by Paisley Ray
With a suitcase in hand, Francine warned, “The devil is lurking behind that sofa.”
“Snakes don’t bother me.” I lied.
“Rachael,” Katie Lee said. “Snakes can crawl under doors and climb walls. You’re not going to stay here alone?”
I glanced toward Agent Cauldwell who was on the phone, again. With my back to him, I winked at Katie Lee. I knew it was deceitful, but I wasn’t in the mood for her poor Rachael sympathy.
While I’d thrown Katie Lee off my pity trail, she was replaced with another follower. Jet pulled me aside. “You’ve never meddled between Clay and me and...” She paused. Talk about a left field fly ball? “Rachael, I know you and Agent Cauldwell are none of my business, but I have experience.”
“I, ah.”
She raised her hand for me to shush. I so hoped that what was about to flow from her mouth wasn’t of a personal sexual nature.
“You know I dated Trekker last year.”
“Yeah.” How could I forget? We all spent a portion of spring break together.
“And he worked for DNR.”
Where was this going?
“Department of Natural Resources. It’s like the FBI for the outdoorsy types. He oversaw fish and game.
My mouth hung open. More like he ate us out of all the fish and game in the beach house.
“I remember. You never mention him and I didn’t want to pry.”
“It ended badly. Government agencies attract a certain mold. And the guys drawn to that line of work are.” She paused a beat. “Rigid.”
My teeth clenched.
“They like to control those around them, which can make a girl feel secure, but trust me, they’re married to their jobs and that gets old.”
“You have it all wrong. I’m not falling for Agent Cauldwell in that way.”
“That Gas N’Biscuit incident beginning of the year sure was odd.”
“Wait, what?”
She stared into my eyes and shrugged. “We like to believe that things in life are chance happening, coincidence, but you and I know that’s not always the case.”
As I digested whatever it was she tried to tell me, she lifted a yard stick from the dining table and poked around the corners of the room before cracking the family room slider door open in the hopes that the snake would slither on its way. But bravery had its limits and neither she nor I were inclined to remove sofa pillows or poke around the hole in the sofa.
After hanging up the phone, Agent Cauldwell pulled me aside. “Rachael, I’m on duty tonight and my shift starts,” he looked at his watch, which had a lot of dials and the kind of numbers that glowed in the dark, “in half an hour.”
“Oh.”
“I hate to leave you alone.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I can call another agent and swap shifts.”
“No need for a babysitter.”
“Will you be leaving for Canton?”
Why did he care? Did he want to take me out on a proper date? I still couldn’t help but fantasize about being with an older, experienced man of the law.
“No, I’m sticking around.”
Zipping up his jacket, Agent Cauldwell hesitated near the front door. “I’ll check on you in the morning.”
“Everything will be fine. I’m sure animal services will find it.”
“If you need anything, call me,” he said and left.
I couldn’t relax. From the kitchen, Jet and I scanned the family and dining room wall edges. The doorbell rang and Sheila popped out of her bedroom. She’d changed into jeans and a sweater with a wool scarf knotted around her neck, and placed a suitcase and coat in the hall. Opening the front door, she greeted a guy who wore a green paper jumpsuit and baseball cap. Tipping his hat, his golden smile resembled bi-color corn on the cob. The leather lace up boots he wore were covered with green plastic shin guards that rose up to the bottom of his kneecaps. Around his waist, he’d strapped a canvas belt that sagged down his left hip from the weight of a long stick with plastic movable clamper, some sort of kit in a zip bag, a long narrow flashlight, and three cotton sacks. He reached out a gloved hand. “Danman with Animal Protective Services.”
“That way,” she pointed. “Rach, Jet, I’m leaving two checks. Be sure and have a fabulous holiday. If you need anything, give me a call at home. The number is on the fridge.”
“Wait. You’re leaving?” I asked.
She blinked in rapid succession. “See y’all in the New Year. Be a dear and lock up,” she said and I watched her dart out the front door.
Jet and I repositioned our backsides onto the dining room table, and rested our feet on the clear Plexiglas chairs. Danman removed the decorative sofa pillows, then the cushions below. After inspecting the underside of each one, he piled them in the center of the room. “How big was she?”
Jet spread her arms wide. “About yeah big.”
“What color?”
“Black.”
“Any other coloring?”
Jet shook her head.
“My kinda girl,” Danman chuckled.
“How about the head?”
“What about it?” I asked.
“Was it wider than the body?”
“I don’t know!” Jet said.
“You would have noticed. Venomous snakes have triangular heads. Not including illegal imports, there’s four kinds around here: cottonmouth, rattlers, copperheads, and corals. If she’s black that could be a cottonmouth. Usually like water, but are adapted to land. From the sounds of her, I’m guessing a racer.”
“Eugh.” I said, and latched onto Jet’s arm.
“If she’s here, she can sense my heat. I gotta be ready,” he said, and tripped over a sofa corner, landing a heavy hand on the coffee table.
I gestured to the gifts on the coffee table. “That’s an interesting Buddha”
“Nash brought us Christmas gifts. He gave the jade fat man statue to Francine. At first she was insulted, but he said how millions of people around the world think he was one smart dude full of wisdom and all and she seemed to warm to the thing.”
Danman bent his knees and began to pull the sofa out. “She’s hiding real good.”
I still held Jet’s arm. Neither of us took our eyes off him.
“Why’d he give her a gift?”
Jet shrugged. “He brought all of us gifts. A Claddagh necklace for Katie Lee, French oysters for me, and bird eggs in a velvet box for Sheila.”
“Eggs?”
“Kinda weird. I think they’re real.”
“Are they going to hatch?”
“Don’t know.” Jet said. “Expensive gifts from a guy that, except for Katie Lee, barely knows us. The wrapped one is for you.”
I didn’t want to guess what was inside.
“Where’d he get all these crazy gifts?”
“That’s what Katie Lee asked. Murmured on about his courier business and unclaimed merchandise.”
Danman wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. “She’s gone and disappeared.”
“Oh, the snake’s there. I watched it slither across the back of the sofa.”
“I’m gonna have to check the entire house. She may be thirsty. Toilet bowls, sinks, and showers are good bets.”
Jet put a hand on my knee, and our eyes locked. “I’m not staying here unless he removes it.”
“Ditto.” I looked to Jet. “Neither of us have cars. Where should we stay tonight?”
“I’m calling Clay. You’re welcome to come with and spend the night on the sofa.”
NOTE TO SELF
My mother needs to come fetch what she left behind, but I don’t have her number.
Sleeping at Clay’s, completely out of the question. If Agent Cauldwell wasn’t working, I’d have to ask a favor.
CHAPTER 17
Fixin’ to Come Up a Bad Cloud
Headed southeast, toward the South Carolina state line, asphalt colored clouds clipped through the sky above. The backbench of Mrs. Jett
eson’s Chevy pick-up held a blue velvet box of muted tone eggs, the size of the hard coated bubble gums you get in an Easter basket. Still recovering from the humiliation of sleeping on Clay’s sofa while Jet slept in his bed, I rested my arm on garbage bags stacked on either side of me and pressed my head against my backpack that hung from one of the back hooks normally used for gun storage. The truck was full of my and Jet’s clothes, personal belongings, and toiletries that we didn’t want to leave behind to become a snake bed.
“Rachael, I’m so pleased to have you stay with us for the holiday. It’s quiet without Jet around. It’ll be nice to have young voices in the house. The May River is beautiful this time of year.” She gazed into the rearview mirror.
“Plenty of fresh roe shrimp and your daddy caught grouper today. We were planning on deep-frying it tonight. I hope you girls brought your appetite.”
“It was very kind to invite me to your home for Christmas last minute. I can’t thank you enough. I love your cooking and I’ll never forget my first raw oyster at your Lowcountry boil. I’m sure I’ll go back to school five pounds heavier after staying at your house.”
“You’re welcome to stay the entire break.”
“That’s really sweet of you, but I have a friend on Spring Island I’d like to visit, and I think I’ll be able to bum a ride back to campus once the snake is removed.”
Jet turned and smiled at me. “Rachael, you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you like.”
Since her Clay hook-up we hadn’t been the closest, and now in a freak event, chain reaction we would be spending the holiday together. “Thanks Jet.”
“How in the world did you girls land a snake in your house? Been leaving the doors open?”
“I have no idea how it got in,” Jet said from the front passenger seat.
Unfortunately, I had an idea. Really, it was more of a vision of someone who was full of bad ideas. Nash.
Staring at the thick wall of trees we passed on the 74 South toward Rockingham, I kept my insider knowledge to myself. We were only one hour into a five-hour journey and my butt already felt as though it had spent a long day on a back-road bus. When Dad dropped his holiday surprise cruise on me, I’d had to concoct a lot of creative reasoning for staying behind. In the end, my internship at college had been the clincher. The professor actually came through for me this once. I had to fulfill my internship hours and I didn’t know what the holiday schedule would be, which was true-ish. Now I wouldn’t be at home or at school for Christmas.
“Why are they fumigating, can’t they just set a trap?” Mrs. Jetteson asked.
“Danman from animal control says snakes are experts at camouflage. Could be in the sofa coils, between mattresses, or wiggled through an air vent and into the duct work.”
“Oh Lord.”
Jet propped her feet on the dash and stared out the window. “Sheila called her daddy. He’s paying to have the entire place scoured and scrubbed to make sure the thing’s gone. It’s gonna take nearly a week for the rafter-to-basement clean up.”
“That’s a lot of expense to find a snake.”
“Sheila’s father seems to have deep pockets,” I said.
“Jet says your family is on a cruise.”
“Um, yeah,” I stumbled. “My dad, his girlfriend, his assistant, and my Aunt Gert are doing a ten-day all-inclusive Caribbean thing.”
Mrs. Jetteson looked back at me through the rearview mirror. “Sounds real fancy.”
“And expensive,” Jet chimed in. “We’d have to farm a lot of oysters to afford that kind of trip.”
“Your daddy must be doing well for himself.”
“I guess so. Business has finally picked up. He’s having a good year since he teamed up with an insurance company that appraises art before policies are written. He’s been getting a lot of commissions and wanted to celebrate.”
“How come you’re not celebrating?” Mrs. J asked.
“My internship work conflicted,” I said.
“Internship? Jet, maybe you should get a campus job.”
“I saw a help wanted sign posted at Dewey Cheatem’s auto repair shop near campus.”
“Fixing engines isn’t going to help find you a proper job when you graduate.”
“Mama.”
“So Jet, did you end up the semester with good marks?”
Trapped in the back seat, the realization that I’d be spending winter break in Bluffton as a guest at the Jetteson’s hit home. Of all my roommates, I’d be in close quarters with the one who rendezvoused with Clay, my ex.
I’d spent weeks plotting and planning how to avoid spending time with Trudy even if it meant not seeing Dad and Gert. Now, spending Christmas with a family I barely knew, in close proximity to the swamp where I was nearly killed, I began to regret the fate I’d chosen. My escape lay with Stone.
Our relationship at best was flighty, but I’d called him early this morning. A female had answered, leaving my voice paralyzed. However, desperation can make courage and I blurted out, “Is Stone there?”
“Not at the moment,” the sultry southern accent replied.
“Can you let him know Rachael called?”
“Is there a phone number where you can be reached?” she’d pleasantly asked.
In the back of my mind I wondered if it was his ‘colleague/friend,’ whom I had met in his apartment last year. It had been so long, I couldn’t remember her vocal nuances. Then again, did it really matter what woman he had over? I felt betrayed and quickly said, “I’ll be in town and thought I’d touch base. I have some eggs with me that I was hoping he could identify. Let him know I’ll be in touch.”
After hanging up, I didn’t know if calling him was such a good idea. The last thing I wanted to be to Stone or anyone was a burden.
THE JETTESON FAMILY HOME had clapboard siding, shutters, and a cedar shake roof. It sat on the corner of Old Palmetto Bluff and Boat House Lane, and was walking distance to their family seafood business, Shucks, in Bluffton, South Carolina, that operated on the May River. Dotting the perimeter of the yard was a maze of boxwoods, winding paths, and gas lanterns. Wrap-around porches anchored the front and back of the home offering a view of other properties equally as cute. Inside, cozy rooms with sunken sofas, brick fireplaces, and wood floors charmed visitors.
With Christmas just days away, the family was in a frenzy. Not at the house, but at Shucks. They would be open until noon on Christmas Eve, and the storefront buzzed with delivery pickups of fresh shrimp and specialty seafood items. Unable to concoct a believable excuse, I’d braved being inside Shucks. It didn’t seem as threatening as the last time I was there. Mostly because it was full of people coming and going and I was never alone. Jet and I helped out, bringing orders from the freezers and carrying the Styrofoam packed coolers to cars. We worked seven to seven each day since we’d arrived.
Evenings, Jet’s mom somehow found the strength to sauté, batter, or oven-bake something that her father had netted. It was usually served with hush puppies or fries and a small side salad. A Lazy Susan had assorted dipping sauces ranging from Sweet Baby Ray’s BBQ, Texas Pete, chili mayo, and tomato chutney. Just us girls and Jet’s brother, who was in junior high, kept Mrs. J company. Her dad spent evenings unloading the haul, scrubbing down the boats, gassing up the engines, and taking care of any repairs before the routine began again the next day.
“Any word on the fumigation?” Jet’s mom asked.
“We called Sheila last night,” I said.
Jet answered the unsaid question. “They came up empty-handed,”
Damn, that was going to make a quick departure more difficult. What normal person would choose to return to a house with a snake?
“After all that fuss, no snake? For a hundred bucks, I’ll find it,” Jet’s younger brother said.
Ignoring the offer, Jet sunk her fork into a piece of baked flounder and dipped it into a homemade tarter with lots of dill and lemon.
His proposition sounded doable
to me. I’d toss in a twenty.
“Maybe y’all didn’t see what you thought. Happens when you get to be your age.” Her younger brother teased, and I wondered if he didn’t have a point.
“Sheila’s not taking any chances,” Jet said.
“Whatchya mean?” her mom asked.
“She’s replacing all the furniture with new.”
Jet’s brother scrunched his nose. “Why’s she doing that?”
“For in-cases,” I said.
“Oh good Lord. She thinks the snake is hiding in the furniture?”
I couldn’t stop eating the hush puppies. The breaded balls went down like popcorn.
“Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,” Mrs. J said. “The Gator Trap gals are planning on meeting about one. I thought you and Rachael would join us.”
“Northerners can’t shoot,” Jet’s brother said. He yelped when Jet kicked him under the table.
“Shooting is like learning how to swim or fish. It’s a survival skill everyone should have. Won’t you come along?” Mrs. Jetteson said more than asked.
“Sure,” I said, hoping to provide a buffer before any kind of blowout hit.
“We meet in a field a couple of blocks from Shucks. The traps are just beyond muck bottom swamp.”
The last hush puppy felt dry in my throat. Being down here, helping out at Shucks, I’d been proud of myself, able to face my past and leave it in the dust. But trekking through the woods across the street made my heart skip a beat, and I worried that the memory of Billy Ray pointing his gun at my chest would come flooding back. If it did, I didn’t know if I could hold in the secret.
MRS. JETTESON WAS A solid lady. Dressed in khaki slacks and a navy-colored quilted shirt-jacket with one suede shoulder pad above her left chest, she looked bad-ass country chic. Between shucking oysters and carrying a Winchester model 12 shotgun, she didn’t need a gym membership. Her stride across a field of dried grass to a clearing where a group of ladies with fold-out chairs and picnic blankets had assembled was long and purposeful. She was a woman to be reckoned with, and whether Jet noticed or not, she was following in her mother’s footsteps
