Johnny Cakes (The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles)

by Paisley Ray

  Inside the kitchen, Cat Benatar pranced back and forth on the countertop near the refrigerator. Schleck it seemed was not a cook. Besides some silk plants behind the sink and a set of canisters, the countertop was bare. I opened a high cupboard and found a dozen cans of cat food and some dry kibble. When I cracked one open, the white fur ball became my new best friend. I emptied the tin in a ceramic bowl I found on the counter and filled another with water.

  Sheila began opening and closing every drawer and cupboard in the room including the refrigerator, oven, and pantry. “The professor doesn’t eat. Besides a few condiments and a bottle of wine, the refrigerator is empty and all that’s in the panty is Tab soda and Melba toast. Are we done?”

  Dragging my hand across Cat Benatar’s back while his head was in the feed bowl, I said, “I thought she’d be here, lying on the sofa with the flu or something. Let’s do a quick check of the house before we go back home.”

  I breezed through the dining room, turned on an outdoor light, and peeked out onto a back patio with wrought iron furniture and a collapsed umbrella under a protective cover. Sheila plopped onto the family room sofa. She watched me as I trotted around. There was a downstairs nothing-special laundry room and a den with a sofa and a desk. Papers and books spilled over into cardboard boxes on the floor beside it. The room was hard to navigate without stepping on something.

  A man’s voice called, “Any signs of her?”

  “No,” Sheila said, “but we haven’t checked upstairs.”

  Outside the office I glanced at the two. Nash had his feet on the coffee table while he thumbed the pages of an Egyptian art book he’d pulled off the top of a stack. Glancing at his pockets, I didn’t think his sticky fingers had nabbed anything, yet.

  The two faced a tall curio case. Behind a glass pane door was a Philips TV, same size as Sheila’s seventeen-inch in our family room, with remote, a VCR, and labeled tape stacks of copies of classic movies like Casablanca. “If there’d been a break-in, stuff would be missing. The place would be ransacked.”

  Nash grinned. “Not necessarily,” he said. “A thief could be looking for something specific.”

  His commentary was like most of the things that came out of his mouth. Useless and coated with bullshit. “Thanks. Though you’re eminently qualified, I’m not interested in a tutorial on thievery.”

  “Just a heads-up. This place isn’t worth the effort. Everything is old,” he said.

  Sheila acted like a tortured kid who had to run errands with their mother. “This condo is boring, like a bowl of vanilla ice cream. Schleck doesn’t know a thing about decorating.”

  Sheila and, I guessed, Nash were fooled by the clutter. From the looks of the place, the professor didn’t seem interested in whether or not a desk or lamp complimented the space. The way she arranged things, with table runners and throws on chair backs tricked the untrained eye to pass over the value beneath. Numbers tallied inside my head and I estimated a handful of pieces, including the entry chandelier that I suspected to be genuine, worth nearly six figures.

  “Anyone curious about the upstairs?”

  Neither Sheila nor Nash moved from the sofa. “Wimps,” I muttered.

  Every wall switch I found, I pressed with the tip of my knuckle. Aware that I trespassed, I wanted to leave as little evidence of my being here as possible. “Professor,” I shouted in case she’d taken Nyquil or was in the tub.

  “Maybe she decided to take a vacation.” Sheila shouted.

  “And leave her cat locked out?”

  I checked a hallway bathroom. Hand towels were folded into something that resembled a lotus flower. It didn’t look like anyone ever used it.

  A spare room was full of taped boxes and the open closet heaved with clothes.

  Inside the master bedroom, I was secretly relieved that Schleck’s lifeless body wasn’t under the covers. The bed comforter was silk and lay rumpled on the floor along with a robe.

  Stopping at the bedside table, I ran my finger against a high-gloss wood inlay. A French antique. On top, a lamp with a silk shade and some cut glass bowls that held potpourri were arranged around a crystal picture frame.

  “In case you were wondering, no one’s up here.”

  “Question for you. If her neighbor knew the cat was locked out and knew where the house key was, how come she didn’t let the cat in and feed it herself?”

  Ignoring her, I focused on the photo in the frame. It was the Professor, dressed in a knee-length, off-the-shoulder black dress. She stood next to a man in a tuxedo. There was a red ribbon on a wreath behind them. Christmas? I didn’t know if the Schleckster had a brother. The two held Champagne flutes. She smiled. A slicked back shoulder-length mane that grayed at the temple, his hair gleamed more than his eyes. Well hello, Baron von Dufus. Baron sounded old and before I’d seen him, I’d pegged him to be seventy-something. He appeared far younger than I’d imagined. Just your average, middle-aged dude. I knew it was presumptuous of me, but I detected coldness in his eyes that creeped me out.

  After placing the picture frames back on the bedside, I retrieved Schleck’s personal letters out of my back pocket. I debated boiling water to open them, but opted against that plan. They were already folded and the steam would rumple the envelope and maybe even bleed the ink. I knew that if I opened these notes, I’d never get them looking like sealed mail.

  Sheila shouted from downstairs. “Let’s go out to eat.”

  “I’m meeting Katie Lee,” Nash said as he stood. “You two go without me.”

  Retracing my steps down the staircase, I listened to Sheila and Nash.

  “Do you have definite plans with her? She’s such a bore. You’d have more fun with …”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I told you all along that I was aiming to get her back.”

  Sheila rolled her eyes.

  “My intentions are genuine,” he whispered.

  I crept down a few steps. Her finger touched his lips. “You haven’t held up your end of the bargain.”

  “Bix is working on your GPA. He’ll have everything sorted by the end of the term.”

  “You promised me months ago.”

  “He and I are working out some financial details. You’ll have …” Nash stopped when he spotted me.

  Still grasping the lightly crumpled, Cayman Island return address envelope, I noticed it felt thick. “What bargain?” I asked.

  Sheila stormed into the kitchen where I heard the clink of glasses, some drawers opening, and the refrigerator seal pop open then close.

  “You better not be drinking her wine!”

  Nash walked to the front door. “See you both outside.”

  I had a weakness for opening closed envelopes and in a moment of uncontrollable curiosity, the contents of them were out. It was a Cayman Island bank account. In March, there had been four withdrawals totaling two hundred fifty thousand dollars. That was a lot of money for a college professor, who wasn’t near retirement age, to have stashed away. Perhaps she came from money or had an inheritance. A couple of grand remained. I glanced around the condo. Maybe Schleck made some big purchases, or unloaded the account before she skipped town. It didn’t make sense. But something told me that the Baron had something to do with it all.

  On a roll, I opened the Port of Savannah envelope as I walked down the last step. It was a bill of lading for a partial container that had originated in Germany. It included the carrier, the freight company, customer order number, the number of packages, their weights and contents. It was for framed poster art. There was a ship-from and a ship-to address. The From, noted Munich. The To, an address in Savannah, Georgia. How strange that the professor and the Baron had to source poster art from Germany. There had to be somewhere cheaper to have them printed in the states.

  “Sheila,” I called. “Let’s go.”

  She didn’t answer.

  I peeked in the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

  “Want a glass?”

  She helped hers
elf to a heavy pour of Merlot. So much for incognito.

  “The professor is gonna know someone was here.”

  Sheila shrugged. “Like the cat food isn’t a clue.”

  Cat Benatar had skirted off. I topped the bowls with kibble and water.

  “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not getting in a car with him.”

  “Don’t be difficult.” A lot to ask.

  “He’s an ass.”

  “There’s plenty out there.”

  “How do you know? The men you’ve been with are all perfect.”

  “Sheila. Come on.”

  “You go. I’m staying.”

  “I was obsessed with Clay. He turned out to be a huge jerk.”

  “A hot jerk, with some remarkable qualities.”

  I put her glass in the dishwasher and lifted the wine bottle, cork, and foil. Leading her by her wrist, I said, “You can drink this at home.”

  With my hand between her shoulder blades, I directed her toward the entryway.

  We were steps from the front door when it hit me and the wine bottle slipped out my hands, onto the marble entryway.

  Sheila jumped back. “You got her rug all wet. Can you vacuum stains out of an oriental?”

  Dashing up the stairs, I took two at a time and grabbed the photo of Schleck and von Dufus off the table. Without looking at it, I hustled back downstairs and out the front door to Nash’s truck where his elbow cradled an open window.

  “Ladies, let’s get going.”

  “Jack Ray. Do you remember him?”

  Nash removed a toothpick from his mouth. “Been awhile.”

  I held the crystal frame up and he took it out of my hands. “You can change the professor’s clothes, but that doesn’t improve her …”

  “Nash, look at the man in this photo! It’s him, isn’t it?”

  “Him who?”

  “Billy Ray’s cousin, Jack!”

  NOTE TO SELF

  Even from the grave, Billy Ray is managing to muddle my life.

  Schleck dating Jack Ray? Why would she dump the Baron for a con who peddles forged art to unsuspecting academics?

  CHAPTER 29

  Like White on Rice

  Back home, I hung up the phone. I only had a thread to go on and called Liz Stein at the Weatherspoon art gallery. She and the professor were friendly-ish. Maybe, she could provide me with some insight or tell me I was off my rocker. Something. But with spring break next week, she’d already left town.

  “I don’t know why you’re freaking out,” Sheila said from the sofa. “It couldn’t be the same Jack Ray you met in New Orleans. I mean, what are the chances?”

  “The chances should be zil. But, if it’s him, it’s part of some scheme.”

  Nash came down the stairs after he changed clothes from his stash in Katie Lee’s room. “Did you find anything in Katie Lee’s room?” I asked.

  “Looks like it always does. I can’t tell if anything is missing.”

  At Stone’s I could tell if anything was new or out of place.

  “Can’t you call someone and find out what Jack Ray is up to?”

  He began rummaging in the refrigerator and pulled out a loaf of bread and some turkey cold cuts. “I don’t got a daisy line. I can’t just ring up and ask that sort of thing.”

  “You are southern. Everybody down here knows everyone else’s business.”

  “Being friendly isn’t the same as snooping,” Nash said.

  Making another trip to the refrigerator, he removed butter, milk, and some pickled okra that I knew was Francine’s.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making a sandwich. Want one?”

  “No. That okra is Francine’s,” I said.

  His lips twitched as he weighed the consequences. With an almost unperceivable shake of his head, he placed it back on the shelf.

  “What kind?” Sheila asked.

  “Inside out hot brown.”

  Her head perked up. “I’ll have one.”

  “This isn’t feed your face time. It’s …”

  He laid out four slices of bread, cut off the crust and started looking for a frying pan. “It’s what, Raz?”

  I clenched my teeth. “This may be just another day for you, but we got a problem here.”

  “Wound a little tight? I got a pill for that.”

  “Katie Lee has gone missing and so has Schleck. Aren’t you the least bit concerned?”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to make some phone calls to The Bern. See if you can find anything out.”

  “You don’t think,” Sheila said, then paused.

  “What.”

  She flung a hand in the air. “It’s stupid.”

  “Sheila!”

  “Have she and Hugh patched things?”

  I picked up the phone and started dialing. As luck would have it, Hugh answered.

  “Hey, it’s Rachael.”

  “What can I do ya for?” Hugh asked.

  “Have you spoken to Katie Lee today?”

  There was a pause.

  “Is this your idea of a joke?”

  His voice told me they hadn’t reunited. “Sorry to bug ya. Just trying to track her down.” I said, and hung up. I didn’t have time to console him, and didn’t need another one of Katie Lee’s exes popping by to help.

  The phone rang and I nabbed it, hoping it was Katie Lee.

  “Hello.”

  “Raz, it’s Mitch.”

  His voice muffled over the sizzle of the frying pan Nash used to heat some cold cuts. “Mitch?”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “No, it’s just that I’m trying to locate Katie Lee.”

  “Haven’t seen her.”

  Obviously I was the only one concerned.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m coming to Greensboro. I graduate high school this year. I was hoping for a tour of campus and maybe I could crash at your place?”

  Sheila turned the TV on and I half-listened to him. “Ya, sure.”

  “End of next week. Are you around?”

  “Just give us a call when you arrive. Katie Lee and I will show you the ropes.” I said and hung up. It was a bit rude of me, but I couldn’t concentrate on Mitch, I was too occupied. I didn’t have much. Just a missing roommate, a picture of a guy I thought was Jack Ray, and an AWOL Professor. I thought about calling Agent Cauldwell. There was the offshore bank account, but until I figured out why Stone disappeared that time I spent the night and more notably, if he’d been involved in shooting Bill Ray, I didn’t think it was wise to go running to the FBI.

  “You’re freaking out for nothing,” Sheila said.

  Was she was right?

  “I bet Katie Lee walks through the door any second,” Nash said.

  A shower and a change of clothes would clear my head.

  Upstairs, Francine’s side of the room was impeccably tidy. She’d stuck electrical tape across the carpet and divided the room in half. It didn’t go unnoticed that she’d crossed the line to leave a note on my bed.

  Headed to New Orleans for break. Booked on a late night flight. If you see Katie Lee, let her know I found her necklace near her car out back. It’s the one stupid gave her for Christmas. She owes me.

  Katie Lee loved the Claddah necklace from Nash, and wore it even though she’d been dating Hugh. She’d told Hugh it was a “friendship necklace.” Did she really not know that Nash had more than friendship in mind and that wearing it bugged Hugh?

  PS: No snooping in my things.

  The PS ticked my wick. Sibling rivalry amongst half a dozen Battles was the only explanation for the obnoxious protectiveness she enforced over her stuff. I don’t know what her problem was. It’s not like we had the same hair issues. I wouldn’t be borrowing her root relaxer. Besides mascara, I didn’t wear much make up. If I did, I knew better than borrowing her foundations or shadows. Her dark bronzes would make me look like I’d been in a bar brawl.r />
  Gathering my toiletries, I wondered why Sheila and Nash weren’t more concerned. Okay, maybe Sheila could care less, but Nash loved Katie Lee in his own way. Could the two have some sort of hand in her disappearance? Was I next? Why did Francine have to leave town. I could’ve used her take. She always saw through deceit.

  I headed for the hall shower. A hot rinse seemed like a good idea. The door was closed and without taking notice, I twisted the door handle. “Jet. Sorry. Didn’t know you were home. Hey have you seen Katie Lee?”

  She stood in a blue polka-dot bra and had a wet washcloth pressed against her forehead. There were pink marks under her eyes and her lips were red. “I’ll just be minute.”

  Flipping the toilet seat down, I settled in. “What’s going on?”

  Pressing a washcloth in cold water, she draped it to her swollen eyes. “It’s my life. It’s about to come to a crashing halt.”

  “No man is worth it.”

  She wasn’t amused.

  “Is it something serious?”

  “Rachael, you aren’t happy unless you’re in rescue mode.”

  “That’s not true.”

  An edge in her voice cracked. “Don’t worry yourself with the details in my life,” and turned away.

  “Jet, wait.”

  “You can’t help me. No one can.” She muttered and after a quick change, she drifted down the stairs and out the door.

  Honestly, I was lost on Jet’s agenda. I didn’t know what went on with her part-time mechanics job at the garage, and I couldn’t keep up with who she was seeing or not seeing. This semester she’d basically dropped out of sight, only coming to the house to shower and change clothes. She was right. Her life wasn’t any of my business, so why did I try and meddle?

  She’d left her bedroom door open and I found myself standing in it. Idly I kicked at a pile of dirty clothes. A packed suitcase sat near the door. She was headed home to Bluffton over break.