You may have some penance time on your hands.”

  “What do you mean penance? I did nothin’ wrong.”

  “Francine, tell me what went down.”

  “Settle your jitters,” she said as she wiped the corners of her mouth. “Seems some shoes, mail order clothing, flowers and cash advances totaling over seven-hundred dollars had her room’s phone number and address on the shipping details. Ordered over the last month, on a stolen credit card.”

  “No!”

  Francine pouted her lips. “Um-hum.”

  “What did she say to the police?”

  “Said she knew nuthin’ bout the merchandise or the stolen plastic.”

  “Maybe they made a mistake.”

  Francine raised a finger in the air while she sipped her sweet tea. “One of them men asked if she’d retrieve her wallet and show what credit cards she carried. In a crackly voice that bonne a rien said she would not.”

  “Bonne a rien?”

  “Someone who’s good for nuthin’.”

  I nodded. “And?”

  “We heard sniffling and then that girl’s wits came out of her storage files.”

  The sun shifted and softened inside the cafeteria. I shut my eyes and mouthed, “Oh Lord.”

  “Amen,” Francine said. “The detective said Visa would be pressing charges that could amount to prison time for fraud.”

  “Oh–my-God,” I barked, drawing unwanted attention. In a hushed tone, I said, “This is serious.”

  Francine motioned for me to lean into the table. “No one talked behind her door until one of the men offered an out. If she confessed and handed the Visa over, they’d arrange for her to pay for the purchases.”

  “No!” My mind went into overdrive. Did Bridget steal the card or did someone give it to her? Nash had a suitcase of money and owed Billy Ray ten thousand. Then there was Nash’s new Dodge. Was this how he and Billy Ray made money on the side? Had Bridget become involved?

  Francine snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Rachael. Come in.”

  “Sorry, what were you saying?”

  Francine tipped her chin. “It got real quiet in there, but that girl is slippery like a swamp eel. I heard a drawer open. I have a hunch she found that Visa and handed it over.”

  “Does Bridget know you know?”

  “How would she? We moved out of the hall. It wouldn’t have looked so good if they came out, and we were sitting there.”

  “How did it end?”

  “We seated ourselves on Chantel’s bed. We’d forgotten to shut her door, and watched Bridget leave with the officers.” Francine pursed her lips. “I’m guessing they took her tooloulou ass to the station to fill out paperwork.”

 
“Tooloulou?”

  Francine rolled her eyes. “Stay with me. Fiddler crab--the kind with one big pincher. Sneaky buggers. They clank that pincher, show-off-like, to lure smaller crabs to their tunnel. Chantel told me Bridget was gone for two hours.”

  “Did she say anything to her?”

  “Chantel’s got gumbo. That’s why we get along. She flat out asked what the police wanted.”

  The tables around us emptied. “And?” I asked.

  “That nitwit waved it off. Said it was a misunderstanding. No big deal.”

  “Unfucking believable!”

  Francine, a staunch Baptist, cringed.

  “Sorry, France, just slipped.”

  Francine and I put our trays away and walked back to the dorm. Before we parted in the hallway, outside our rooms, she offered some advice. “You can bet I’m not leavin’ any unattended valuables around, and I suggest y’all do you the same.” I watched her disappear and heard the sharp click of her lock.

  Katie Lee was at class, and Macy’s door was shut. I closed my dorm door behind me, and hung my book bag in the closet. It slipped off the hook and landed on top of my duffel bag. I noticed the Bible Dad had handed me when we unpacked the van. Kneeling down, I feathered my fingers across the worn cover. I’d already paid the nonrefundable spring break money and would spend a week with Bridget in New Orleans. Even though, she’d slept with Nash, and had driven over my leg, she didn’t act pick-pocket criminal. I didn’t know if I could believe Francine, and didn’t want to forgo my spring break plans and lose my deposit money because of a rumor. Bridget didn’t complain about money and never seemed short on cash. I rested the Bible on its back binding, and it opened to Thessalonians. A hundred dollar bill marked the page. Dad must have tucked it in there when he dropped me off that first day. Sometimes people surprised me, in a good way. I hoped that Bridget and my mom would do the same.

  The phone rang. It was Dad. After a back and forth, “How are you? I’m fine,” serenade, I spit out, “We have some time off from classes in a couple of weeks.”

  “I didn’t realize you had a break,” he said, confirming he’d forgotten.

  “It’s no big deal. I was invited to hang out with Katie Lee, Macy and Bridget.”

  He must have been distracted because he said, “It’s fine with me if you want to stay at Katie Lee’s.”

  I didn’t want him to call and worry while I was away. A prick of guilt twanged inside me for not clarifying where I’d be spending the time off, but I really wanted to get away for a vacation with my girlfriends. Timing and luck unexpectedly spun my way. I decided not to repeat the rumor about Bridget. What good would it do? I’d secured funding, and had Dad’s approval for a relaxing break.

  NOTE TO SELF

  Not sure what went down in Bridget’s room. Neither she or Katie Lee has said anything.

  Thessalonians, a good read?

  32

  Things Better Left Behind

  Tapping the face of my Swatch, I saw the little hand was on the seven, and the big hand was on the nine. Seven-forty-five a.m. and daylight had emerged. Macy, Katie Lee, Bridget, and I stood curbside at the Raleigh-Durham International Airport. We thanked Katie Lee’s sister for letting us spend the night before she drove away.

  Macy didn’t speak in the morning. She never scheduled a class before noon. I didn’t let her grumpiness irritate me. Flying to a warm destination for a week of partying put me in a happy place, and I couldn’t wait to get there.

  We walked through automatic doors where people and luggage loitered. “Katie Lee,” I asked, “are you positive we can drink?”

  “We can legally consume alcohol in Louisiana. The only dignified state as far as I’m concerned. I mean really, we can drive a vehicle, vote, join the military and fight for our country, but we can’t be trusted with a beer? I consider this a direct violation of my rights.”

  Macy grumbled, “You just had to get her started.”

  “What do ya mean, get me started?”

  Bridget mimicked Katie Lee: “The drinking laws in this country are hypocritical.”

  “Settle down,” I said, “we’re in your camp. I’m stoked for break. I want to lay by the pool during the day, and lounge in jazz bars at night.”

  We checked our bags, and I glanced at my watch. “Eight-fifteen. We’re making good time.”

  “Stop with the time checks,” Macy said. “You’re disrupting my comatose state.”

  Katie Lee discarded a to-go sweet tea. “I need to visit the restroom.”

  We all followed except Bridget. She leaned on the wall outside the entrance. “I’m okay. I’ll watch the bags.”

  From inside my stall I told the girls, “It’s eight-twenty-four. Did you see the security check line? It looks as if half the state is evacuating for spring break.”

  In a zombie stance, Macy lathered her hands. “Our flight, doesn’t board until nine-forty. We have over an hour to go through that line and get to the gate.”

  Slugging behind a maze of people to get through the x-ray machine, I checked my watch at every corner. Macy and Katie Lee choose lines to the left while Bridget and I went right. When my turn came, I hesitated. The man in front of me wiped gum from his shoe on the edge of the conveyer belt. I gave him a wide berth, and Bridget stepped in front of me.

  Bridget tilted her head back. “Its ten after nine.”

  The girls waited for me under the flight monitors while security passed my bag through a second time. “Miss,” one of the workers said, “you need to come with me.”

  “Why?”

  “Miss, come with me.”

  I followed him to a door. Stenciled words read, “Airport Security, Private.”

  Macy shouted, “Rach, what’s going on?”

  A tall man wearing blue pants, two inches too short, motioned his hand at a gray plastic chair. “Take a seat.”

  Dumbfounded, I followed orders. “What’s this all about?”

  Two others joined us in the room. Then a fourth gentleman, gray at his temples, entered. He wore an airport detective badge that said Grady. He pushed the door, but before it shut, Katie Lee shoved her sandaled foot in the crack.

  “Can we help you, miss?” One of the security men asked Katie Lee.

  “I’m traveling with her,” I said.

  She let herself in, followed by Macy and Bridget. Katie Lee anchored her hands on her hips. “What’s this all about?”

  In a voice that vibrated the flimsy drywall, Airport Detective Grady asked, “Where you ladies headed?”

  “New Orleans, sir.” Katie Lee looked at her naked wrist. “Our flight departs in --”

  “Thirty minutes,” I said.

  The security employee who had handled my bags gave my leather travel case to the detective. Unzipping it, he asked,

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  I thought this was some kind of joke, but no one laughed. “Can you be more specific?” I asked, darting my eyes from him to the girls.

  The detective began placing items on the table: lipstick, concealer, eye pencil, cigarettes. Pushing the items to the side, he made room for a small wood pipe and two tiny plastic cylinder containers the size of my pinky fingernail. “Do you call these nothing?” he asked.

  Rattled, I squeaked, “A pipe?” My inside voice shouted. You aren’t going on spring break.

  “Miss O’Brien, this is drug paraphernalia. Illegal in the state of North Carolina.”

  “They’re not mine,” I blurted.

  Detective Grady grimaced but managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. He didn’t have to ask questions to scare me. His presence ignited my nerve endings into a series of pulsating shocks. I started to hiccup, and as an added bonus I thought I’d hurl.

  Katie Lee went on the defensive. “She’s not in possession of drugs.” Hearing her words plunged me into an out of body experience. That was my cosmetic case with my makeup, but the drug stuff I’d never seen before. I hadn’t packed them. They
weren’t in my cosmetic case this morning, or maybe they were. We awoke so early. I dressed and left.

  How in the hell would I get out of this? Would Macy, Katie Lee, and Bridget hop on the flight, leaving me to be booked on drug charges? That’s what Bridget wanted. She was sabotaging me. The conversation in the room garbled around my eardrums, and my vision went out of focus. I could only form grunts, and one-word answers to the questions being asked as my mind wrapped around the ramifications of wearing an orange jumpsuit in the women’s penitentiary.

  Bridget batted her lashes. “Can’t you let her go with a warning?” She’d already helped me enough.

  My roommates eyes sparked with electricity. Katie Lee lived for these moments. She stood tall with both hands on her hips and interjected some of her best bullshit scare tactic commentary. “Y’all can’t charge her. You never read the Miranda Rights. Rachael, don’t say anything until you have counsel.” She slammed her hand on the table. “Y’all are harassing her, and that is a state violation.”

  I believed in mind over matter and chanted, this can’t be happening. Surely, the earth had stopped rotating, and I’d been flung into someone’s else’s problem.

  Katie Lee tapped her foot. “Y’all don’t have anything on her, and our flight leaves in under twenty minutes. If we miss our plane, we expect reimbursement on the ticket and hotel accommodations--and being inconvenienced.” She dug my hole deep and wide.

  The detective knitted his eyebrows together and glowered, “This is a serious offense, possession of a drug apparatus is prosecutable in the state of North Carolina.”

  I stroked the face of my watch with my thumb, hyperaware of my saturated armpits, and the time. We had fifteen minutes to get to our gate.