Johnny Cakes (The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) Page 4

  From my foldout chair at the end of the credenza, I craned my neck to watch her boney backside slip through the wooden doorway. Her shadow shrank as she moved beyond the frosted glass centered inlay.

  I checked my Swatch. Four-thirty. Scrambling behind Schleck’s desk, I pushed her chair to the window, slipped off my flip-flops and sat. The burgundy damask silk covered chair felt warm, as I waited for the platinum blond bob to emerge from the building entrance below. Momentarily pausing, the professor road-blocked students’ passage, and they were forced to walk around her. She dug in her briefcase for her black Risky Business sunglasses and car keys.

  Her shades were so yesterday. The professor had no sense of current fashion trends.

  With a purposeful clip, she strode diagonally across the staff parking lot. Snapping the edge of a fitted car cover out from under the bumpers, she folded the gray bundle and stuffed it into the trunk before driving off in her powder blue Alpha Romeo Spider convertible.

  Normally people adopted pets that looked like them and drove cars that carried a symbolic resemblance to their personality. Not Schleck. As far as I could tell, she and the sexy, drool-worthy sports car had nothing in common.

  Placing the slides back in their boxes, I reached for my book satchel and removed my car keys. Like hell was I sticking around. Until a knock on the door and the phone ringing slowed my exit. “Come in,” I said. Reaching for the phone, I splayed my chest across the front corner of the French Provincial desk. All professional, I greeted the person on the phone. “Professor Schleck’s office, can I help you?”

  At once a women’s voice greeted me on the phone while a southern man’s voice called, “Hey there,” from the doorway.

  Balancing a dolly of assorted poster size packages against his knee, Tuke pulled his uniform regulation baseball cap off his head and scratched just to the left of his side part. I placed my hand over the receiver. “You just missed her.”

  “Silvia Schleck, please.”

  “She’s left for the day. Can I take a message?”

  “Oh shoot. I was hopin’ to catch her. Hilda’s car acted up and she’ running twenty minutes behind on massages.” The thought of someone rubbing oil on Schleck left me speechless. “Well, never you mind, I guess we’ll be seeing her shortly.”

  “I’m sure she’ll understand,” I said.

  “Thank you, darlin’. Take care now ya’hear.”

  I hung up. “Hey Tuke, what’s going on?”

  “Package delivery for the professor.”

  “I thought you were in charge of campus security and maintenance. Since when do you deliver packages?”

  His shoulder twitched. “Changing some blown fluorescents in receiving and these came in. They’re marked handle with care and signature required.” He pulled a pen out from behind his ear and reached for a clipboard that was tucked in between package. “Being in the area and all.”

  As I scribbled my name, I teased, “Are you sure you don’t want to come back when the professor is in?”

  Crimson colored Tuke’s neck and rose up to his cheeks.

  “Has she mentioned me?”

  I swallowed a snort. “Schleck is a career freak. She doesn’t notice anyone. Her head is mostly in her work.” Up her ass. “You should hang around the English department. I bet there’s loads of single women that are looking for companionship.”

  He leaned three packages against a file cabinet in the corner of the office. “I know what I like.”

  Grouchy women with chips under their shoulder pads?

  “It may take some time, but in the end she’ll get the bug.”

  “The bug?”

  “The Tukester love bug. Once you’re bitten, you’re forever smitten.”

  I slung my book bag on my shoulder and hit the lights before I let the locked door close behind me.

  “Big plans this weekend?”

  “My roommates all have dates tonight.”

  We descended the staircase and Tuke looked concerned.

  Raising my voice, I emphasized giddily. “I have the house to myself.”

  “Well that’s good, I guess. You make sure and lock all the doors and all.”

  I shooed an imaginary fly. “All that last year ruckus is behind me.”

  He held the building-glass door for me, and a blast of oven-warm air swept over us. “You parked nearby?”

  “Just around the corner.”

  “Me, too,” he said, although I suspected he was fibbing.

  “That Billy Ray character. You haven’t had any problems?”

  “Not a one. That man has moved on.” To another realm.

  A black Ford truck passed and turned left down a one-way street. I only caught a glimpse, but the profile of the driver drew a resemblance to Nash. I’d spent hours organizing tiny slides in Schleck’s cave-like office. The late afternoon sun was still bright and I told myself that my eyes were out of focus. Keys in hand, Tuke and I stopped next to my pea-green ride. “Nice catching up. Be sure and have a good weekend.”

  “Rachael?”

  Unsure of what he wanted, I paused.

  “Have you had a chance to put a good word in for me to the professor?”

  It didn’t seem right aiding a nice guy like Tuke on a suicide mission. The last mention he’d made of the professor, I feigned a nonchalant, non-committal response.

  “She seems to be warming up to me. Have you made mention of my attributes?”

  “I. Ah.”

  A shit-eating grin smeared his face. “I thought you had. Thanks, Rach. You’re a good egg.”

  NOTE TO SELF

  Interning for Professor Schleck. Worse than last year.

  Tuke and Schleck an item. So not going to let that visual into my head.

  CHAPTER 6

  Bun in the Oven

  I parked in the alley behind our house and took a good look up and down the narrow street. With no trace of Katie Lee’s Olds or Sheila’s red Fiero, I relaxed a little. The early evening air had hints of sweet cut grass and gasoline. Remnants of the lawnmower Jet had been disassembling. Everyday something in the house was unscrewed or torn apart. At the slightest hint of a knock or clunk, Jet’s fix-it addiction kicked in. It involved taking ailing appliances apart and reassembling them, which she claimed worked the kinks out.

  At the back of the house, I trekked on a path of circular stepping-stones where the roof eve cast a shadow between Sheila’s house and the neighbors’. I passed a five-foot picket fence that enclosed a whirling turbo-charged air conditioner. Despite being in a shady pocket, all the bits of my skin that pressed together were tacky. In the front street, Jet’s hunk of junk Firebird project sat idle. I searched for her legs under the engine and was relieved when I didn’t see any limbs. Unless a fight between any of the couples on date night ensued, I had the whole house to myself.

  Slipping my key in the lock, I motioned my wrist to unfasten the latch, but the door swung open. Dropping my books to the ground, an air-conditioned cold swell enveloped me. I lightly knocked on Sheila’s door. No answer. For in-cases, I waggled the knob. It was locked and I danced a little jig. After the day I’d had, I didn’t have the endurance for Friday night bonding with the wild card in the house.

  Moving toward the kitchen with Lurch-like steps, allowed my body temperature to cool and recalibrate. I helped myself to a wine cooler from inside the refrigerator and popped the top on the Bartels & Jaymes. The sip relaxed my shoulders.

  Francine had bummed a ride with some friends to watch Roger play basketball at an away game and wouldn’t be back until sometime tomorrow. Yeah for Francine.

  It was the anniversary of the first time Hugh had asked Katie Lee out, or they’d locked eyes, or some nonsense like that, and the two were celebrating at his place. Yeah for Katie Lee.

  Sheila had a couple of guys she kept on simmer and must have made plans with one of them. Freshman year, Hugh had dated Sheila and divulged some of her behind-closed-doors fetishes. To this day, I can’t look
at her bare feet. They trigger unsavory images of what big-mouth Hugh had revealed. When it comes to her plans, not knowing details is best for mental sanity.

  Jet, I had a hard time figuring out. She mostly kept to herself and was cryptic about plans. My best guess was that there was some mechanic convention in town. She’d probably go and sneak into some of the seminars on the finer points of engine gaskets, pistons, and lubrication.

  Three quarters of the way through my wine cooler, my mood slumped. I wished Stone was around, but he’d finished his graduate studies and had taken a full-time position as a naturalist on a South Carolina island. Agent Cauldwell was a dead end. The stuff beneath my skin pinged when I was near him, but besides friendly teasing, he didn’t show any signs of interest unless it involved catching criminals. Romantically speaking, I had zip, so I did what any girl would do. Grabbed a second BJ, flopped onto the sofa, and called my best gay bud, Travis. He got me. His words were a soothing tonic—sensitive, yet able to cut to the heart of my romantic debacles. We hadn’t spoken but once since we returned from our summer trip to England. Luckily we were still on speaking terms and I figured it would be good to catch up without interruptions from the roommates.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself, O’Brien. How’s life under Sheila’s roof with the crazies going?”

  “The crazies are out for the night.”

  “Even Francine?”

  “Yep.”

  “She scares me.”

  “I know.”

  Sandwiching the phone between my ear and shoulder, I dragged the cord to the entryway and unfastened the outside flap buckle of my book bag. My fingers plucked out a Bic lighter and one slim Benson and Hedges from a half-smoked pack. “Sheila’s place is actually really nice. It still has that new carpet and paint smell.”

  “Are you smoking?”

  How did he know that?

  “No.”

  I hadn’t lit it yet!

  “I can only imagine the décor that She-Devil chose.”

  Moseying down the narrow hallway to the heart of the first floor, careful not to trip on the trail of phone wire dragging in my footsteps, I rested the dry filter between my lips, while the BJ I hadn’t yet finished dangled from my fingertips. I flopped into a high back mauve velvet armchair and lit up. On the exhale, I told Travis, “Surprisingly enough, it’s tastefully decorated. The kitchen is all black, the floor tile, the appliances, the cupboards, the baseboards, even the wallpaper, except for the pink palm trees on it.”

  “Pink palm trees? I’m not seeing the tastefulness.”

  “Sheila has a thing for tropical.” I tapped the ash off my cigarette into a Toucan-painted vase. “Everything in the house is new. None of us had to bring anything but bedding and clothes. The kitchen is the darkest room. Everywhere else is painted a shade of muddy pink with accents of black and turquoise.”

  “You’re living in a Flamingo estuary. How’s the Bayou Queen of Scary getting along with everyone?”

  “Splendidly. Francine arranged her classes to be late afternoon and evening so she barely sees any of us.”

  “Is her boyfriend holding up?”

  “They’re still a thing. What about you, how do you like living off-campus?” I asked.

  “The walk to class majorly sucks, so I bought a bike.”

  “And your roommate?” I wondered if he was living with someone who shared more than the rent.

  “Having one roommate is much more manageable than having four. Jet still pulling toasters apart?”

  “The toaster oven has been lonely. She has a new hobby.”

  “Oh?”

  “A piece of junk Firebird that’s jacked on the street in front of the house. It’s been keeping her away from the household appliances and my and Katie Lee’s clunkers.”

  “Nice. What about Katie Lee? Has she been arrested yet?”

  “You know perfectly well that trouble only stirs when we are around the New Bern crew. On campus, things are normal. Ish.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” I took a long swig and followed it up with a drag. “Agent Cauldwell’s been around.”

  Travis gasped. “Did he confess to snuffing Billy Ray?

  “No.”

  “Does he know?”

  “Not sure exactly.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He left me a personal safety care package.”

  “Ohhhh. Like condoms?”

  “That’d be sleazy.”

  “Yeah, wouldn’t it?”

  “He left a flashlight, extra batteries, and a whistle.”

  “Boring. What fun does he expect you to have with those?”

  “He took me to the campus art gallery.”

  “Whoa, whoa. Back up. The weatherman took you out on a date?”

  “That’s what I thought, but it wasn’t. Our night out was weird.”

  “Did he hit on you?”

  “No.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  I inhaled slowly. “Liz Stein, the curator, has herself freaked out. She swears she spotted Jack Ray at The Sizzler.”

  The phone line went all silent. Pressing my ear more tightly into the receiver, I could make out the sound of Travis’s breath. “Rachael, please tell me I didn’t hear you say the man who you helped the FBI arrest has been spotted near Greensboro College.”

  A corner of my thumbnail split and I picked at the thin layer.

  “Jesus. You’re some kind of criminal magnet. You could be in danger again.”

  Suddenly I wished that one of my roommates had stuck around. “I hadn’t thought so until you mentioned it. The sighting hasn’t been verified. Liz thinks she saw him drive out of a parking lot in a beamer. The man is a lot of things, but he isn’t a big enough idiot to try to sell forged paintings around here again.”

  “Don’t be so sure. Those Rays are comfortable being dimwitted. Career changes aren’t so easy and don’t they say old habits are hard to break!”

  “Maybe the stress of her job is getting to her. Maybe she needs a vacation.”

  “What else?”

  “What do you mean what else?”

  “I know you well enough to know that there’s usually a something else.”

  I hated when Travis pulled the I-know-you-better-than-you-know-yourself card.

  “Nash knows where we live.”

  “Move!”

  “That’s overreacting. Apparently he and Katie Lee are back on friendly terms.”

  “She’s dating that can-of-messed-up?”

  “No, she’s still dating Hugh.”

  Travis humped a sigh.

  I hadn’t forgotten the time the two met. Travis wanted to know if Hugh was single.

  “Steer clear of Nash.”

  “I didn’t call for a lecture.”

  “I’m telling you this because sometimes you act like you’re invincible. Pay attention to your surroundings. Especially if that Jack Ray character comes around.”

  “He won’t.”

  “Did you check the block surrounding the house for BMW’s?”

  “Yeah.” I lied.

  “Good. Promise me you won’t go out alone.”

  “I’m in for the evening. I got hog-tied into interning for Professor Shit Head again and it conflicts with happy hour.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “It’s too depressing a tale to tell.”

  “At least she didn’t block you from getting the scholarship.” True.

  The conversation with Travis trailed and my mind started to fixate on feeding my stomach and taking a bath. “I’ll catch you later.”

  “Call me if you need anything.”

  “I will,” I said, and hung up.

  Long shadows cast through the vertical blinds on the family room’s sliding glass door. I turned on a ceramic banana-leaf halogen floor lamp and moved to the kitchen. After scanning the freezer and avoiding touching all the plastic containers of Bayou unident
ifiables labeled “Do Not Touch,” I settled on a Hungry Man turkey dinner entrée and popped it in the oven. It would be ready by the time I finished my bath. Shedding my t-shirt, I took the steps two at a time. The hallway bathroom had a shower stall and bathtub. As far as I could tell, none of my roommates had ventured into the new porcelain tub, but I still ran the water, giving it a quick rinse, before I closed the drain. As the water poured in, my mind wandered over the day: Schleck leaving the office early, my encounter with Tuke, and the drive home. There wasn’t anything out of place or out of the ordinary in the alley. The front door being unlocked, while annoying, was typical of my southern roommates. I’d have to remind them that we weren’t in some small town where everyone knows everyone. Did I lock the door when I came in? I couldn’t remember. In my bra and shorts, I marched out of the bathroom and down the stairs to double check the front door deadbolt. Locked. The bath water could be heard above the hum of the air-conditioning. I planted a foot on the stairs when I heard a clonking. Staring into the family room, I froze as a figure emerged through the slider door.

  “Hey Raz, you’re looking good.”

  Raz. The nickname the New Bern crowd tagged me with.

  “Mitch? You scared the crap out of me.”

  He seemed taller. Despite the sleepless contours under his eyes, he stared at me with brazen self-assurance. My gaze traced along the torso of the lean, wheat blond tussle-haired, high school senior. Our relationship teetered between flirty and friendly, and I’ve always had a soft spot for him. We had history. His overnight bag landed with a thud near the sofa. “I was in the area. Thought I’d pay my favorite Northerner a visit.”

  Mitch McCoy popping in? He lived one hundred ninety miles away in New Bern. What was he doing here? He’s here to see you, my inner-self swooned, ballooning my ego. It had been over nine months since I’d last seen him. The rumor mill, i.e. Katie Lee, had mentioned his involvement with some hometown girl I’d never met, but knew I didn’t like. If he’d called or asked Katie Lee about me, that conversation had been conveniently forgotten. How did he know our address? Or did all of New Bern get a bulletin on our new location? Probably.