Johnny Cakes (The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) Page 23

  “Look at them,” Sheila pleaded.

  Fanning through the stack, I barely glanced. Downplaying the whole indecent photo thing so the two would go away, I said, “Yeah, so?”

  The dark pools of my Louisianan roommate’s eyes locked with mine and I squinted back at her.

  What the hell are you up to Francine? And is Katie Lee a part of this?

  “If I don’t start attending her Bible study meetings, Francine has threatened to send these to Daddy.”

  “What?”

  Francine had to be messing with Sheila’s head. This was the first time I’d heard of Bible Study Club.

  “I’ve taken it upon myself to provide some motivation to help set her on a path of righteousness.”

  Francine didn’t give a rip about Sheila behaving or not behaving, as long as it didn’t interfere with her life, namely spilling over and leading Roger to the cheating shack.

  Grabbing a pair of scissors, I cut the pictures in half and threw them in the garbage can. “Francine, quit messing with Sheila.”

  “Rachael O’Brien, how dare you destroy the evidence?”

  Turning around and all mature-like, Sheila batted her eyes then stuck her tongue out at Francine.

  My fingers tapped a few keys. “Don’t relax too much. Francine probably has more.”

  Francine cocked her head to the right.

  “Sheila, you’re out of control. What you did to Katie Lee is inexcusable, and even with sincere apologies, which I’m not sure you are capable of, she’ll probably never forgive you.”

  Her eyes rolled. Even without eye makeup, Sheila’s saturated green pigments showed bright against the white frame of her eye.

  “With one impulsive move, you have managed to disrupt the entire household dynamics. None of us want anything to do with you,” Francine said.

  “But I didn’t sleep with Stone or Roger.”

  “And you never will,” Francine fired back.

  Sheila picked at her polish that had begun to chip off. “Is that a dare?”

  “No one wants to be around a guys’ girl. One who drops her friends for the chance to get laid,” I said.

  “So I slept with Hugh. So what?”

  “I have more photos and they’re going to your daddy this afternoon.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Sheila yelled.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” Francine shouted.

  “You can forget about living in my house.”

  “Keep your voices down,” I said.

  “I’m a tenant. You got four of them and we all signed a contract.”

  Sheila kicked a file cabinet. “Fuck the contract.”

  “Knock it off, you two.”

  “She started it,” Sheila mumbled.

  “Sheila, if you don’t start acting like you care about anyone besides yourself, you’re not going to ever have a lasting relationship with anyone.”

  “You and I are friends,” she said.

  Francine snorted, “Good Lord.”

  A rap on the door echoed. There were two shadows behind the frosted glass. I guessed we were about to get yelled at for unruly voices. “Come in.”

  Two uniformed officers stepped inside. “Is one of you Sheila Sinclair?”

  “She is,” Francine pointed.

  One of the officers handed Sheila a thick envelope. “I need your signature,” he said and provided a clipboard. “What’s this?” Sheila asked as she signed.

  “You’ve been served.”

  As they left, she opened the envelope and scanned the document. “Katie Lee is suing me! For violating landlord-tenant rights? She can’t do this.”

  NOTE TO SELF

  Since when did Francine take it upon herself to correct Sheila’s bad behavior?

  CHAPTER 25

  High Tail It

  This year, with the mild January, ornamental trees and bulbs began flaunting their showy blossoms under the late February drizzle. In recent weeks, the petals on the perennials were drenched in vibrant purples, yellows, and oranges, and the newly opened buds on the towering maple and oak branches unfolded into bright waxy leaves. Early afternoon was warm your bones, sunshiny fabulous. Digging in my backpack for a ciggie and a lighter, I meandered down Campus Drive toward the Sciences building where Stone taught a lecture series. With time to spare, I lost myself in a drove of students, which was exactly what I wanted. Not to be found. Inside The Flamingo House everyone’s emotions had crescendoed, plunging roommate intolerance over the edge.

  Pulling out a crumpled pack of Bensons, I dug my finger inside. There was one semi-crushed slim cigarette left. Attempting to rescue it from the package, it snapped and only half was smokeable. It would have to do. As I inhaled, I dropped my backpack and lowered myself onto a cement wall that enclosed a planter.

  Katie Lee, I marveled, sure was something, serving Sheila with the tenant-landlord lawsuit. Her actions left me conflicted—both miffed and grateful that I didn’t have a clue about what she’d been up to. Sheila flipped her lid when she opened the notice in Schleck’s office, and I had to cover her mouth with my hand to quiet her down.

  Luckily she hadn’t bitten me.

  Conveniently, Francine deciphered the legal jargon. After a half hour of tantrum hollering and foot stomping, Sheila bolted out the door. Neither Francine nor I chased her down. We both figured she needed to blow off some steam.

  When Francine turned to leave, I latched the door and leaned against it. Point blank, I said, “Spill it, Sparky.”

  Smiling wide, she shook her head. Glancing at her wristwatch, she said, “I have class. I’m cooking tomorrow night. Invite Stone. We’ll talk then.”

  “You knew about this?”

  She motioned for me to step aside.

  Uncrossing my arms, I obliged.

  “Let’s talk when we have Katie Lee around.”

  I opened the door for her. “There’s no telling what Sheila will do next. We all better watch our backs.”

  “Her wick is wet. She’s not going to be any more trouble in our lives.”

  “That’s wishful thinking.”

  “Always a pessimist,” Francine said, and sashayed down the hallway with a confidant stride.

  Francine had prepared jambalaya stew and a seven layer white cake with coconut icing for dinner. Roger and Stone came over. Katie Lee didn’t have Hugh in tow. Worse, she invited a hometown “friend,” whose name starts with an N.

  “What’s all this for? Stone asked.

  “March madness. Roger has a busy basketball schedule, and I thought I’d feed him and y’all before things get crazy.”

  Francine didn’t call it a victory dinner, but the way my southern roommates kept hip-bumping and high-fiving, I would have bet the two had played a dirty hand. Both Katie Lee and Francine were pre-law students with access to an assortment of professors who had specialized experience in these matters.

  I’d lost my appetite, and just blew on the oversized spoon of jambalaya broth. “Why’d you do it?” I asked Katie Lee.

  The table was quiet unless you counted spoon-to-dish clinking, sweet tea ice cube sloshing, and the moaning noise Roger made every time he swallowed a slurp from his spoon.

  “After she assaulted me, I called home.”

  Nash raised an eyebrow. Probably hoping his name wasn’t mentioned.

  “I was worried about safety. For all of us.”

  “Sheila slept with your boyfriend. She didn’t kill him,” I said.

  Francine, I was sure, had noticed my barely eaten stew.

  “We’ve all seen what Sheila is capable of. Rachael, she ambushed you outside the dorm once. Daddy recommended a lawyer nearby.”

  Katie Lee wasn’t one to run to Daddy with matters of the heart, and I imagined the story the Browns heard had been something of a Chinese whisper. The way I saw it, my roommates put their heads together around the time the news of Sheila and Hugh broke, and came up with a plan to teach her a lesson. With Sheila out of the house, one would assume that the
drama would be reduced, but since Katie Lee declared war, The Flamingo House felt like a bomb shelter.

  Being opportunistic, Nash took advantage of Katie Lee’s weakened defenses and, under the pretense of security, acted like a happy puppy in a new home, all too content to shadow Katie Lee by day and share her bed at night. She denied they were back together, but it appeared as though he had gotten his wish and reveled at being in her good graces. Round one was in the books with Katie Lee ahead on the scoreboard. Round two would be anybody’s guess.

  I smoked the cigarette down to the butt. “O’Brien,” a voice from my shoulder said, startling me out of my headspace. There was only one man in my life that slicked his blond hair back so it looked wet in the afternoon. “Agent Cauldwell.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched

  “I don’t know, nor have I seen anything.”

  He sat next to me. “That’s what all the guilty say. How are things?”

  “Besides roommate drama in the house, fine, I suppose.”

  “So I gathered.”

  “What?”

  “I stopped by looking for you. Your roommate, the one that fixes cars ...”

  “Jet.”

  “And Katie Lee were quarreling.”

  I bit my cheek. “About what?”

  Gazing off at the ebb and flow of campus, his unassuming voice was flat. “Something about suing Sheila. Katie Lee wanted Jet to sign some paperwork. Jet said you’d probably be spending the night at a friend’s place on campus. Stone? Ex-Navy, bartender. Penchant for ornithology. Drives a Suburu.”

  Jet wasn’t doing me any favors in the man department. Not that I wanted to date an FBI agent. I mean I had Stone. When he was in town.

  Incredulously, I stared.

  “Registration is expired. You might want to mention it to him.”

  “Keeping tabs on me?”

  Was it for professional or personal reasons?

  He sat beside me and leaned his elbows on his knees. “It’s my line of work, to know about people.”

  Agent Cauldwell’s voice was matter-of-fact. Without facing him, I had trouble reading his meaning. I decided to give him something to chew on, but nothing significant.

  “Boy drama between Katie Lee and Sheila.”

  “The redhead?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Katie Lee has filed a lawsuit against Sheila for violating tenant-landlord rights.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I’ve been staying away from the house as much as possible.”

  We both enjoyed the sun on our faces while we watched students and staff come and go.

  “Things going well with school?”

  “Yeah, fine. The trick is staying on top of the assignments.”

  “Should be a breeze for a smart girl like you.”

  “You’re full of flattery.”

  “That’s the problem with being FBI. People read too much into my small talk. Plans for spring break?”

  Small talk my ass. I was smart enough to recognize where he was going. Spring break was one week in the school year that in my college journey to date, consistently turned into a life or death fiasco. With quick thinking and a generous helping of luck, I’d survived the last two, and this year, without extra cash and since Jet hadn’t offered her uncle’s place on Hilton Head, I’d determined I wasn’t going anywhere. “No plans.”

  Agent Cauldwell straightened. “Daytona’s supposed to be a hot spot.”

  “I don’t like crowds.”

  “South Padre?”

  “Who messes with Texas?”

  “Somewhere close? On the Carolina coast?”

  “Are you checking on me?”

  I wondered if he knew about Nash, but brushed it off. Petty postal theft wouldn’t interest the FBI.

  “Seriously, I’m not going anywhere. Not unless I wanted to spend some quality time with Mom and her psychic circle of weird on Tybee.”

  “How is your family? Your dad staying busy?”

  “Last I heard.”

  “Has he been commissioned for any post-modern pieces recently?”

  “I have no idea what passes through his shop. I haven’t been home since before Christmas. Why are you so interested?”

  “A case I’ve been handed for my free time. Pre-World War,” he raised two fingers. “Under Hitler, countless paintings he labeled as degenerate art were confiscated and destroyed. Do you know anything about the time?”

  “It’s well-documented. There was a 1937 exhibition in Munich where a small commission of six men—they were called the Reich Chamber of Visual Art—hung a mishmash of examples of Modern Art as a means to gain propaganda for their cause.”

  He pulled out a small pad of paper and a pencil. “Do you know some of the artists who were labeled as degenerate?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “There’s been an influx of art, supposedly destroyed in the war, hitting the market.”

  I thought of GG’s new purchases, but kept quiet. I’d have to have a word with her about her connection before I mentioned anything to Dad or Agent Cauldwell.

  “There were countless works. Not just paintings, but literature and music, too.”

  His Ray-Bans slid down his nose. “What artists were targets?”

  “This is textbook stuff.”

  “It’d help me out.”

  “I’ve read of works from Metzinger, Gleizes, and Munch that went missing. Hitler personally proclaimed war against Grosz, Klee, and Beckmann.”

  “Why?”

  “He considered their art to be vulgar.”

  “Were they Jewish?”

  “You didn’t have to be Jewish to be on Hitler’s shit list. Those guys lost everything—art, bank accounts, their jobs, and the government revoked Grosz and Klee of their German citizenship. Beckmann went into self-proclaimed exile.”

  Agent Cauldwell scribbled notes.

  “I mean the list of lost art is huge, and no one really knows how much was destroyed and how much was hidden or sold off. Men who today are considered masters—Van Goghs, Picassos, Matisses, and Renoirs all got pinched.”

  “Confiscated …”

  “Stolen and destroyed,” I said.

  Turning to face me, his hand fell on my bare knee. An electrical charge zipped up my leg, quickening my pulse. “Rachael, always a pleasure.” He stood up and before he left, turned around. “I was cleaning out some old files on my desk. You haven’t ever heard from,” his voice trailed off in a brief hesitation.

  The implication registered. Billy Ray. “No, nothing.”

  “Seems your stalker has dropped off the planet.”

  Eaten up by something on the planet.

  Some girls passed by, after sharing a private joke, their heads rolled back in a giggle.

  “Life is short; I can’t live mine under a cloud of worry about boogie men.”

  “He’s been reported missing for nearly a year. His family has filed with the courts to declare him dead.”

  I felt nothing. No fear, no remorse.

  “You’ll let me know if you have a change in spring break plans,” he said, and walked away.

  Give a guy a badge and a gun, and he thinks he has the right to meddle. I wasn’t going anywhere and even if I did, it wasn’t his business.

  NOTE TO SELF

  I’d already buried Billy Ray in my mind. Soon it’ll be official.

  APRIL 1989

  CHAPTER 26

  Didjya Ever

  Under the sheets, I was pretzled in Stone’s embrace. A glint of light shown in through the slatted blinds. I could see the outline of his face, and I caressed the smooth skin that covered the toned muscles of his chest.

  He twirled a lock of my hair. “Katie Lee will agree. Why would she want to live in Sheila’s house when the rest of you move out?”

  “Spite. She’s a vengeful woman. I made an appointment to see a place this afternoon.”

  “Rachael, it’s not like this is the first time anything like this
has ever happened. Affairs of the heart are par for the course, human nature.”

  I pulled my arm away. Something bugged me. I hadn’t snooped, not really. It’s just that I noticed things and the notepad by his phone wasn’t in a drawer. It wasn’t unusual for him to scroll meeting times and notes on feathery anatomical things. But the words I’d seen stuck in my head. “How is it that you are so knowledgeable on affairs of the heart?”

  He tugged me back in close. “I watch a lot of mini-series on TV.”

  “I was worried that ‘golden pheasant’ was code for another female friend of yours.”

  There, I said it.

  He sat upright, causing my head to bounce on the mattress.

  “How did you hear about that?”

  I’d landed funny and rubbed a knot in my neck. “Last time I spent the entire night, I awoke and you went missing—we didn’t speak for four days. Can’t blame me for being curious.”

  Stone stood and I admired his nakedness. Hastily he slid into sweats. Pacing, he mumbled some nonsense I couldn’t quite hear, but I picked up three words: girlfriend, security, and secret.

  My ears lingered on secret girlfriend and my heart dropped into a pit inside my stomach. He’d never called me that before.

  “How’d you find out? Who do you work for?”

  “You’ve been sniffing too much formaldehyde? Your brain cells are fried, you ass.”

  “Rachael, don’t mess with me.”

  Standing up, I slid on a t-shirt I found on the floor. “I am such an idiot. Who is she?” I found my panties and hopped into them. The seams were on the outside. I willed myself to let it go and focused on finding my jeans so I could be out the door in seconds. I felt like such a fool. “No. Don’t tell me. Just keep your stupid bimbo, golden pheasant on her perch. You and I are over.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Finished, buddy.”

  “Where’d you get the idea that golden pheasant is a girl?”

  My stomach churned. I couldn’t pick a boyfriend any better than Katie Lee. After clearing my throat, I pointed at his shadow. “Dating minors is a federal offence.”