by Paisley Ray
“Some of us make a paycheck. And after you sign for these, I’m headed to the house.”
“Our house? Have you spoken to Katie Lee?”
“Nosy question.”
“No one’s seen her since yesterday. I’m beginning to think she left town.”
He threw the last box on top of a stack and missed. “We have plans. Tonight, I’m taking her to a fancy restaurant. I’m winning her back.”
I chewed on that.
He enjoyed my silence and gloated.
Moving to Schleck’s desk I handed him the phone. “Call the house and see if she’s there.”
He dialed and pressed speakerphone. We both listened to the ringing. On the fourth one, Francine answered, “Hello.”
“Hey, Francis. Is Katie Lee there?”
“Francis. Nobody call me Francis. Who’s this?”
“Nash.”
“If it ain’t the resident grubber.”
“Put Katie Lee on.”
“I’m onto your scheme. My eyes are all over your maneuvers. I know you’ve been tinkering with the water bottles at the basketball games.”
With an annoyed undertone, he said, “Is Katie Lee there?”
“What are you slipping the boys: laxatives, sleeping tonic, or some prescription dope? An antidepressant that can make a fella groggy? Maybe some combo. Is that how you get your kicks or are you running a …”
“Is she there?” he asked.
“No she’s not. Probably run back to cheater pants. If you and he were my only choice on the planet, I’d …”
Nash hung up. “Francine is deranged.”
“She’s not bullshitting. Katie Lee hasn’t been around.”
“Maybe she went to The Bern.”
“Her car is parked at the house.”
Nash ran a hand through his hair.
“Is there anything going on in your vortex that could spill over and sweep Katie Lee down the river?”
He stood there for a beat, picking at a callous on his hand, before he said, “No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’ve had some downs, but mostly ups, on a side deal.”
“What deal?”
“Sports investments.”
“You mean gambling. And there we have it. You owe some loan shark money. I’m broke so forget about crying to me for cash.”
“It’s nothing like that. I have a proper loan and edge. I bet on local teams.”
“Which local teams, exactly?”
“Roger’s team,” Nash blushed.
“They’ve been playing terrible, you must be losing.”
He couldn’t look me in the eye.
“You’ve been betting on them to lose?”
“That’s not true. I bet the other teams would lose.”
Figuring I needed to sit down for this, I settled into Schleck’s chair and rested my feet on her desk.
“I just bet they wouldn’t lose by the expected spread.”
“You are a complete dumbass. Francine was right, you’ve been fixing the teams waters. You could go to jail, big time.”
“Rachael, please don’t tell her. Nobody got hurt and besides, we need Bix.”
“Bix?”
“You’ve met him. He’s my bookie and technical advisor.”
I drew a blank.
“Halloween. He’s the real smart dude, computers and all.”
Schleck’s phone rang and on the off chance that it was one of my roommates, I answered it.
“Silvia,” a woman on the other end said.
“No. She’s not in the office. Can I take a message?”
Nash, I noticed, thumbed around the papers on top of a credenza. I kept a watch on his sticky fingers.
“Well, this is her neighbor, Aggie Sethers. The professor’s Cat Benatar, is locked out of her condo, and I was worried that she’d taken off on one of those business trips and forgot about him. But as long as she’s around, well I won’t worry.”
Wheels began grinding inside my head. “Oh, Aggie, I’m so glad you called. The professor left a note where the kibble is, but she forgot to give me her address. Spring break is next week and she and the Baron took off early.”
A wicked smile railroaded Nash’s face.
I scribbled down an address and assured Aggie that I’d be by to feed Cat Benatar.
“You have a key?” she asked.
“She told me she’d leave me one by the front door. Under a rock.”
“Flower pot, dear.”
I hung up the phone.
Nash dug into his shirt pocket and unwrapped a toothpick. “Do you have any packages to go?”
I nipped the three letters from the professor’s desk and tucked them in my back jean pocket. “That small stack,” I said as I pointed. “I need a lift. And don’t think you’re off the hook with the basketball confession.”
He took off his baseball cap and scratched his head. A portion of the toothpick bobbed around. “Do ya now? A lift’s gotta be worth something.”
EARLY EVENING, THE WIND kicked up and blew a gusty breeze that flipped the underside of tree leaves upward. A wayward plastic bag raced across the parking lot. Nash pulled into the Xanadu Apartment complex and parked in the middle of two spaces. He shifted his Ford truck into park and let it idle. “There’s no way Katie Lee’s here.”
Finding her nagged at my conscious and I needed to check with the two people who’d crossed her, just to make sure I hadn’t missed something.
“How do you know? Is there something else you’re not telling me?”
“You know what your problem is?”
I gave Nash a sideways glance. “I’m aware of one.”
“You’re too busy thinking to see the truth. It’s over between them.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“He’s broken her trust.”
“So did you.”
“That was different. I was seduced by a psycho bitch.”
“I’m not seeing a difference here.”
“She won’t even say his name. Their thing was always rebound.”
A scoff bubbled up my throat. “You are sure of yourself.”
“We have a long history, come from the same town and all.”
My hand unlatched the passenger door. “Then this should be quick. I just need to be sure.”
“Sure of what?”
“That Katie Lee’s not here.”
THE AIR HUNG HEAVY and I could smell rain before it fell. Conveniently, the apartment door was unlocked and I took advantage of a surprise entrance. “Hello,” I said behind a knock that pushed the door open. “Anyone home?”
I heard pipes clank as someone turned the shower water off. Inside the kitchen, Sheila spun around, wearing a pale rose silk robe. Considering she was a redhead, the color complimented her pale skin. “Rachael. What brings you knocking? Are you on spy duty?”
Something was different. I gave the apartment a quick scan. Normally a black leather and glass top table bachelor pad, it had been softened. There was a vase of flowers on the kitchen counter and a candle and Kleenex box on the coffee table. A Cobalt blue throw had been draped on the sofa back and there were clean dishes drying by the sink. “Have you moved in here?”
A smile erupted on her face. My inquiry had made her day.
“Sheila,” Clay called, “Do you know where the shaving foam is?” He stepped out into the hallway, wrapped in a waist towel and shook his wet hair.
“I organized your toiletries. There’s a shower caddy in your closet. It should be in there.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
I made an attempt to shake the cobwebs out of my brain. Was I seeing what I was seeing? “Um, er. Is Hugh around?”
Sheila toyed with a piece of her hair, “What do you want with Hugh?”
“He’s at class. Don’t let the door slam on your way out,” Clay said, and left.
“You’ve been staying here?”
She plunked into the
sofa. “The boys have been gracious. Offered an open ended invitation until the predicament is settled.”
“What’s going on? Have you spoken to Katie Lee?”
“That bitch can kiss my ass. She has no grounds for suing me. It’ll be thrown out of court.”
“Is that what your father thinks?”
She straightened the remote on the coffee table.
I settled in a chair next to her. “You haven’t told him?”
“It’s not significant.”
“You’re being sued.”
Standing, she moved toward a pile of magazines, mostly hunting, fishing, and a well-thumbed ancient Penthouse.
“Do you have a lawyer?”
“Why do you want to know? So you can run to Katie Lee and tell her?”
“I was as shocked as you when I found out she pressed charges.”
“She has no grounds suing me.”
“Have you or Hugh spoken to Katie Lee lately?”
“Why would I?”
“Hugh? Is he over her?”
“Breaking up with her is the best thing to happen to him. I did him a huge favor.”
“Sheila, cut the bullshit.”
She traced the button on the TV remote. “He’s a mess. Moping around, not eating. Today is the first time he’s been to class in days.”
“Has he tried to get her back?”
“Probably.”
“What do you mean, probably.”
“He doesn’t talk to me. Won’t even glance my way.” She put her face in her hands and started to sob. “Oh Rachael, things are horrible. I thought after our rendezvous, we’d be back together.” She looked at me. Her nose was running and her face had gone blotchy. “I think he hates me.”
Her wet face looked at me all sorry. I pushed the Kleenex toward her. “Sheila, what’s done is done. You can’t go back in time.”
She blew her nose. “I know that. I think they only let me stay here because … well you know.”
It was nearing six and I heard a crack of lightening in the sky outside the window. I stood up and Sheila did, too.
“Will you stick around? Maybe we can go out for a bite?”
“I can’t. Katie Lee’s gone missing and Schleck’s left her cat locked outside. Nash is waiting for me in his truck. He’s going to drop me off at the professor’s.”
“Can I come?”
I shook my head. “That’s a bad idea. If I find Katie Lee, and she sees you around Nash, she’ll freak. Probably file a restraint order for mental anguish against him.”
On second thought …
“You can come as long as you promise to behave yourself.”
NOTE TO SELF
Sheila’s staying with the boys. Guess Hugh and Katie Lee are really over. If only I could say the same for Nash and Katie Lee.
CHAPTER 28
10 Miles of Bad Road
Schleck’s condo complex should’ve been a twenty-minute drive from campus. But it was a new development not yet printed on the Thomas Guide. With half a dozen wrong turns, it took us an extra fifteen minutes. Situated in a quiet neighborhood, manicured grounds brimming with petunias and coleus beds wrapped around the gated entrance. We were lucky enough to skirt through behind the bumper of a Mercedes-Benz 450 SL convertible, the kind Jonathon and Jennifer on Hart to Hart drove.
Tall and narrow, all the condos’ front doors were designed with front porches that butted against brick exteriors, giving the homes a modern take on a southern-meets- brownstone feel. There were six units in each building and the paint on the window shutters and the shiny brass outdoor light fixtures appeared new.
Nash cracked a shrill whistle. “The art professor’s doing okay.”
Sheila plugged her ears. “Could you not do that inside the car?”
“Look for number four-eighty-seven,” I told Nash.
Early evening on a Friday, I assumed most people were headed out or having dinner, which meant we had a good chance of going undetected.
“What are we doing here, exactly?” Sheila asked.
“Rachael’s breaking into the professor’s.”
“Stop exaggerating. I’m here to check on Cat Benatar and make sure Professor Schleck is okay.”
Nash ripped around a corner and his truck tires screeched. “That woman is wound tight. A heart attack waiting to happen.”
From the back seat bench, Sheila rested her elbow on the console between Nash and me. “If she’s lying still, I’m not resuscitating.”
We pulled into a parking space across from number four-eighty-seven.
“I’ll be quick,” I said as I slid out the passenger door. “You two sit tight.” Realizing the personalities I was dealing with, I figured they’d do something stupid if I didn’t give them a task. “Keep a look out and beep the horn if you see anyone coming inside.”
“Beep the horn! Raz, that’s not exactly subtle.”
The two gave me an annoyed facial expression, and before I could think of something to get them to stay in the truck, Sheila flicked my seat forward and hopped out. “You’re not having all the fun. I suffered through one of the professor’s classes. She has issues. I bet she’s into something kinky.”
“I’m checking on the cat.”
Her arm slid into mine, and she squeezed tight. “Let’s check on this pussy together.”
Sheila wasn’t easy to ditch and I rationalized that it was probably less trouble if I kept her in my sight line.
I heard a truck door slam and looked back. Nash stepped out and began to light a cigarette. The sight of it made my mouth water and I considered going back to bum one, but decided that leaving a trail of nicotine smoke in Schleck’s place wasn’t the smartest.
A detached garage rested in front of the condo. There weren’t any windows, so I couldn’t see inside. As we moved along a brick path, I noticed a side door and both Sheila and I peered inside a glass pane. Beyond a sheer curtain, a car cover had been neatly arranged over her killer Spider convertible.
“She’s home,” Sheila said.
Past a small circular stone patio courtyard, I analyzed the nuances of the covered porch. There was a rolled up newspaper and a flyer stuck in the door handle. My heartbeat quickened. “We’ll just ring the bell, see if she answers.”
“And if she does?” Sheila asked.
“We’ll tell the truth.”
“Which is?”
“That her worried neighbor Aggie called. Noticed her cat is locked out. Plus, she didn’t show in the office or leave me a to-do list. I brought some important looking mail for her. We’re just here to check on her.”
“Out of the goodness of our hearts?”
Sheila stood too close to me. An irritating habit of hers. Gripping her shoulders, I sidestepped to the right a pace.
She looked at my feet.
“I need space,” I said, and I pressed the bell next to the burgundy front door.
“What if she’s inside? Dead?”
The dragonhead brass knocker gleamed. Gripping the ring that rested between the beast’s carved teeth, I clanked the metal against her door three times.
“I don’t do well around blood.” She closed the gap between us. “If I see it, I’m out cold.”
“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for her absence. Maybe the Baron whisked her off to elope.”
“Baron?”
Her porch was surrounded by decorative grasses, and a rustic wooden wheelbarrow was tucked in a nook off to the side. An eyeball-high boxwood hedge divided the professor’s front courtyard from her neighbor’s. Arranged inside the barrow was a hodgepodge of clay pots: some planted with ferns, some flowering hyacinths as well as thirsty geraniums that had started to brown. “The professor’s boyfriend. He has money, so she implies. Schleckster may have hit the jackpot. Maybe they got hitched and he’s insisted she never work again.”
“Landed a Baron?” Sheila’s eyelids fluttered like hummingbird wings. Tipping to the side, she steadied herself by g
rabbing a hold of my forearm. “The nasty art professor with the asymmetrical bleach blonde cut who wears the Garanimal suits?”
Breaking free of Sheila, I began lifting flowerpots out of their drip dishes. A herd of rolly-pollies curled into balls, and a colony of black ants trailed through the barrow’s weathered wood slats. Behind me, Sheila rambled some blah, blah, blah about society circles. Tuning her out, I stretched my arm to the back corner and lifted a heavy mossy pot that housed a gangly asparagus fern. “Bingo.”
Fitting the loose key into the deadbolt, I heard a click and it cracked open.
Sheila let out a squeak and whispered, “I feel so naughty.”
Great, she was in her comfort zone.
A mew noise rustled from grasses beneath the wheelbarrow and Sheila screamed. Great, another thing I didn’t want to know about Sheila. A practiced space invader and a screamer. “It’s only a cat. Why don’t you go to the car and check on Nash.”
She touched her forefinger to her lips. “I’ll be quiet.”
I reached down to pet the white fur ball that I assumed to be Cat Benatar, but before I had a hand on his head, he dashed between my legs and inside the condo. I pressed the door with a finger and it swung wide. The entryway was tiled in a white and black marble. Below my feet lay an oriental rug, and above my head hung an oversized crystal chandelier, secured to the ceiling of the second floor. The thing had to weigh a couple of hundred pounds. From below, I spotted star-shaped drip pans with almond-shaped crystal drops. It was the kind of thing you’d see in an old historical mansion or a museum.
Stepping too close to me, Sheila’s hips practically touched mine. Craning her neck, she gawked. “It’s much too big for the space.”
“It’s authentic,” I whispered. “Hello. Professor?”
The two of us froze while we listened for a response.
I shut the door. “She’s not here.”
“Just because she didn’t answer, doesn’t mean she’s not here.”
“Sheila, stop trying to creep me out.”
We both heard a thump followed by a meow. Beyond the entry, we stepped into a family room, decorated in dark taupe and browns with down-stuffed velvet sofa cushions that sagged. Like her office, her home’s flat surfaces had stuff. Porcelain bowls, vases, shadow boxes of fabric, Asian Calligraphy pens that were framed. A lot of zim zam zoom without a consistent theme or color palette to her décor. We moved past a curio case; inside were sculptures, old keys big enough to open the Green Giant’s front door, and broken pieces of Greek pottery. The professor’s house was arranged in an organized clutter that oddly felt comfortable.
