Scarlet Oaks and the Serial Caller

by Michaela James

  Resignedly nodding his head, Joe said, “But enough of that. Do you have time to come by the house?”

  Scarlet checked her phone. “Yes, let’s go.”

  Laughing, Joe watched Scarlet unceremoniously stuff the blanket inside the basket. With comparative delicacy, he placed the thermos and cups on top.

  En route, following her dad’s Honda Accord, Scarlet noticed a flower lodged next to her gear stick. Momentarily confused, she remembered it was retained from the bunch left on her windshield.

  Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the rose lined driveway of her Gran’s home. Securing the handbrake, Scarlet grabbed the almost unrecognizable flower.

  “I have no idea,” Joe said after his daughter held it forth for inspection. “But I bet your Gran will know, withered petals or not.”

  Hugs and kisses were exchanged before Rose carefully examined the dried flower.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s a Franciscan Wallflower,” she said. Walking into the sunroom located at the rear of the house, she added, “They have four petals, usually cream colored and arranged in a cross shape.” Studying the flower intently, she asked, “Where did you say you found it?”

  “It was on my car when I finished work the other night,” Scarlet explained. “Placed under my windshield wiper.”

  “Odd,” Rose muttered. “I’m going to get my wildflower book from the library. How about you two rustle up some lunch.”

  Cutting thick slices of granary bread while her father retrieved cold meats and salad from the French door refrigerator, Scarlet continued with their earlier conversation, “If you’re making less money, Mom has to get less alimony. Would it not be enough for her to live on?”

  Placing turkey, ham, and roast beef on a platter, Joe replied, “Define, enough to live on.”

  Stopping mid-saw through the loaf, Scarlet said, “I see.”

  Pouring boiling water into a large bone china teapot, Joe continued, “The house is paid off, as is her two-year-old BMW. After she pays health and car insurance, utilities, food, and general living expenses, she’d still be left with around three thousand every month.”

  Adding sliced bread to the tray, Scarlet asked, “You’re not talking now, but with the lesser paying job?”

  Joe, eyebrows raised, nodded in the affirmative.

  Placing fine bone china mugs on a tray, Scarlet declared, “That’s more than fair. I’m sure Mom will be okay with it.”

  Joe shook his head. “I broached it to her last night. She said she wouldn’t take a penny less than what was agreed to in our divorce settlement.”

  Retrieving knives and forks from the cutlery drawer with more force than required, Scarlet retorted,

  “We’re just going to have to make her see reason.”

  Joe removed the cutlery from Scarlet’s tightly clenched fists. “Unfortunately, probably not. She can claim I’m willfully underemployed. Because she hasn’t worked since we married, it’s my burden to support her in the style she’s accustomed to for the next decade.”

  Muttering about the unfairness of it all, Scarlet followed her father into the sunroom.

  As Joe placed the tray on the large round, glass-topped wicker table, Rose said, “By the look on your faces and the grinding of teeth, I’m guessing you were discussing Alimony.”

  Father and daughter solemnly nodded their heads.

  Looking up from her book, Rose said, “It’s a modern form of slavery, no ifs ands or buts about it.”

  Accepting a cup of tea from her granddaughter, Rose looked back down at a small pastel colored illustration. “It’s definitely a Franciscan Wallflower. I confess the timing has sent a little chill up my spine.”

  Hastily swallowing her gulp of rooibos tea, Scarlet asked, “Why?”

  Returning her cup to the table, Rose replied, “Because just this morning on the local news, they were talking about a woman’s body found washed up near the base of the Golden Gate.”

  Having been so close to said location just an hour earlier, Scarlet and her father exchanged looks of horror.

  “Was it a suicide?” Joe enquired.

  Rose stared at the dried and withered flower now lodged in the spine of her open book. “No, it was murder. The woman’s mouth had been duct taped. When the layers of tape were removed, they found it had been crammed full of wildflowers.”

  Not needing to ask, but doing it anyway, Scarlet said, “Franciscan Wallflowers?”

  Seeing her granddaughter’s face drain of color, Rose quickly said, “Just a silly coincidence. They’re probably everywhere right now.”

  Acting as if that statement fixed the whole matter, Rose changed the subject and soon had Scarlet and Joe in peals of laughter. Had they heard about the time Scarlet’s nephews lifted their mother’s skirt above her waist? The young boys deduced it was the quickest way to end her long discussions with the minister after church.

  Not long after the laughter had died down, Scarlet reluctantly left the relaxing company of her father and Gran. Wishing she felt more enthusiasm for it, she headed home to dress for her date.

  Deciding it must be a positive sign she looked good with little effort taken, Scarlet drove to North Beach. Needing to stop for gas on the corner of Seventeenth and Van Ness, she arrived at Cristofano’s ten minutes late. Scarlet spotted her date before she even walked through the door. The small windows were beginning to fog, but there at a corner table just one foot away from an animatedly chatting couple, sat Gary. Confident he couldn’t see her out on the street, Scarlet stole a moment to assess him. Nice features, dark blond short hair, and hard to tell as he was sitting, but he looked to match the six feet he’d claimed to be on the site.

  Trying to look more self-assured than she felt, Scarlet walked into the small Italian restaurant and right up to his table. The poor man looked positively panicked as she shook his hand and took her seat.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” Scarlet began, “I had to stop for gas and, of course, hadn’t allowed myself time to do it.”

  Starting to feel less and less at ease with his lack of conversation, Scarlet did what came naturally when nervous. She began talking faster and faster and with only half her words being relevant or even making sense.

  Finally resorting to staring at her menu, she was relieved when the waitress appeared at her side.

  “Would you mind telling me your specials?” Scarlet asked.

  “What the hell are you doing?” the stern-faced waitress asked Gary in answer.

  Scarlet’s date stammered, “Darling, I swear I’ve never seen this lady before. She just sat down and started talking to me.”

  Certain she’d turned a deeper red than the tablecloth, Scarlet asked in a slow, shaky voice, “You’re not Gary, are you?”

  “No, he’s not Gary,” the woman who clearly wasn’t the waitress snapped. “He’s my fiancé.” With hands on her hips and looking daggers at Scarlet, she added, “Do you make a habit of sitting down next to men you don’t know? Could I have my chair back if it’s not too much trouble?”

  Face burning, Scarlet hurried, head down, out of the restaurant. Vaguely aware of passing a man at the entrance, Scarlet, captivated by her shoes, marched on. Nearing the car, she heard a voice call behind her, “Miss Reynolds, is that you?”

  Taking three more steps before remembering Reynolds was the last name she’d used on the site, Scarlet, turned to face the voice, “Gary?”

  “I’m terribly sorry,” he gushed. “I was called into a teleconference. It happens more weekends than I can tell you. I drove like a maniac but still almost missed you. I don’t blame you for not wanting to wait any longer. Can you forgive me?”

  Like the poor man in the restaurant and like his photo on the dating site, the real Gary had blond hair and an aquiline nose. He looked maybe a little under six feet tall, with broad shoulders.

  Scarlet’s mortified side wanted to say, hello and goodbye. Go straight home and sit on the couch eating chocolate and feeling sorry for her
self. Her slightly more grown up side argued, mortified or not, she was here now, wearing makeup, and looking better than she had in months. Besides, she was all out of chocolate.

  “There’s nothing to forgive, Gary. But would you mind if we went somewhere else? I’ve already managed to outstay my welcome at Cristofano’s.”

  Gary gave a somewhat confused smile. “There are plenty of other good restaurants around here. Let’s grab the first empty table we find.”

  Liking him already, Scarlet agreed. The newly acquainted couple walked and chatted until they discovered that table.

  Happily sipping her red wine, Scarlet listened while Gary passionately talked about being a civil rights lawyer. His field was constitutional law, and he was fortunate enough, at the age of thirty, to be a senior associate with Ridel, Ames, and Deemer.

  Over barbecued oysters, Scarlet told him a little about her radio career. Gary appeared to find it more exciting than she did, with plentiful and intelligent questions on the subject.

  Mid-way through Crab Louie and an Aperol cocktail, Gary confessed of his obsession for windsurfing. Any minute of the day he wasn’t working was spent at Chrissy Field. “Unfortunately,” he added with a downturned mouth, “the thrills typically only last from May until August. Come September, I’m a little lost and craving the ocean.”

  Working his way through a generous portion of Tiramisu, Gary listened as Scarlet, daintily eating Lemon Ricotta Granita, recounted stories of growing up in the small town of Aptos. Her dinner companion admitted his fascination for the locale, having grown up in the bustling city of Brooklyn.

  “East Coast,” Scarlet said for lack of anything less redundant to say.

  Smiling, Gary suggested, “You’re surprised because I don’t have the accent.”

  Nodding, she suffered through a slight brain freeze from her desert, before agreeing, “Not even a trace.”

  Gary relaxed into his seat.

  “I have a little luck with voices. I can change how I sound on a dime. It comes in pretty handy I can tell you.” Leaning in conspiratorially, he elaborated, “When negotiating, I’ve found Texans, Southerners, etc., will listen with a more open mind if they suspect you’re from their neck of the woods.”

  Scarlet smiled politely. “You’ll be a partner before you know it.”

  Lifting his cocktail glass, Gary said, “From your lips.”

  Ten minutes later, while sipping their cappuccinos, Gary returned to his favorite subject, the ocean.

  “I’m planning a trip to La Jolla,” he stated enthusiastically. “Have you ever snorkeled?”

  Unbidden, Scarlet remembered her trip to Hawaii with Max. “I have.”

  Nodding with apparent approval, Gary paused before saying, “How would you feel about swimming with Leopard Sharks?”

  Feeling suddenly awkward as to whether this was a rhetorical question or an invitation, Scarlet said, “Swimming with … and sharks, are three words which I believe, shouldn’t be said consecutively.”

  Gary, eyes wide, held his hands up defensively. “The water’s so warm you don’t even need a wetsuit. Plus, you only need to be five feet deep to see a ton of them. You should think about coming with me.”

  Experiencing a mixture of amazement and horror, Scarlet struggled to find her voice.

  Seemingly assuming her look of astonishment stemmed from the shark comment, Gary added, “Leopard sharks are harmless to humans.”

  The evening ended pleasantly with Gary walking Scarlet back to her car. Leaving each other with the agreement they’d be in touch, Scarlet began the fifteen-minute drive home to her soft bed and equally soft pig.

  Five minutes from Upper Terrace, her phone rang. Seeing it was Niles, she answered with Bluetooth.

  “How on earth did you know I just said goodbye to my first date in forever?”

  “Scar, much as I love you,” Niles said. “I do have my own life. I’d forgotten you had a date tonight.”

  Feeling suitably put down, Scarlet enquired, “Oh, then to what do I owe the honor of this call?”

  “Well, I sort of lied about having my own life,” Niles mumbled. “Tom and I have spent the entire day planning your coming out party.”

  “Coming Out!” Scarlet repeated in mock horror.

  “Didn’t you say your great grandmother was British?” Niles reasoned as if the two things obviously went together.

  “Yeah,” Scarlet replied, wondering where this admission would lead to.

  “Debutante,” Niles explained, “is French for a female beginner. To come out means the young lady, having reached the age of maturity, is ready to be presented to society.”

  Scarlet wasn’t sure which was funnier, the thought of her being the innocent young deb or Niles and Tom’s friends being considered society.

  Chuckling, Scarlet stopped at a four way, beside a bright street light. Niles’ voice continued to fill the car. Amidst complaining how Tom was refusing him any input on the evites artwork, Scarlet blurted,

  “Oh no. Please no.”

  “It’s okay, Scar. We’re not actually calling it a coming out party on the invitation.”

  Her breathing labored, Scarlet continued, “I don’t believe it. Niles, it can’t be.”

  “It was just a joke Scar. I don’t know why you’re so upset about it. I know Tom gets carried away with details but ...”

  “The flowers,” Scarlet interjected.

  “What flowers?” Niles asked, now aware their wires were crossed.

  Hearing his friend stammer something about water and murder, Niles asked, “Where are you?”

  “I’m a minute from home,” Scarlet croaked.

  “We’ll be right there,” Niles said before abruptly ending the call.

  Thankfully, due to the fact, her friends lived two minutes away on Palo Alto, they arrived mere seconds after Scarlet.

  Niles made a brief examination of the MINI’s interior as Tom helped Scarlet from the driver’s seat.

  Hand shaking, Scarlet pointed to the bunch of flowers under her windshield wiper.

  “This is what terrified you?” asked an incredulous Niles.

  “These are just wild flowers,” Tom added in his best soothing tone. “Nothing to be upset about.” Grabbing Scarlet’s purse, Tom kept his arm around her until they reached the sanctity of her couch.

  Niles, having removed the offending flowers from Scarlet’s car, followed close behind. “What is it with these flowers, Scar?” he asked.

  Scarlet, sitting white and stoic replied, “They’re a sign. A sign that I’m going to be murdered.”

  Strangely, once Scarlet had voiced her fears, she immediately felt better. While telling the guys about the flowers and their significance, countless cups of tea had been produced, and Tom made an impromptu trip to the market for chocolate.

  Finding coverage of the woman’s murder online, Niles and Tom had admitted the Franciscan Wallflowers were unnerving, but they still believed, just a coincidence.

  The article said the woman had been dead at least seven days. The coroner’s report confirmed the victim’s arms and legs had been bound. Multiple layers of duct tape covered the woman’s mouth - which had been forcefully crammed with wildflowers. The bruises on her neck were conducive with being held under water until she drowned.

  Three friends gave a collective shiver before Tom said, “See, in the next paragraph, it says how these wildflowers are very common around the bay. Plus, you were parked in the North Beach area, which is full of Italian restaurants. Which means lots of Italian men.”

  Trying not to giggle at the assumption, Niles and Scarlet waited for an explanation of Tom’s logic.

  Raising hands in the air, Tom continued, “Italian men are very romantic. One of them probably saw you exit your car and thought, Mama Mia – I’m leaving that girl some flowers.”

  Scarlet was tempted to ask Tom what planet or era he was from. But, thankful for his attempt to make her feel at ease and so grateful for his friendship, she in
stead said, “Yes, that could be.”

  Niles, knowing Scarlet was not buying this theory, gave one of his own. “There are a ton of MINI Coopers in this city. What are the odds those flowers found their way onto the wrong car? It was dark.”

  Scarlet felt the vice around her heart loosen. “I’m just overreacting because of the news story. You’re both right. Those flowers are everywhere and mean nothing.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Tom enthused.

  Walking into the kitchen to start another round of tea, Niles enquired, “So how was your date?”

  Finally, relaxing into her velvet Chesterfield couch, Scarlet replied, “It was okay.”

  Niles returned with a tray. “Just okay?”

  Frowning, Scarlet explained, “I couldn’t really pinpoint what made it just okay, except there was nothing fun or wacky about him.”

  Tom laughed. “Just wait ’til our party if it’s fun and wacky you’re looking for.”

  “He fed you well, I hope,” Niles joked.

  Scarlet giggled. “He did, and he was very nice. He’s smart, good-looking and polite. There was just something a little off, almost like he was playing a part.”

  Offering her an Oreo, Tom suggested, “He was probably just nervous.”

  Scarlet then proceeded to tell her friends about the mortifying start to her evening.

  “Was it really necessary for the fiancé to be quite so vile?” Tom asked, giving Scarlet a sympathetic look.

  “Clearly highly jealous and incapable of seeing humor in the situation,” Niles contributed. Shaking the teapot to hurry the brewing process, he added, “As for the real Gary playing a part, aren’t we all a little guilty of that on a first date?”

  Nodding, Scarlet said, “True. He also sort of asked me to go scuba diving with him, which I found a little premature.”

  Niles raised his eyebrows. “I warned you about going on those sites. Lots of lonely, desperate people, not to mention serial…” Catching himself, he redirected, “I think you’re going to meet some wonderful guys at this party Tom’s throwing you.”