by Paisley Ray
The zipper on my Levi’s rrrripped as I slid it closed.
He moved toward me, but I darted into the next room and around the far end of the table.
“Rachael.”
He flicked on a light and we both blinked. “What?”
A pair of blue tartan boxer shorts were balled in his hand. His muscle-toned physique, usually hidden under khakis and earth toned button down shirts was impressive. “You have it all wrong.”
“Then why did you disappear? Who’s golden pheasant?”
“It’s not a ‘who.’ It was a ‘what,’ and I can’t tell you.”
Goodbye.
JUST BEFORE DAWN, STONE’S car navigated empty campus roads. My head tumbled over what-if and holy-shit scenarios. They weren’t cut and dry situations I could sort out with Stone around. Besides the Golden Pheasant can’t tell you drama, I still dwelled on the theory that he could’ve had a hand in killing Billy Ray.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
A year later and I wasn’t sure who’d helped me out of that seemingly dead end. I needed space and had to resort to telling a teeny tiny fib.
“No, I just realized I have a paper to write for my Philosophy ethics class that I’d forgotten about.”
Stone looked at me funny, “I have pen and paper here.”
“I need my books at home.”
“You’re okay with me not being able to give an explanation?”
“For now, I guess.” I said and waited while he found his car keys.
An opening in the clouds on the Eastern sky burst in waves of oranges, and pinks, signaling that morning had begun to break. Before I disengaged the door handle he said, “See you tonight?”
“Probably,” I said, and kissed him on the cheek before making a nothing-special exit from his car to the front porch.
If all else fails, I could enroll in acting.
The lights inside The Flamingo House glowed like a Christmas tree, which was weird. Generally none of us were up this early, unless there was test cramming or pre-dawn sleeking home from an after-bar party. The front door hadn’t been closed all the way and the lock hadn’t caught.
Damn roommates. Why do any of them even bother to have locks installed when they don’t use them? No wonder we had a snake in the house. Freaking creepy crawlers can just come on in.
I turned the laundry and powder room light switch off. I was more unsettled by Stone than I’d let on. His secretive side threw me—us—off balance. He acted way too suspicious about the golden pheasant, cursing himself when he realized that he’d scribbled those words on a pad of paper. Funny how a seemingly innocent description of a bird could send my Friday morning down the toilet. On the car ride to my house, he’d muttered about still working on contracted projects with the Navy, and how he’d been called on an emergency case. Unconvinced of the innocence he professed, I translated his plucky excuse as bullshitesque.
A cup of tea and a cigarette was GG’s cure-all. I’d taken a good look at Stone’s scribble. Now I needed to quiet the inside of my head so I could mentally compare the style to the note I received along with the oyster brooch in my Galaxie glovebox when I’d arrived home last summer. If the handwriting matched, I’d know for almost certain that my boyfriend was a Stone blooded killer.
When I stepped into the kitchen Jet spun around. “Rachael,” she scolded.
“Why are all the lights on?”
“Not sure. You alone?”
I nodded. She’d had the same thought as I and took a whistling kettle off the stovetop. “I walked in not ten minutes ago; I just hadn’t gotten around to turning the switches off.”
“Where’s everyone?”
“Francine is probably at Roger’s. Katie Lee’s door is open. She’s not here, but her car is.”
The way she spoke frightened me. “I don’t like it. Was the house like this when you arrived?”
“Ya, why?”
Our eyes locked. “Sheila.”
“You don’t think she did anything stupid?” I asked.
“Like what? Leave all the lights on to freak us out? Maybe she put Nair in our shampoo bottles?”
“You’re right. She wouldn’t bother with small prankster stuff. That’s more Nash’s style.”
I hiked my backside onto the countertop.
As she tipped the kettle, her sleeve tugged up, revealing the underside of her right arm where a red and purple welt, the size of a plum had swollen.
“What happened?”
“It was an accident at work. A wrench dropped off a bumper.” She dunked her tea bag in and out of the mug, sloshing murky water onto the counter. “There’s a lot on my mind. I was careless.”
“Was it someone at the shop? That Dewey character, the owner?”
“Rachael, quit looking for trouble.”
“You spend all your time fixing things. How do you get any schoolwork done?”
“I don’t.”
“What do you do? Wing your tests and papers?”
“Winging anything is a waste of time.”
An awkward energy passed between us. Holy Shit, Jet was going AWOL.
“You’re quitting school?”
Her back turned to me. “I’m figuring my life out.”
“And school interferes with life?”
“We all make choices, and I’m certainly not comfortable with the decisions you make.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you hinting about Clay? Because that train derailed. And no matter what you think, I am not jealous or anything.”
She stink-eyed me. “Clay doesn’t have anything to do with anything.”
I huffed.
“Choices are what make us the person we are. They are the pathways in our journey. Our trails may cross, even alter direction, but no two people end up with the same voyage.”
Somehow Jet had turned my lecture around on me, so I dropped the topic. Besides, she had a point. I didn’t want to live her life for her. I had my hands full enough with my own. “Did Katie Lee leave a note?”
Jet shrugged, “Maybe she went somewhere with Nash.”
“That’s a train wreck waiting to happen,” I said.
“Why do you care?”
“Because Katie Lee is my friend. And because whenever she becomes involved with him, it somehow spills into my life.
“Sounds like you have a thing for him.”
Her words bristled the underside of my skin. “Freshman year would’ve been entirely worry-free if it weren’t for him. He’s like the iceberg in my Titanic, and by the time I figure out his gig, it’s too late to save the ship.”
THE LEASING AGENT WORE a navy suit skirt and a white ruffled shirt. Dark roots crept into her blonde permed hair that lay cemented in place with a combination of mousse and hair spray. There were two matching duplex doors and she opened the one on the right. With a foot holding the aluminum screen door, her eyes lingered on her dainty gold wristwatch. “It’s a two bedroom, one bath. Month-to-month lease. Nine-seventy-five. Utilities not included.”
Jet whistled. “Two-forty-three apiece to share a room. For this?”
“Anything walking distance to campus is priced at premium,” she said.
Would Jet be sticking around? If she bailed on us, that would be three-twenty-five apiece.
Francine pinched her eyebrows. She mastered the facial maneuver of angling her brows up at the edges and inward pointing toward the bridge that separated them. I knew she didn’t like it either, but midway through spring term there weren’t a lot of rental options.
There was a stoplight on the corner of the busy street. “Did you talk to Katie Lee? Is she coming?” I asked.
Francine stepped inside and Jet and I followed.
“Let me know what you girls think,” the leasing agent said as she struggled with the rusted crank on the bathroom window.
“Couldn’t find her. I waited outside Criminal Courts and Judicial Processes. She never showed.” Francine mumbled, “Fuels the rift then d
oesn’t show when it’s time to sort out living arrangements. Should’ve known.”
The floorboards were wood with variations of light and dark stain from where carpet had been removed. The walls in the first room were paneled, and the only bathroom had a dark shower stall, dated fixtures, and peeling linoleum flooring.
“This place smells,” Jet said.
“Nothing that a few open windows won’t fix,” the agent said.
“Compared to Sheila’s newly remodeled Flamingo House, this is ghetto,” Jet said.
What was done was done. We couldn’t stay in Sheila’s. “Can you put a price tag on piece of mind and safety?” I asked.
We followed Francine into the kitchen, where she opened a tired oven door that creaked. Jet and I scowled at a refrigerator that was half the width of the one in the kitchen where we lived. Francine rubbed a finger on the faucet. “The silver is worn off and there’s mineral buildup on the tip.”
“That’s aged-patina. Part of the old-world charm of these classic homes.”
“Is Katie Lee avoiding us for some reason?” I asked, while wondering if Francine had offended her.
“You know what I think. She gone and shacked up somewhere with …”
I pinched my eyes closed.
“Nash.”
Francine said it.
“Wouldn’t surprise me if those two did a quickie in Vegas.”
Jet threw fuel onto Francine’s fire. “I’ve been home all day. Big Blue is still parked out back. She hasn’t been around.”
Francine hummed, “Here Comes The Bride.”
“She’s not that impulsive,” I said.
Jet and Francine shared a look.
“But why would the two get married? If she did that her parents would disown her and so would I.”
Francine looked at my stomach before slowly drawing her eyes up to meet mine.
“It hasn’t even been a month since she broke up with Hugh,” my voice rasped at her far-fetched innuendo.
“Have they officially broken up?” Jet asked.
“After everything. Ah, yeah,” I said.
We walked outside and the lease lady locked up.
“We’ll let you know,” I said.
She nodded and headed toward to her car. The three of us lingered outside.
“I’d rather take my chances with Sheila than move here,” Jet said.
Francine slid on a pair of Calvin Klein oversized black sunglasses and the lenses spanned from her eyebrows down to the apples of her cheeks.
“Sheila hasn’t shown herself.” I lowered my voice, “Have you sent those photos to her father?”
“That could explain the lights being on at the house. If she were searching for the pics,” I said.
“What about the house?” Francine asked.
“Doors were unlocked and all the lights were on this morning.”
“What pictures?” Jet asked.
A sweat broke on Francine’s forehead. She pulled a notebook from her backpack and began fanning herself.
“Sheila being Sheila snapshots,” I whispered.
“Alone or with company?” Jet asked.
“I’m no peeping Tina. I only took them for protection and now y’all should be thanking me for my diligence.”
“Have you thought about your insurance backfiring?” I asked. “Sheila is persuasive and she may tell her dad that you’re stalking her or something. You could find yourself on the wrong side of the witness stand.”
Francine tsked. “I told her they were as good as in the mail.”
The estate agent sped off.
“We’re not living here,” Jet said.
“Sheila does stupid things, but she’s not stupid. After everything that’s happened, it’s not like we’ll keep living on her property. We need to keep looking,” I said.
“The Flamingo House is completely remodeled.” Jet said.
“The landlord is unstable. I have a bad feeling about Katie Lee. One of us needs to call Sheila and make sure nothing is going on.” I said.
Francine took a hold of Jet and me by the arms and led us to the sidewalk. “As long as she knows I could send them, we have some security.”
“Katie Lee had to have known living with Sheila would be impossible after she served legal papers,” I said.
Francine flipped her shades on top of her head. “Maybe she has something lined up. She does have a way of stumbling upon things.”
NOTE TO SELF
Not entirely convinced that golden pheasant isn’t a nickname for a conquest. What the hell did Stone mean, “Who do I work for?” Dating an older man—he’s losing it.
The available rentals left around campus are pricy dumps. But is it worth the risks of continuing to live under Sheila’s roof.
Have a feeling Jet is about to blow a gasket. Just not sure if it will be hers or someone else’s.
CHAPTER 27
Looka Here
The professor’s office was on the shady side of the building, and in late afternoon filtered light streamed through the only window. I rested my head on the typewriter keyboard and closed my eyes. This had to be the longest day ever. I’d been alone in Schleck’s workspace for a half an hour. I was tempted to curl up under her desk and take a snooze, but there were packages in the way, and scattered mail and messy piles of student assignments tottering on top. The room looked more like a postal warehouse than an Art History Professor’s office.
My mind bulged with non-college-related, personal stuff. Sheila, what the hell was she up to? I needed to find out her state of mind then I could determine how critical it was to move out of her house. Katie Lee. Where was she? I hoped she wasn’t holed up with Nash somewhere. Maybe she was at her sister’s in Raleigh. I could call. What was I going to do about Stone? Even though I didn’t mention it,, his disappearing act still rattled me. I hadn’t found the time to concentrate and compare his scratchpad jotting with my memory of the note left in my car. A part of me worried that if he tired of my company would it be easier to make me disappear rather than go to the bother of breaking up?
Spring break was next week and it couldn’t come quick enough. From the looks of Schleck’s desk she’d knocked off early. There wasn’t a to-do list anywhere. The professor was probably cruising some exotic waterway with the Baron, whom I imagined to be an overly tanned, wrinkly old man whose eyes immediately connected with the chests of any women in the room. The two were probably slathering each other with Panama Jack oil while sipping rumrunner’s. I considered ditching, but decided I’d have more peace here than back at the house.
Sitting upright, I started opening drawers in the credenza in search of the White Pages. The Schleckster was a closet clutterbug. Besides today, surfaces were normally tidy, but drawers and cubbies were an unorganized chaos of heaving paper piles. I found a stack of phone books but they were for the Tri-state area, which didn’t include Raleigh. I didn’t think the professor would notice a charge to information so I plunked into her chair to use her phone. Brown was a common last name. Luckily I remembered the address from the visit Freshman year, 331 Courtside Park, Cary. While being connected, I couldn’t help but thumb through her mail. A lot of junk, office supply catalogues. Two letters looked interesting. First Caribbean Bank with a Cayman Island return address, another from the Port of Savannah Customs and a hand written envelope from the Dean, Schleck’s boss. I flipped that one over, the back was barely sealed and voila, the envelope opened. A note was penned on university letterhead.
Professor Schleck,
It has come to my attention that you missed your Thursday lectures. I want to remind you that all absences, unless a medical emergency, must be reported to my office in advance so a note can be posted or other arrangements planned. Although this is your first offense I am required to cite a warning on your personnel record.
Enclosed is the card of an art dealer I personally know. He will be traveling this summer and is looking for a reliable candidate to handle his gallery in B
eaufort. If you know of anyone, please advise.
At your earliest convenience, please stop by my office so we can clarify the circumstance of your absence.
Dean of Liberal Arts
Frederick O’Doull
Schleck was up shit creek.
I slipped the note back in the envelope.
The information operator dialed the number and the phone began to ring.
“Hello.”
“Harper?”
“No. This is her roommate, Pam.”
“Oh, hey Pam. This is a friend of Katie Lee’s. She said she was planning a visit to your place and she left her student ID behind. Has she arrived?”
“Harper didn’t mention her visiting.”
“Maybe I was mistaken. Anyway I’ll track her down,” I said, and hung up.
Damn, I’d hoped on a whim she’d fled to her sister’s. My finger nipped at the edges of the sealed envelope from the Port of Savannah.
There was a rattle outside the office door. Dropping the letter, I jumped out of Schleck’s seat. A face peeped out from behind a dolly filled with brown boxes.
“Nash. Don’t you knock?”
“O’Brien. Serene as always.”
He pushed the dolly into the center of the room. “You’ll have to excuse me for barging in, but I didn’t have a free hand. Where do you want the packages?”
“In the corner, I guess.”
“What’s the professor ordering? Naughty adult toys from China?”
“Okay, those types of comments are part of what makes you undateable.”
“Katie Lee doesn’t think so.”
I scrunched my eyes at him. “Don’t feed me a line. We both know you weren’t at the house last night or the night before. She dumped you.”
His lips mimicked mine.
“Is that the best you’ve got in your arsenal of messed up?”
To my annoyance, he stuck around.
“The only reason I haven’t been taking advantage of Katie Lee’s gracious hospitality is because of work.”
“Right.”
