by T. J. Jones
My Sister's Detective
Chapter One
I was pushing forty that summer, a few weeks out of San Diego when Maggie Jeffries came looking for me at the little airstrip where I kept my Piper. The last thing I should have spent my hard-earned money on when I finally gave up on the Navy was an airplane, but it was the first thing I wanted, so there you have it.
I was all sprawled out, lying on my back with my head stuck up under the co-pilot's instrument panel trying to reconnect a tiny wire with my ten thumbs when I saw motion and a shadow blocked some of my light. That little warning probably saved me some torn knuckles or a sore head because I didn't jump when she reached up and jabbed me in the ribs with a sharp finger.
"Hey Bucky, is that you in there? The guy at the hangar said this was your airplane."
That narrowed it down because nobody had called me Bucky since high school. I pulled myself out from under the dash of the plane, sat up and looked at her, squinting a little because the sun caught me squarely in the eyes. I didn't have a clue at first, but the voice was familiar and she was very attractive, not someone I was likely to forget.
She backed away from the wing as I stepped down onto the ground and stood there looking at me expectantly. She was all of five ten in her sandals with chestnut hair and a healthy dose of freckles tossed across her cheeks like pepper on an egg. Her legs were nicely tanned and maybe a little too long for her cutoffs. I should have recognized her, she had the same striking blue eyes as her sister.
She looked at the Piper and made a face. "Does that thing actually fly or do you just like getting dirty?"
"Sound as the day it was built." I offered, slightly offended and lying through my teeth.
"Aren't you supposed to know what you're doing when you work on an airplane? That looks like duct tape on the tail section. You're not getting me in that thing."
"Fine by me, I wasn't planning on giving rides today anyway. And who are you again? Nobody's called me Bucky in a lot of years."
"Maggie. Maggie Jeffries? For Christ's sake Bucky, Angela Jeffries' little sister? I was only nine or ten when you were following her around the house like a starry-eyed puppy, but I thought you'd remember me. Davey was always giving me piggyback rides in the pool, remember? But then you never did pay much attention to me."
"My mistake, sun was in my eyes." I extended a hand that was covered with grease. She scowled and I grabbed a rag, then failed miserably at being smooth. "You grew up, and did a really nice job of it."
"Yeah? Don't get too excited Romeo. Figured you heard about Davey but we didn't see you at the funeral, so we wondered."
"I was on a boat in the China sea and couldn't get back. I sent flowers and called his mother."
"I thought Angie was going to die when she heard about it. She loved the shit out of that guy."
"Yeah, they were always really close, a lot more so than her and I, that's for sure."
"What, still jealous? It wasn't like he was her boyfriend."
"No, of course not. I mean he was gay, so it's not like she was sleeping with him or anything."
"If you weren't always falling all over yourself trying to screw my sister, I would have guessed you and Davey had a thing back in the day. You would've had a better chance. It was sad the way Angie led you and those other idiots around by the nose. Funny how it worked out, all you chasing after her and she ends up marrying a man too old to get it up. Davey was the only one she ever really loved and he didn't want any."
"Charming, the way you talk about your sister." I said dryly.
She shrugged. "I never liked the way she jerked you around, that's all." She stepped back as I closed up the plane and threw my tools in the back of my old pickup.
I couldn't help myself, I had to ask. "How's Angie doing, is she okay now?"
"She's a mess, really bad, and Davey's been gone for a month. I know I shouldn't talk shit about her like I do, and I love my sister; it's just that she can be a real handful sometimes. Charlie was too old for her, but he knew how to handle her. She always listened to him for some reason. She's just really good at pushing people's buttons and getting what she wants. Sometimes she runs people over in the process."
"Yeah, I remember all too well. Is that why you’re here, she pushing your buttons?"
"She wanted me to ask you to come by the house, said maybe you were still mad at her from the last time you were home since you haven't called. She doesn't go out much since Charlie died and she didn't want to call you, too proud or something. I'm supposed to persuade you to come over. She said smile pretty and flirt. Not my style, but she claims you're a sucker for it."
I looked in her direction. "Not as easy as I used to be, but you could try a little sugar."
She did crack an honest smile at that, a very pretty one. "There, happy?"
"Better. You're what, thirty-three, thirty-four now? Haven't seen you in forever."
"Old enough to know better. Married and divorced already, so don't get any ideas. I'm not interested in making your day Bucky, so eyes up here, talk to my face. Jeez, did you spend too much time alone on that ship?"
Alright, I probably was staring. "Give me a break! It's hard not to notice you don't look ten years old anymore. Were you this mean when you were a little kid? No wonder I didn't remember you, you were probably a brat."
"Thirty-two, I just turned thirty-two. I was kind of a brat, but you were a real dork back then. You had all that acne and the orange hair."
"Red, it's always been red." She rolled her eyes and gave me another smile that I returned. "Okay." I admitted. "It was a little orange back then."
"Anyway, the Queen would appreciate your appearance for supper this evening."
"Wouldn't mind seeing her, but why now all of a sudden? I've been in town for a couple weeks."
"She's still wound up about Davey, like I said. She wants you to help her with something is all I know. She needs help, that's for sure, but most likely a shrink not you. She's convinced Davey didn't kill himself."
"Rumor I heard was he got dumped. Boyfriend walked out and he couldn't take it. Hung himself in the old horse barn, didn't he?"
"Yeah. Sounded like suicide to me, but she says not. Should I tell her you're coming?"
"Are you going to be there? I mean, I was kind of hoping."
"Give it up!" She laughed. It was deep and real, not a flirty giggle. "I'm always there. Somebody has to keep an eye on her. I'm afraid she'll get drunk and overdose again. One of these times she'll take enough."
"Wow, sorry. She must really be messed up. I'll come by, but I don't know what I can do. Like you said, I was just one of the guys chasing after her. We were all friends, but Davey was the one she was close to."
"I don't pretend to understand her, Bucky. Just come tonight, okay? Dinner's at six-thirty sharp. My dad's out of town like always, but Mom will be there, and she likes you."
"She was nice to me, even when I was just the cleaning lady's kid."
"Not everybody on the Point are snobs, some, but not all."
"Alright, I'll try to be a little early, and I'll bring some flowers."
"Flowers? Forget the flowers Bucky, bring me some booze."
"The flowers aren't for you, Too Small, they're for your mother."
She blushed when she realized I'd remembered the old nickname. She gave me a little wave and walked off toward her car as I watched her go. Maggie Jeffries was every bit as pretty as her sister now that she'd grown up. It brought back a lot of memories.
***
I was eleven years old the first time I went to work with my Mom. School was out for the summer and she didn't have a sitter. She cleaned house for several of the people who lived on Point Road, and after my father left, it was
either trust me at home alone or drag me along. I sat in the car all day, reading comic books and staring out at the lake, wishing I was in one of the big boats the idle rich always seemed to have tied to their docks. Eventually a couple of my mother's customers spotted me baking in the summer heat and insisted I do my reading inside, in the air conditioning.
David Templeton was one of my Mom's customer's kids. He was a lonely boy a year younger than I was. We hit it off right away, and it wasn't long before I was spending most of my time at his house whenever my Mom was working on the Point. I didn't know he was gay back then and I don't think he did either. We were just two awkward kids that nobody wanted on their team when it was time to choose sides. We swam in his pool and cooked hot dogs on their grill. Sometimes we rode bikes around town or swung on the big rope in the haymow of the old horse barn in the back of his parents' house.
We went to different schools, his was private, so I didn't see much of him during the school year; but we stayed friends and I spent a lot of time with him during the summers. By the time we were thirteen he'd collected a scar or two. He never talked about them so I never asked. I figured somebody was picking on him, but I didn't know why.
I was never one of the popular kids either. At that age I was already almost six feet tall, hair the color of pumpkin, and a hundred and twenty pounds if I had a pocket full of change. I was so skinny it was a constant struggle to keep my pants up. I couldn't throw a ball or run the bases without falling down, so I got picked on my fair share. And it wasn't like in the movies; one of those funny teen movies where the bully ends up covered in piss and losses the pretty girl at the end. Most of the time it hurt. The bullies at my school kicked your ass just because they could, then the girls laughed at you because they wanted to be cool. I survived it, eventually gained some weight and an attitude and the bullies learned to leave me alone. I managed to avoid most of the real trouble in high school but Davey didn't fare as well. He got beat up on a regular basis.
My Mom sat me down one day and gave me the talk, asked me about Davey and I, and if I was gay. She said she'd love me anyway, and I guess that was meant to be supportive. It had never occurred to me that she wouldn't. I explained to her that Davey and I were just friends and that was all it would ever be. If I'd been completely honest with her, I could have said that I was relieved that Davey was gay because it meant he wouldn't take Angie Jeffries away from me. By the eighth grade I was sure I was in love with the freckle faced neighbor girl that lived across the road from Davey's house, and I encouraged him to invite her over as much as possible.
Angie Jeffries' hair was more blond than red, unlike her outspoken sister. She was thin and boney at thirteen, but rounding out nicely where it mattered. She had the deepest, darkest blue eyes I'd ever seen, and her lips were always painted a lurid shade of red that I couldn't stop looking at. My teenage mind spun continually with thoughts of soft kisses and moonlit walks. No sex, I was sure she was too pure for that kind of debauchery. I was going to save that for our marriage. It took a long time for me to give up on that dream.
She and Davey were close even back then. When we played video games Angie would always sit next to him, encircle his arm in hers and whisper secrets into his ear and laugh at some private joke, while I sat there fuming with half a hard-on wishing to Christ it was me. But I knew she was the one that enjoyed making me suffer, not him. They were close and I didn't begrudge him that. When we swam in her pool, it was always Davey that she climbed on top of and wrestled with, always him she cuddled under a towel with to warm up, and that was hard to take sometimes.
When we were sixteen the three of us drove to Daytona one weekend after Christmas on a misguided quest for adventure. We happened onto a party at the beach, a mob of drunken college kids swilling down beer and smoking dope. I ended up getting separated from Angie and Davey and spent the best part of an hour searching the crowd for them. The moon was full and we'd been warned there was a dangerous rip tide, but I finally found them standing waist deep in the icy water, clinging to each other as the waves smashed over the top of them and tried to drag them back out into the Atlantic. They were screaming at the top of their lungs, shouting obscenities and singing, both crying as if they'd never stop. I stood there yelling at them, scared and mad as hell because they refused to come in, terrified that each new wave might be the one that swept them both out of my life forever. They relented finally, toweling dry and laughing at my rage. Too much weed was all they ever said.
Now Davey was gone and Angie was broken. I wasn't really surprised.
Chapter Two
I made it to the Jeffries in time to be a few minutes early, like I'd told the Brat. I thought about calling her that, especially if she insisted on calling me Bucky. My face had finally caught up with my front teeth, and most people in the Navy just called me Slater. Slater was the name on my uniform, and it didn't take long to get sick of Eric the Red. That was as bad as Bucky. When people asked, I just told them it was Slater. It sounded more like a pilot's name to me.
I said no to flowers and went with alcohol. A nice wine. Pretty sure Maggie's Mom wasn't into Tequila shots or hard whiskey. I had to remind myself I was there to see Angie, not Maggie. It was a good sign, not thinking about Angie first. Maybe I wouldn't turn into that thirteen-year old love-struck kid again when I saw her.
It had been two years, and three before that since I'd been to the Jeffries. I had a terrible weakness when it came to Angela Jeffries; a genuine, incurable sickness if I'm being honest. I got it the first time I saw her, giggling and hiding behind Davey as she climbed out of the pool all puffy eyed and hugging herself to keep warm while he introduced us. It only got worse as the years went by.
When we were kids, summers at her house were a revolving door of testosterone fueled teenagers all vying for her attentions. I had the inside track because of Davey, but it didn't make a lot of difference, she was an equal opportunity tease.
That didn't discourage me, or half a dozen other enthusiastic young boys from pursuing her. We circled her like moths drawn to the flame, unable to resist the heat of our adolescent desires. As far as I knew, no one ever managed to plunge into that fire, and most of the guys realized early on that it was never going to happen and gave up. But I was the persistent one, the unfortunate moth that refused to be swatted away; doomed to circle hopefully, enraptured it seemed for all of my existence.
Some days were glorious, full of shy smiles, hugs, and almost kisses. But my happiness, like hers, never lasted long. Her mood would turn suddenly and then I was just another one of the pests, an annoying inconvenience she had to swat away with a scathing look or crush with a sadistic comment. At that age I was too stupid and horny to give up and I figured it was better to be crushed like a bug than to not be noticed at all.
Each time I visited her now I clung to the hope that things would be different, that I wouldn't turn into that hopeful teenager willing to be swatted away or crushed yet again. I stood at the front door, gathering my resolve. I was older now, worldly. I planned to be strong and resist my urges, to not to be crushed again.
Rosa, the housekeeper let me in. Everybody on the Point had a housekeeper, but there were very few butlers. You had to be obscenely wealthy to have a butler. Most of the people that lived on Point Road were rich, but not obscenely so. I think that's what got them out of bed every morning, trying their best to be obscenely so.
Rosa escorted me into the dining room and took my bottle of wine. Maggie wasn't in sight, but Angie and her mother were already sitting at the table and there were two empty spots. I sat down across from Angie and did my best not to look at her as her mother said hello.
"Thank you for having me, Mrs. Jeffries. Frank isn't around?"
"In Washington I think, sucking up to some foreign dignitary, then he flies back to Lauderdale. He's working on some big deal, like always. Since Garret died, he has to run almost everything himself."
"Too bad about Gary. He was one of the big reasons I
fell in love with flying. He used to take Davey and I up in his float plane when we were kids. I finally saved up and bought a plane of my own."
"It's a beauty too." Maggie said as she walked into the room. She paused and shook her tangled locks away from her face. She must have come straight from the shower because her hair was damp and smelled of conditioner and strawberries. She tied it back with deft indifference and some sort of hairclip before taking her seat. "Looks like it runs on luck and rubber bands to me."
"Maggie, you always have to be such a smartass." Angie said giggling.
I kept my eyes on the youngest Jeffries. "She all but begged me to take her up for a ride today."
"Right Bucky, like I'd get in that contraption without a parachute."
"You know, most people just call me Slater now, have for years."
"Really Eric?" Angie laughed. "Are you trying to sound glamorous?" I had to look at her finally. She was still incredibly beautiful, if a little haunted looking. She had grown painfully thin and her eyes were surrounded by dark circles, but those eyes were still the same deep shade of blue and her lips clung to her alabaster skin like soft red rose petals waiting to be kissed. Damn! One look and I was right back there, still that dumb kid, just begging to be stepped on.
Maggie snickered loudly. "Glamorous? Okay, Slater. You don't call me Too Small, I won't call you Bucky, deal?" I reached out and took her hand, wondering if it might make Angie just a little jealous.
Dinner was nice. Maggie teased me about my airplane and Mrs. Jeffries talked more than she normally did. She'd always been a very quiet woman without any apparent sense of humor, but she was pleasant enough and was kind to me when I was a kid. Angie didn't say a lot, but she peeked at me occasionally over her crab and smiled shyly when our eyes met. I tried to concentrate on shredding the unlucky crustacean that had found its way to my plate, thinking all the while how easily Angela could do that to me, metaphorically speaking of course.
