by Lisa Bork
“He said that was a good question. He wanted to know the answer.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him I wasn’t thinking.”
An honest answer. How often do we all do things without thinking them through? At twelve, Danny was entitled to a few more mistakes than we adults. “Okay, well, listen, think hard when you’re taking your tests today, so you can tell your dad all about your good grades later. I’m sure Ray will take you to see him tonight.”
Danny’s face brightened considerably. He hopped out of the car without another word. Two boys approached him and greeted him. They headed toward the building together, scuffing their feet and talking.
As I watched Danny walk into the building, my cell phone rang. I thought it might be Ray, but when I checked the display, I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
I waited, straining my ears and thinking it must be a wrong number. “Hello?”
I heard a sigh. I knew that sigh. “Erica?”
More silence. “Erica, if it’s you, say something. Otherwise, I’m going to hang up and I won’t answer again.”
“It’s me. Who else do you know in the tower?”
“I didn’t recognize the number.”
“You should have it memorized by now.”
I tried not to respond in the same combative manner she was addressing me. It was hard, because I was the one with the right to be pissed. Erica had stopped taking her medicine, failed to show up for her doctor’s appointments, lost her job, and run away to marry a geek. I swallowed hard and tried to be congenial. “I take it you’re feeling better.”
“I hate it here.”
“What does Dr. Albert say? How long do you have to stay?” I left off the words “this time.”
“He might let me come home in a couple days, if someone stays with me to monitor my medication.”
For the last fifteen years, that would have been me or Ray. Now Maury was in the picture. “Did you marry Maury?”
Another sigh, this time heavy enough to make the line crackle. “Yes.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“You sound like Dr. Albert. You know, I don’t like Dr. Albert anymore. He’s really not even that good-looking.”
He was, but again, I didn’t want to argue. “What about Maury, Erica? Are you planning on living with him?”
“Of course. He’s my husband.”
“So, you love him?”
She heaved another sigh. “Of course.”
Her response didn’t make me feel any better. It was the same response I would have gotten if I asked her if she wanted me to bake chocolate chip cookies. “You’re going to live in the apartment where I found you?”
This time she hesitated. “Can we live in the apartment on Wells Street?”
“Sure, if you can afford it.” I hated to start trouble, but I wasn’t going to pay Maury’s bills. He would have to step up.
Erica caught my less than subtle implication. “Maury got a new job.”
“Where?”
“He’s going to be a delivery man for a florist shop.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “That sounds like a great job for him.”
I doubted it would pay the rent, but Erica could get another job, too. She never had trouble getting jobs, just keeping them. She and Maury had that in common.
Erica continued, “I have to see Dr. Albert once a week. He has an opening on Thursdays starting next week.”
“Do you want me to drive you?”
“I can drive myself.”
“All right. Cory’s fixing the Porsche for you. I’ll tell him to hurry.”
Erica remained silent so long that I thought she’d hung up. Then she asked, “Do you still have Danny?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure for how much longer.” I told Erica the whole story about the stolen cars, Jessica James’ death, the possible suspects, and the news from last night. “Ray still hasn’t called me. I’m not sure if Danny’s father will be released or not. Even if he is, he doesn’t have a home or a job, unless he can move into the aunt’s house. It seems like he should be required to have both before he can take Danny, but that’s up to Social Services, I guess.”
Erica wasn’t interested in Danny. “That redheaded guy, Peter, he used to visit another psychiatrist in the building on Wednesdays. I talked to him in the elevator sometimes.”
“He told you his name was Peter?”
“He told me when I saw him in The Cat’s Meow.”
The night she asked him if he was big all over. “Are you sure it was the same guy? Leslie was a patient of Dr. Albert’s. She saw him once a week. A lot of people get the two of them confused. They’re identical twins.”
“He recognized me. He said ‘Hello’ first.”
I didn’t know what to make of that. Could both Leslie and her brother be in treatment? If so, what was Peter being treated for? I started to ask Erica if she knew, but she said the orderly wanted her to hang up.
I tried Ray again. Still no answer at either number. I dialed again and connected with the operator, who said Ray was on patrol. Was he working a back-to-back shift? He was too tired to drive safely. Maybe he’d slept at the office or in his car. Maybe they were so close to solving Jessica James’ case that he didn’t want to miss it.
I drove home, stopping at the corner store to purchase a newspaper. I wanted to know what, if anything, had been reported about Jessica James’ death.
I found no reference to her murder in the local paper. I did spot advertisements for two damaged cars, a Mercedes and a BMW, that I would have loved to purchase and have Cory repair for resale in my showroom. Too bad all my inventory dollars were tied up in a very pricey Ferrari with its own ghost riding eternal shotgun.
At home, I tried to watch Regis and Kelly, but even with all their charms, they couldn’t hold my attention. Reading a book was out of the question. All my housework had been completed over the weekend.
After checking my cell phone for the tenth time to make sure I hadn’t missed Ray’s call, I had to get out of the house. I decided to take back the sweaters Celeste had forced on me the other day. After the superior way she’d behaved in my office, I figured I didn’t owe her anymore.
I walked into Talbots twenty minutes later with my shopping bag full of sweaters. The assistant manager, a woman old enough to be my mother, was behind the counter. She greeted me warmly. I could tell she thought she should know my name but it wasn’t coming to her.
She found it on the sales receipt. “Oh, you’re Jolene Asdale. I’m sorry, Jolene Parker. Someone was just here looking for you.”
“Really?” I couldn’t imagine why anyone would look for me here. I came in here once a season, if that.
She began entering information in the register and scanning the tags on the sweaters. “She was looking for Celeste, too. She wanted to give you both fresh chickens to thank you for helping her pick out clothes or something like that. I can’t remember her name, but she had red hair.”
“Was her name Leslie Flynn?”
The assistant manager nodded. “That’s it. Seemed like a nice woman. I told her today was Celeste’s day off and that your shop was always closed on Mondays. She said she’d come back tomorrow.”
I signed for my return. The woman sealed my old and new receipt in an envelope. She thanked me, as though returning clothes was as helpful to the store as purchasing them. I knew Celeste wouldn’t feel that way, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
In my car, I debated between heading home, driving to the county safety building to look for Ray, or calling Leslie Flynn. At home, I’d have nothing to do but look at the walls. Chasing after Ray was not appropriate. He was busy. I needed to respect that. Besides, if the sheriff found out I was following Ray on the job, Ray might get in trouble again. We didn’t need that.
I decided to call Leslie. I didn’t know what all was implied by “fresh chicken,” but it
was thoughtful of her to think of us. Ray and Danny had enjoyed the eggs.
I checked my cell phone log and found her phone number. She answered on the fourth ring.
“Leslie, it’s Jolene. I was just in Talbots. The assistant manager said you were looking for me.”
“Hey, Jolene. I’ve got fresh chickens in a cooler for you. I realized the other day that I hadn’t done enough to thank you and Celeste. I knew you were interested in the eggs, so I figured most of your chickens had come from the grocery store in the past, too. I know the store labels often say ‘fresh’ but fresh really means killed and plucked today.”
“Killed” brought all sorts of undesirable pictures to mind. I liked the sound of “plucked,” though. I wondered about all the chicken’s innards, but was too afraid to ask.
Leslie continued, “I have two whole roasters for you and Ray and one for Celeste. I can bring them back into town tomorrow, or you and Ray can stop by today and pick yours up if you have time.”
I didn’t want to admit that I had nothing but time, or that Ray wasn’t allowed to visit her farm anymore. “Ray’s working, but I can stop by this morning, if that works for you.”
“Good. I’ll put a pot of coffee on.”
As I drove toward the Flynn farm, it occurred to me that no one had ever given me a gift like this before. Candy and baked goods, yes. Casseroles when my parents died. But never an uncooked chicken. I supposed amongst farming families this type of gift was more common and appreciated, even welcomed if they didn’t raise chickens of their own. I wondered if it would taste better than the ones from the grocery store. With any luck, Ray would cook the chicken for me. It would taste better if he did. Of course, I wouldn’t be inviting Erica and Maury over to dine with us, not with the way Erica felt about chickens.
The thin gray dog the size of a miniature horse greeted me in Leslie’s driveway as I stepped out of the Lexus. I took a step away from the car. The dog positioned itself between me and the house. I waited, never one to brave an unknown dog.
The thought flashed through my mind that maybe I shouldn’t have come out here. But that was silly. Leslie had invited both Ray and me. She was a friend. But her grumpy dog was another story.
I avoided eye contact with it and tried to stay calm. I didn’t want it to sense my fear.
Leslie appeared in the side doorway seconds later. Once again, she wasn’t wearing her wig. She had on her old Carhartt overalls and a green plaid shirt. “Come on in, Jolene.”
I stepped around the dog. It growled.
I glanced at Leslie for support.
“Rufus. Quiet. Go in the barn.”
The dog slinked off, tail between its legs.
Leslie hugged me and offered to hang up my coat. I watched as she threw it on a wall hook next to her Carhartt jacket. I hoped my coat wouldn’t smell like manure when I put it on later.
I stepped over the piles of dirty and worn boots in the hall beyond the entryway and followed her into a sunlit kitchen with a picture window overlooking the barn and fields.
“I was putting a fresh pot of coffee on. Sit down.” Leslie gestured to the oval oak table in the middle of the kitchen.
I hadn’t planned on staying long, but the kitchen seemed welcoming enough with its blue and white tiled floor and bright yellow walls. Spotless, too. I took a seat at the table.
She pulled a couple of coffee cups from the cupboard. “We can take our coffee in the sunroom when it’s ready.”
I could see a wide doorway and hints of foliage beyond it at the far end of the cheerful kitchen. Something smelled earthy and warm. I also smelled apple pie.
“I’ve got a pie in the oven to go with the coffee.” She opened a white foam cooler that sat on the counter, a cooler very much like the one we’d found Jessica James’ arm inside days ago. “Wait ’til you see what I’ve got in here.”
I cringed, fearing she’d pull out a severed limb. Ridiculous since these coolers were common everywhere and used for food, fishing, and …
Leslie pulled out a naked, headless chicken.
“O-o-o-h.” My heart started beating again. I tried to smile appreciatively.
Leslie squinted at me. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I’m just used to buying chicken breasts.”
“Not a roaster?”
I shook my head. “Are you sure that’s a chicken? It’s huge.”
Leslie fluffed up with pride. “We don’t even give them growth hormones.”
Yet another side to farming that I knew nothing about. I decided not to ask.
She slapped the chicken down on the cutting board. “I can chop it into pieces. You can use the breasts now and freeze the rest. Just make sure you eat some of it fresh today.”
“Okay.” I could bake a chicken breast. That was not beyond me.
Leslie pulled open a kitchen drawer. She took out a cleaver with a blade approximately four inches by eight inches. She started to sharpen it.
The blade zipped in and out of the sharpener, making a slight grated noise. For some reason, my hands started to sweat. “Is that what you use to chop chickens?”
Leslie continued to sharpen it. “It’s a Chinese cleaver. It can chop anything. Chicken, beef, vegetables. It can go right through bone.”
A visual of this cleaver hacking Jessica James into pieces flashed through my head.
Perspiration broke out in my armpits. I thought I might be sick. I fumbled for my purse, trying to think of an excuse to leave.
Leslie ran her finger over the blade. “There. It’s ready.” She held it out to show me, twisting the blade from side to side. It caught the sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window and blinded me.
I closed my eyes and tensed.
The cleaver dropped with a whack. I opened my eyes to see Leslie push the right wing of the chicken to the side of the cutting board. She raised the cleaver again.
I looked away, chiding myself. I had no reason to fear this woman. She had offered me a fresh chicken in friendship, for Pete’s sake.
A check secured with a magnet to the stainless steel refrigerator caught my eye.
I glanced at Leslie, who continued to whack away at the poor defenseless chicken.
I stood up and leaned to get a better look at the check.
It was made out to The Cat’s Meow and dated for the Saturday of Jessica James’ disappearance. Peter Flynn was scrawled in bold letters on the signature line.
“He still owes me.”
I turned to find Leslie gesturing to the check with the meat cleaver. She missed my chest by inches.
Alarmed, I dropped in my chair.
“Ooops. Sorry.” Leslie resumed chopping the chicken. “Peter hasn’t paid me back yet for covering that check. He and I keep the farm funds separate from our personal accounts. His personal account is drained, according to him.”
“Is he home? I still haven’t met him.” Not that I was sure I wanted to.
“No, he’s at the grocery store, buying chew. I swear he goes there once a day. If he’s not spending his money on drinks, it’s chew.”
She chopped off the final piece, a drumstick, and took plastic freezer bags out of the drawer. “I’ll put the breasts in one bag and the thighs, drumsticks, and wings in another. How’s that sound?”
“Fine.” My voice was a croak. Peter went to the grocery store once a day? Had he in fact been there the day I got shot at?
Leslie turned and studied me. “You have a weak stomach, don’t you?”
I half-nodded, thinking of Erica’s words earlier today regarding the redheaded man: “He used to visit another psychiatrist in the building on Wednesdays.”
Erica couldn’t have been referring to Leslie. Leslie saw Dr. Albert, not another psychiatrist. Erica had to have met Leslie’s brother, Peter, in the elevator. The brother I’d never met. The brother who lived here on this farm with access to meat cleavers. The brother who frequented The Cat’s Meow and had no money. Could he have spent it all
on alcohol and chew? Maybe he’d spent it on some of the girls, maybe even the ones willing to meet him outside the club. Maybe one like Jessica James, who was driving a new Cadillac Escalade.
Leslie was speaking to me. “I’ll keep the innards. You probably don’t know what to do with them. We’ll boil them up for the dog.”
I watched as she loaded the dark purplish heart and assorted organs into a pot and filled it with water. She turned it on to boil. My nose twitched. My stomach rolled.
Leslie walked over to the refrigerator with the plastic bags in hand. “I’ll put these in here for now and put them back in the cooler for you when it’s time to go home.”
She closed the door. “Come on out in the sunroom and see the flowers. They’ll perk ya right up.”
I knew I should make excuses and leave, but I didn’t want to offend her.
I followed her obediently across the kitchen and out the door. Instantly, the temperature rose twenty degrees. I found it more difficult to breathe.
The sunroom was actually a greenhouse filled with potted plants on shelving. Flowering plants and ferns, tall and short, all sucking the oxygen out of the air in the room. It was a heady experience, especially to someone prone to allergies like me.
A wicker furniture set occupied the middle of the floor: a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table. The cushions were blue with sunflowers. They looked home sewn. I wondered if Leslie or her brother had the decorating and floral talents.
Leslie pointed to one of the chairs. “Sit down, Jolene. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll serve the coffee and pie out here as soon as it’s ready.”
“Great, thank you.” I dropped into the chair facing the doorway. Then I spotted them. I tried not to let my distress show.
I took a deep breath. I needed to know if Leslie really was a friend—or the enemy. “So, Leslie, are you the gardener in the family?”
She laughed. “Not me. My brother grows all these. He also makes those cute planters over there by the door.”
The cute planters shaped like wishing wells. The ones that held African violets, prayer plants and other florals I couldn’t identify. I swallowed the bile that rose in the back of my throat.