by Kim Smith
She tucked it under her arm and shouldered her bike saddlebags before heading for the door. Cheerily she called back to me, “Call me later. I want to hear every word. And don’t leave anything out.”
Dwayne went toward his office muttering something at her back about jealousy and teacher’s pets as she let herself out. He returned with a camcorder and his keys dangling from one finger. “I’m drivin’.”
Chapter Two
Lilies, roses, and daisies filled large clay urns amid the flowerbeds outside of the new City Hall building. The gardeners for the area had also planted assorted sun-loving plants along the sidewalks, and I wanted to leap out to sniff their perfumed petals, but refrained. At least physically. Mentally, I was lying out in the freshly-turned earth, inhaling summer.
Inside Dwayne’s new car, the scent wasn’t too bad either. But then again, I’m partial to new car smell. In my opinion, anyone fortunate enough to have a new car should appreciate the pleasure of that distinctive smell. Too bad it doesn’t last the life of the car.
Dwayne picked up a black Toyota Camry for cheap at a sale at the big Ford dealership on the corner of Greenman and Highway 78 after Raphael Ramirez borrowed his old Mustang and forgot to bring it back. “Forgot” on purpose, more like it. Why on earth Dee would allow such a travesty to occur kept me up at night. What sort of deal did those two have anyway?
He had never really given a sufficient reason for allowing Rafe to abscond with the ‘Stang, but it wasn’t from my lack of trying to pry it out of him. I had asked questions off and on for a matter of weeks. Even our mutual cop friend, Sal Ramirez didn’t know. Or else the men were doing that man thing where they keep each other’s most dark secret. Either way, I wasn’t privy to the info.
In the end, Dwayne’s grandmother, who always kept him in line with threats of coming down from her place in Illinois to smack him with her Bible, sent him money to put down on the car. He acted obnoxiously proud of it, and I responded equally with jealousy.
My old Betsy, an antique Mercury Cougar, was on her last legs and screamed as though in pain whenever the steering wheel turned. Probably the power steering going out, I’d been advised. Power steering issues sounded like either a lengthy visit to the repair shop or an expensive one, and either way, it was not in the cards. I kept a can of power steering fluid in my backseat, but kept forgetting to add some until turning the wheel got out of hand. Something would have to be done soon though, as I was developing massive biceps from the effort.
I pulled out the manila folder I’d gotten from Jimmy and checked the address again before laying it on the console between us. Dwayne slowed to a crawl as we approached Ashton Heights which was Thelma’s neighborhood.
Ashton Heights was all brick, all brag, and all budget-busting housing on the newer side of South Lake. No home in the subdivision sold for less than three hundred thousand and had nice garages and manicured lawns.
“Huh. Quit droolin’, Wall-ass. Ain’t no way you can ever live here,” Dwayne announced, glancing over at me.
“Don’t call me that, and I can still dream, can’t I?” I grumped. He had been calling me Wall-ass forever, why was it bothering me today? I resisted the urge to pull out my phone calendar and check it for my monthly reminder to buy tampons. That would be just all I needed.
He drove into the quiet cove, up the winding driveway, and over bits of tree limbs and leaves probably fallen from the last thunderstorm. Gazing at the big oaks shadowing our passage, I figured keeping the drive swept would be a fulltime job. It would either be pine needles or oak leaves and either way local kids were probably making bank on sweeping for the lazy folks.
He parked in front of the house in the middle of the driveway.
“Hang back here until I signal for you. If she’s not cooperative with our visit, we’ll just have to get back in the car. Hate to lose all the cool air.” I slid from the car, careful not to slam the door. He got mighty touchy about the doors being slammed. They didn’t really slam anyway. More like they made a dull thud.
The walkway meandered to the front steps, bordered on each side by squatty flowers with four petals. They smiled up at me in every color imaginable. Immediately, I wished to know their names because my aunts would love to have the prolific little plants in their front flowerbeds. Note to self: use the landscaping as an ice-breaker.
I stepped up the single step to the front of the house and rapped on the white wrought-iron door. While I waited for an answer, I ran my finger over the elaborate scrollwork. It smacked of wealth and made me wonder what Mr. Denaldo did for a living. Teacher pay wasn’t this good, was it? Had I been missing out on the good life? All it took was corralling a few kids for the bulk of the day, right?
Looking around, I noticed the front porch’s fake potted ferns, and white wicker patio furniture. Très quaint. People worked hard to get this kind of southern ambiance. Sorrow touched me for my former teacher and her soon-to-be destroyed home. Broken marriages were like broken pottery; you might glue it back together, but you couldn’t ever feel the same about it.
I knocked again. No answer.
The window overlooking the porch sported closed mini-blinds, and no one moved them aside to peer out. She must be somewhere in the house unable to hear my knock. I rang the doorbell and waited.
No answer. What the hell?
Retracing my steps, I walked across the front of the house, eyeballing Dwayne as he drummed his fingers on the dashboard to the tune of a muffled song. When I stood on tiptoe and looked inside the double garage, a maroon Subaru greeted me along with an empty slot for another car.
I walked back to the Toyota and climbed in. “She’s not answering, but a car’s here.”
“What? Did Dude call her and tell her you were comin’ over? You think the car’s hers?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t know. He seemed like he expected her to be here, so the car most likely is hers. I don’t think she wants to see us.”
“You got a number in that file?” He pointed at the manila folder, exasperated. “Call her up. I got a life to lead. Ain’t wastin’ no more time on this shit for Jerk Adams.”
I dug out my new pearl white cell phone and swiped it open. The dialing of the digits sounded like a calligraphy pen scratching on paper. Dwayne leaned over to check out the weird noise then shook his head in disgust.
He just wasn’t a “think outside the box” kind of guy today.
Four rings, five. No answer. I disconnected. “Call the substitute. This teacher’s out.”
We sat silently for a few moments contemplating our next move. I decided to call Jimmy’s office and leave a message. Maybe he would get it and call me back with a new plan.
Surprisingly, Jim answered on the second ring. “Hello.”
“Hey, it’s Shannon. Where are you?”
“Just got out of court. What’s up?”
“Can’t locate Mrs. Denaldo. No one’s home.”
“You went over there, huh? Hmm. This doesn’t sound good. I spoke to her last night. She said she’d be there all day.”
“One car in the garage, red Subaru. Is that hers? There’s no answer when I knock.”
“Sounds like her car, all right. I guess she’s gone out somewhere.” He paused a moment before adding, “Well, thanks for trying.”
“Or she doesn’t want to have this conversation right now,” I added. “Listen, I’ll keep on trying if you can tell me where to try next.”
“Can’t help you with that. She’s been vehement about staying at the domicile. She wants it as bad as my client does.”
“I thought possession was nine tenths of the law?” I said, thinking I had quoted the saying wrong. Not that I blamed her. It was sweet digs.
“Depends on what state you live in. Mississippi law says he may have actually lost the damn house and all its belongings by allowing her to stay there while he is elsewhere.”
“So that’s why you came up with the plan to videotape the interior and all the b
elongings?”
“Yeah. I mean, it will make things easier to divide, if it comes to that.”
“Good to know if I ever find myself in such a position,” I said. “Anyway, just in case she stepped out for a walk or something, I’ll hang out a while. Maybe she’ll turn up.”
“Yeah, good thinking. Let me know if she shows. If she doesn’t, don’t waste a lot of time there. It’s probably just not going to happen today. I’m having one of those days.”
We disconnected, and I looked at Dwayne, who, singing a song by Pink under his breath, annoyed me to no end. “Must you do that?”
“What?” he asked.
“Sing.”
He gasped like I had struck him. “You mean you don’t like my singin’?”
I shook my head and climbed out of the car again. “I’m going to look around. Maybe she’s out back.”
He hauled out of the Toyota at my words. “More like, she’s probably holed up in there and doesn’t want to talk to you. You’re comin’ from the enemy camp, Wall-ass. You’re probably goin’ to give her a heart attack. That and a divorce will probably kill her.”
Ignoring him, I went to the gate leading into the backyard. He followed along behind me, muttering about poor old teachers until I wanted to scream. The gate connected a chain link fence on one side to the garage on the other.
I shook the fence. “Think they have a big slobbery dog?”
He shook it harder, making it rattle and creak. “Nope. No dog back there or else he’d have come runnin’, ready to eat us.”
“Good. No dog. No Thelma either, else she’d be over here to find out who was messing with her fence.”
I checked the lock on the gate. Old-fashioned keyed lock. No way to break that without a pair of clips. And why would I even do that? She wasn’t home. She wasn’t home. Why was I even contemplating the backyard?
Sometimes I wish I could pay attention when my better judgement spoke to me.
Pulling a ponytail holder from around my wrist, I twisted my hair back, checked my front pocket to make sure the check was still in place, grasped the sturdy post of the gate with both hands, and started to climb over.
“Wait!” Dwayne grabbed me around the waist and pulled me down again. “What’re you doin? What if the dog’s hard of hearin’? What if the teacher is in and armed?”
“She’s not back there, Dwayne. And you just said no dogs. You better be right!” I returned to the gate and scratched my way to the top, paused for one second to look at the ground
“Thank you so much for beneath me on the other side and jumped, landing with a grunt.
“Are you coming or what?” I asked when no sound came from Dwayne.
It took a second before he answered, and his words forced a sliver of fear through me. waitin’ on me, Wall-ass. I guess you don’t need my help. You know I’m not all about that climbin’ shit. When you find the teacher, or get inside, or figure out somethin’ let me in the front door like normal people.”
“Fine. But, don’t you dare go anywhere. You stay right here.” I punctuated my words with a finger stabbing the air, although I didn’t think he could see me through the wooden slats of the gate. “I’ll be right back.”
Braving the backyard, I halfway expected some hairy beast to come charging me even with all Dwayne’s sage words. Such a disaster was all too normal for me. Thankfully, no such event occurred. It was a huge yard too, just aching for a pet.
A small boy of about four or five stood at the fence along the back, chubby fingers gripping the chain link, watching me. I hoped he wouldn’t tell anyone about the lady who slunk around Mrs. Denaldo’s backyard. I eased onto the back patio under the metal awning overhang, careful not to disturb the crepe myrtle edging it. The poor bush was inundated with a heavy dose of honeysuckle, which smelled heavenly, though I steered far away from it. Bees love honeysuckle like I love Ben and Jerry’s.
The patio bore leaves and old grass clippings, and the grill had a thick layer of dust. No fancy backyard parties at the Denaldo residence lately, apparently. Maybe never again, thanks to the intricacies of divorce. I stepped up to the plain Jane screen door protecting the interior wooden one. It was ajar like the catch had been sprung.
Bells rang in my head, and my vision blurred. The last time I waltzed in a partially opened door, my friend Joe ended up being on the floor, dead. What if something was wrong with Thelma? What if she was sick? Jim said she was supposed to be here, all nice and tidy and ready to be visited. Her car was even in the garage…
Oh Em Gee.
I turned sharply and hurried back to Dwayne who was lounging against the fence. “Go to the car, get that folder, drop it over here, and then get your ass back here pronto! We have a situation,” I said, voice full of fear and trepidation. He griped a lot, but he did as I asked without question. The gate climbing did nothing to improve his attitude, either. He landed in front of me with the camera securely affixed around his neck by a strap.
“You think of everything!” I said.
He plopped it into my hands while I blubbered on and on about killers and dead bodies. For once he didn’t say anything smart-alecky. I guess our history spoke for itself. I tucked the folder under my arm and anchored myself tight onto his heels. He eased open the screen door with the toe of his Nike, and I think we both held our breath. He knocked twice on the interior door, but Thelma didn’t answer.
“Do you think it’s unlocked, too?” I asked in a hushed whisper, pointing.
Using the edge of his tee shirt to turn the knob of the door, he tried it. It opened silently like doors do in horror movies.
“Damn it, girl!” he said, jumping backwards. The sudden reversal made me drop the folder and all of its contents in order to maintain my grip on the camera. I slung the camera strap around my neck, held the little machine one-handed, and bent over to collect the fallen papers.
“Watch out, Dee.” I told him moving his foot so I could pull a small card out from where it had lodged. I scooped up the folder, put everything together, and tucked it back under my arm.
“What now?” I asked, hot and scared. “She’s not answering. The door is open. She’s in there, I just know it. But why isn’t she answering?”
He gave me a look full of chagrin. “Shit, Shannon. Here we go again.”
“We can’t leave her.”
“We can’t go runnin’ in there!”
“What if she’s hurt?”
“What if she’s dead?”
“What if she is? We have to do something!”
“Call Sal.”
“Dude. No. What if she’s not in there? What if we call him for nothing? He’ll be all nasty-nice about it, and I’ll have to endure that. I can’t. I won’t. We have to go in to find out if she is or isn’t in there. If she isn’t, we could film the house inside and still earn that two grand Jim promised us. Papers or not.” I indicated the folder.
“Two grand? Two grand!” His eyes grew to the size of half-dollars.
“Yes, two grand. The check’s in the mail, sort of.”
“Well, shit. I guess we’re goin’ in.”
He got the screen door open again with his shoe, and used a pen to push open the wooden door. I stayed right on his heels, camcorder strap around my neck, and camera at the ready. Directly in front of us, a small bathroom stood dark and silent. Using his pen, he flipped on the light in there and looked behind the door. “Fake Monet,” he said, backing out.
“How can you think of artwork at a time like this?” I hissed.
“She decorated the room with fake Monet. I didn’t think of it first. But while we’re talkin’ about what I’m thinkin’, I’d sure as hell rather not think about what you want me to think about.”
While I tried to understand that logic, he moved away and I followed. My mind wouldn’t leave me alone either. Why couldn’t I just wait for him in the bathroom with the faux artwork? I’d be nice and quiet, knocking knees together, lips sealed.
He yelled
for Mrs. Denaldo in a deep voice I didn’t know he possessed. It made the hair on my neck stand up. There was no answer.
We turned off to the right. The kitchen area nestled in front of large bright windows covered in cream-colored mini-blinds. Sunlight glinted inside the partially opened slits and bounced off the glass tabletop and the glasswork on the beautiful flame mahogany breakfront.
I took this moment to breathe. I set the folder on the table, and wiped sweat from my brow. The rest of the house stood as silent as a cave.
“Don’t touch anything,” Dwayne said. “She’s either dead, or not here, and either way, we ain’t stayin’.”
We followed the hall around to a short set of wooden stairs leading down. You could see the soft blue carpet of the room beyond through the stairs.
“Go or stay?” Dwayne asked.
“Go. We have to be sure.” I hated the resignation in my voice.
“I knew you were gonna say that.”
With a one-handed grip on the camera, I tried not to touch the rail for balance. Close to the last stair, Dwayne jerked to a sudden halt and whipped his gun out, elbowing me in the gut.
“Well,” Dwayne announced, voice shaking. “Guess who’s not comin’ for dinner?”
I peered over his shoulder and saw a body lying face down.
“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod…” Hysteria didn’t sound good coming out of my mouth.
“I knew this was going to happen. Didn’t I tell you this was going to happen? Shit, shit, shit,” he said, glaring at me from over his shoulder.
“W-Who is it?”
“Ain’t no Mrs. Denaldo, that’s for sure.” He took the last few steps, looked around the room quickly, even behind the couch and potted palm. Finally, he shoved his gun back into the holster hidden under his shirt and moved closer to the body. “Ewww. Something heavy upside the head. This is bad, Shan. Very bad. Call 9-1-1, girl.”
My eyes didn’t want to see anything gory, but my curious streak felt deprived. My legs didn’t want to go to where Dee knelt, but for some reason my feet didn’t listen to my legs. When I arrived, my entire being learned what sorry felt like.