Hot Tea

by Sheila Horgan

  I ignored her obvious relish and said, “How do you figure that?”

  “They specifically say conviction.” Apple juice was going everywhere. How come she always grabs the best one? She slurped and went on, “That means that the trial has to take place, and the bad guy has to actually be found guilty. That means if some legal technicality gets in the way, even if you find the right guy, you aren’t going to get the money.”

  “That isn’t going to happen.”

  “Excuse me? How do you know that? I can think of at least one high profile case where everyone thought the guy did it. Seemed pretty cut and dried, excuse a very distasteful pun, and he wasn’t convicted.”

  I stood there trying to decide between a banana and an orange. Teagan chose an orange for me. It, of course, would be perfect. I started to peel it saying; “You know my theory on that one.”

  She shook her head, “Yes, but you’re the only one on the planet that has that theory.”

  “Maybe, but that doesn’t make my theory any less valid. Has it dawned on you that I could be right? Maybe that same brilliance is just what is needed to solve this case. Just because I’m the only one with a theory, Teagan Shannon, does not make that theory any less valid. Besides, my theory makes perfect sense.”

  “You think the son actually did it.”

  “Yep.”

  She rolled her eyes, “And that’s why the blood evidence was just a little off.”

  “Yep.”

  Her rendition was a little sing-songy. She’s used it more than once to make me feel a little foolish. It never works because I’m committed to my theory, so her lack of enthusiasm about it, does me no harm. She couldn’t help herself, she couldn’t let it drop, she had to say it all one more time.

  She was just trying for a reaction, “The father had no real concern about going to jail because he was actually innocent and if push came to shove it would come out that his crazy kid did it. The DA couldn’t do much, since he’d already put all his eggs in one basket. Worst case it all comes out in a last second court drama. Great for TV ratings. The kid goes into treatment for a few years, dad might even be a hero by the time the PR people are done spinning it, and everybody gets rich on the book and movie rights. If the father is actually found innocent, the kid never suffers any consequences for his actions, God knows what happens to the kid’s brain at that point; the father gets even more smug, he’s pulled off the perfect crime, then he waits a few years, writes a book, and gets rich anyway. It’s a win-win.”

  “Yep.”

  “Cara, only you could come up with something that twisted.”

  “No, lots of people think of twisted stuff.” I threw a napkin in her direction and continued with my very valid points, “I simply don’t act on twisted stuff. The only difference between a good guy and a bad guy is that the bad guy allows himself to do what the good guy would do if morals weren’t an issue.”

  She huffed, “So you have to be crazy to be a bad guy? Not know the difference between right and wrong?”

  “Oh hell no. Unless you’re profoundly damaged, you know the difference between right and wrong. Just because you know the difference doesn’t mean you choose to act on it. It’s like everything else; it’s all on a bell curve. Some people are at either extreme, most of us in the middle.”

  “So there’s extreme good and extreme bad, and then the rest of us.”

  “Pretty much. I think God threw evil in the mix just to keep us on our toes.”

  How does she seemingly scrub her face clean, and not disturb her makeup or lipstick? She got apple juice everywhere, wiped all of it off, without much care, and still, she looks perfect. And, she did all that while talking. I’m really beginning to think I missed out on some essential DNA.

  She continued, “So tell me oh wise ass, I mean wise one, where do you and I fall?”

  Teagan doesn’t have all that many buttons to push, but I love pushing them when I can. I said, “Depends on the circumstance.”

  She started the bobblehead neck thing with one finger about to skewer me, “Don’t start with that whole situational ethics thing. You and I both know there’s no such thing. Either you have ethics or you do not. Period. It’s just like couples saying we’re pregnant. No, we are not. She is. We are having a baby, but she is pregnant. It’s the blurring of boundaries that has led our society to where we are. It’s like the whole equality thing. ‘Equal’ does not mean ‘same’. You can have equal treatment without having things treated the same. We had that argument at work again the other day. Makes me so mad. People have lost the plot! They are so focused on the idea; they’ve lost sight of the vision.

  I interrupted her rant, “Why are you making this so complicated?” I whined. I’m not usually such a whiner. It isn’t attractive on any level, and I acknowledge that, but lately I’ve been whiney anyway. I tried to suck it up and continued, “For people like you and me, really wrong is always wrong and really right is always right and the squishy stuff in the middle is negotiable.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Murder is always wrong. Handing a bottle of water to that homeless guy that hangs out talking to the stop sign on Burtle is always right. The squishy stuff, like telling Mom and Dad that Jessie Rubacava was gay, so that they wouldn’t question you spending every waking moment with him when you were but a lass, is negotiable.”

  That brought on one of her famous smiles, “Oh shit, I forgot about Jessie, wonder how he is.”

  “My guess is if he was good before, he’s great now. Mom was right; the whole sex thing gets better as you get older. I didn’t believe her at the time. Figured who the hell would want to have sex with someone really old, like 30, but being within arm’s reach of 30, I can tell you, it does get better. She was right about shaving my legs too. Thought that would be fun forever. What a schmuck I was”

  Teagan’s brain seemed to be off reliving some ancient, but very intriguing memory. “For the love of Mike, if Jessie is actually better now than he was then, I should look him up.”

  “Is that a confession? Are you finally admitting that Jessie was more than a friend? Maybe a friend with benefits?”

  “No, that is not a confession. You are not my priest. I haven’t been to Confession since 8th grade. Why would I start now? And with you?”

  I asked, “Does Mom know you haven’t been since 8th grade?”

  Teagan smiled, “I’m here aren’t I? Not dead or living in a nunnery.”

  “Right, she doesn’t know. Back to the subject at hand. What did you find out surfing around on the net?”

  She was all business again, “Oh, right. The reward will probably get bigger. The cops haven’t given up, but they have trimmed the number of people actually looking for the murderer. It remains an open case. They didn’t give any real specifics about that part, at least not in the stuff I was reading. They have had private detectives and psychics contacting them, but no one has anything new. That begs the question, if cops and private detectives can’t find this guy, what makes you think you can?”

  “Preconceived notions.”

  “Huh?” Her perfectly arched brows almost met in the middle.

  I’m kind of proud I thought of an analogy right away, “Think about hinges.”

  She seemed genuinely confused. “Again, huh?”

  “For God knows how long, hinges were on one side of the door. They held the door in place. Been doing it forever. No one really thought about it any other way. One day a guy is looking at the door and decides if a hinge holds the door in place on one side, then it should hold the door in place on the other side, and voila, a new lock is born. People had been looking at those hinges forever, but no one saw the obvious.”

  I continued, “Teagan, the professionals have preconceived notions. They know enough that they might be blind to what they actually see. I know nothing. Everything I see is brand new, so it will talk to me in ways it won’t talk to them.”

  She said, in that snobby little voice she res
erves for comments meant to piss me off, “Or it won’t talk to you at all.”

  “Possible, but not likely. I love this stuff. Remember, I planned your murder when I was 12. Still know how I could do it. Still haven’t found a single flaw in my plan. It’s the perfect crime.”

  “Really? Then why am I still here?”

  “That whole morals thing. Besides, Mom’s intuition kicked in and she told me if I actually killed you, she was going to break both my legs off and beat me over the head with the bloody stumps. I don’t think she was kidding.”

  “Well, that explains it then. Good to know we’re past that.” There was a moment when she looked deep into my eyes, trying to divine all my future plans. “We are past that, right?”

  “So far.” I paused just long enough to make her uncomfortable. “Can we get back to making me some money please?”

  She was back into business mode immediately, “Ok, I didn’t find a lot of information about the murder, thought I would leave that little project to you, seeing as you’re the one that’s basically obsessed. I decided since I was already online I’d look around and see what else there was to see. I went to the sheriff’s website. There isn’t a single job, part-time or otherwise, that I’m qualified for.”

  “Not even meter maid?”

  “If they exist anymore, they aren’t listed. I don’t even qualify for janitorial staff.”

  “Well crap!”

  “That’s what I thought. But then it dawned on me. We have options. We could either find a different reward out there, one that we actually have a shot at being awarded, or, we could cozy up to someone that has a shot at this one.”

  “So you’re going to cozy up to a cop just so he will share his $100,000 with me?” I had to laugh. “You know they have a name for that. Starts with a ‘P’. Oldest profession and all that.”

  Teagan was pissed, “Well, that was insulting, thank-you-very-much. I’m not the one trying to BS her way to fame and fortune. I have a job. You’re the one that started this, but if you’re gonna be like that Cara, I’m going to take my information, and myself, and go home. Then I’m going to enjoy the rest of my well deserved vacation, and forget you ever brought this up.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean that to be as harsh as it came out. I was kidding.” I did my best to look pitiful, not a huge stretch at the moment.

  She rolled her eyes, shook her head, and finished off with her patented, “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Her catch phrase from our youth, meaning she didn’t agree, was certain she could prove she was right, but couldn’t be bothered.

  It broke the tension. We both laughed. Always a good thing.

  Teagan continued, “What I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, is that we have two options you may have overlooked. The first is to find another moneymaking opportunity on the Internet. There seems to be a plethora of people willing to pay huge amounts of money for just the type of thing you’re talking about. Or, we could cozy up to, as in get to know on a purely platonic basis, the officers that already work for the department and already have information. We do have at least one person that could help, your very own brother, granted, he doesn’t work in that division, but maybe he could point us in the direction of someone with knowledge. Then perhaps we could persuade them to share the information with two lovely sisters. Cops have a thing about being helpful, they’re all about being of service.”

  “You’re brilliant you know.”

  “I know.” She smiled, “Some say that the size of the brain and the size of the boobs are directly correlated. I agree, but I think that the stereotype is backwards. It isn’t really a case of - the bigger the boobs the dumber the blonde - actually, quite the opposite. The amount of breast tissue is an indicator of the system’s ability to generate cells, meaning I have far more gray matter bouncing around in my noggin than you.”

  “Yes Teagan, I openly admit it’s true, you’ve always had far more bounce than I. It would seem that you have this all figured out. Tell me the rest.”

  She started to regale me with the information she’d acquired on her sojourn through cyberspace, “Ok, there are rewards out there for everything you can imagine. The National Speleological Society, the NSS to those in the know, offers a reward to anyone providing information leading to the legal conviction of vandalism directly related to caves. Like breaking off speleothems or speleogens.”

  “Jeez, what’s a speleothem?”

  “I haven’t a clue, that would be part of the learning process. Cara, if you pick this little project you’re on your own. I’m not a cave dweller. There are creepy crawlies down there. Bat guano in my hair is not an option.”

  “I concur.”

  She continued to count off the possibilities on her fingers, “We can earn a quarter of a million dollars if we can figure out who is hacking into a major computer program.”

  “How long do you think it would take us to learn the skills to do that one?”

  “A while. It took me for flippin’ ever to teach you how to do email and IM”

  Sometimes I wanted to thwack her! Instead I said, “Shut-up, your gray cells are showing. You’re going to ruin your image. You use the whole dumb blonde with big boobs thing to your advantage and we both know it. Next.”

  “Church fires?”

  I shook my head no.

  She continued, “I found a place that’s willing to pay $10,000 for a conviction in a false accusation in a divorce. I’m thinking that one is probably some spouse that spewed venom on the person they once thought could do no wrong, but are now convinced is evil incarnate. Domestic disputes might just be more dangerous than murders.

  I shook my head, “Pass.”

  “Another quarter million for voter fraud.”

  “No politics. That could be more dangerous than domestic disputes.”

  Her eyes softened. Always a bad sign. It means that she has bad news to break to me. True to form, she said, “Well, what I also found out is that it really does take forever to get your reward. Remember the sniper up north? Took two years. The guy that spotted him and blocked his escape got only 30% of the reward. There were over 67,000 people that wanted a piece of that money. Chasing reward money probably isn’t an efficient way to make a living, Cara. More like cashing in on being in the right place at the right time.”

  “Shit.”

  “So what’s your plan B?”

  “Teagan, I don’t have one.”

  “That’s not good.”

  THREE

  I walked in the little sandwich shop to meet my sister. It’s a mom and pop type place that Teagan loves. They always get your order right the first try. Their servings are generous. They have little white tables, made of wrought iron, complete with lots of curlicues. They have blue and white checked tablecloths and half curtains at the windows. It’s cute but not in that staged way that so many franchises have. This is cute because it is right from the owner’s personality.

  My sister looked like she was born there. She was sitting at one of the tables looking girly enough to enjoy last century and empowered enough to rule this one.

  I sat across from her, “Ok Teagan, so yesterday, after you were so mean to me, I had a stroke of genius.”

  She rolled her eyes, “I wasn’t mean to you.”

  “Yes you were. You made fun of my plan.”

  “You don’t have a plan. How could I make fun of something that doesn’t exist?”