Cleats in Clay

by Jackson Cordd

  He looked at the map of greater New England displayed on the wall behind her and had a sudden inspiration. “We wouldn’t happen to have any contacts in New York, would we?”

  Ivette’s face sort of closed in, as if maybe she had something to hide. “New York? Why would you be asking about that?”

  Bobby looked her in the eye. “Postcards.”

  “Oh.” Ivette sat down quickly.

  “Know anything about them?”

  She nodded slightly, swallowing hard. “Nate asked me to.”

  Bobby went around the side and sat in the “interrogation” chair flanking the metal desk. They’d nicknamed it that years ago when Nathan said it looked like how they set up the police stations in the cop TV shows. “When was that?”

  “Last September.” Ivette studied Bobby up and down as she hesitated. “You know he was psychic. Said none of his paths made it to Thanksgiving. So he set up the cards with me, for after.”

  Bobby flinched. Psychic? What the fuck? Psychic? What the hell else had Nathan kept secret?

  “You didn’t know….” Ivette watched him process the new information. Then she leaned over toward him. “I have dreams sometimes,” she admitted to him. “That’s how we started talking about the whole paranormal thing.”

  Bobby still had that stunned look on his face. “Psychic?” he finally managed to voice aloud.

  Ivette nodded again. “Yes, Mr. Lane.”

  “Did you know about the aneurism?”

  “Not exactly. I knew there was something, but he never gave me any details.”

  “Well, shit. Psychic?”

  “Yes….” She reached out and patted his hand. “He tried to explain it to me once, what it was like.”

  Bobby looked over at her. “What did he say?”

  “He said it was like the world was a spiderweb, and he could see the threads. The threads between people and the paths they could lead to.”

  Bobby just shook his head.

  “He said it was mostly a confusing mess he tried to ignore, but every once in a while, he’d see something really clearly.”

  “Well… shit.” Bobby frowned. “I don’t even know how to wrap my head around this. Why didn’t he ever tell me about any of it?”

  “You know I can’t answer that,” she said. “Maybe it was too frustrating for him to try and explain it. I do know it took a while for him to talk about it with me.”

  Bobby shook his head and brought his thoughts back to the task at hand. “I just left Mrs. Price. She wants the postcards to stop.”

  “Oh.” She looked earnestly at him. “Are you sure? There’s only two left, and they seem kinda important.” Her hand wandered to the handle of the second desk drawer.

  “Just two? How many are left for me?”

  “Just one. I’m supposed to mail it June 15.”

  Bobby exhaled. “You sure they’re important? They’re really wigging her out.”

  “Yes.”

  “What about mine?”

  Ivette hesitated, then slid open the drawer and handed him a postcard. “This is your last one.”

  Bobby looked down at the card. He saw the sketch of a skinny dog and one phrase: Unlock your cupid’s heart.

  Ivette looked at him and saw his confusion. “I was hoping it made sense to you… I have no idea.”

  “No fuckin’ clue.” Bobby groaned. “He’s really pissing me off with all this.”

  “Maybe that’s what he wanted. Or part of it.”

  “What?”

  “You know, if you got pissed, maybe you wouldn’t wallow so much.”

  “I’m not wallowing.”

  “Really?” She gave him a stabbing look. “And when was the last time you even stepped foot in here? How long did you hide in that house without anybody seeing you?”

  Bobby hung his head. “All right. Maybe a little.”

  “A little.” Ivette smiled tightly. “Right.”

  Bobby thought about the earlier conversation. “What was that about Thanksgiving?”

  “Nate said none of his paths would make it to Thanksgiving. He said he had only about a month, month and a half left, depending on the exactity of how things rolled out. That was the word he used.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me that?”

  “He was so excited about you guys getting into the Series. Said it was only a one-in-three-hundred chance from what he could see, but you guys made it. He said it was about 90 percent certain you’d win it too. If you didn’t get distracted.” She sighed supportively. “So he was doing his best not to distract you.”

  This seemed so much like the conversation he’d had with Odis almost forty-eight hours before that he nearly chuckled aloud. Then he remembered the time zone difference. It was exactly forty-eight hours. Well, shit on a shingle.

  Ivette smiled at him. “Nate could be so noble sometimes.”

  Oh, fuck me.

  She dropped her smile when she saw his pained expression. “You don’t think?”

  “Maybe. Just reminded me of something somebody else said.”

  “Oh.” Ivette looked back down at the drawer. “What about the other postcards?”

  Bobby wobbled his head. “If you think they’re important, then just keep with the plan. Don’t suppose it could do the woman any worse. Maybe it will help her.”

  She closed the drawer sharply as someone walked in. “Okay, then.”

  They both looked up to see Gerald walking through the door.

  Gerald nodded as he walked up. “Hello, Mr. Lane. Turned into a nice day out there.”

  “That it did.” Bobby stood and shook his hand.

  “What brings you out here? Everything okay?”

  “Well, I was just out at Mrs. Price’s. We have a proposition for you.”

  BOBBY left the Lawn Gnome Landscaping office with just enough time to grab a burger on his way back to meet with the Realtor. Gerald was more than thrilled with the idea of buying out the business, and they spent the early afternoon hashing out details.

  Waiting in line at the drive-through, Bobby let his thoughts wander back to the postcard still resting on the passenger seat where he’d tossed it. Unlock your cupid’s heart. He pondered the phrase, but it just seemed so vague and meaningless. He glanced down at the sketch of the dog. A skinny dog. A… greyhound? A greyhound! Cupid! His face broke out in a huge grin as he solved the puzzle. Of course. Two years ago on Valentine’s Day, we went to the dog races and won a few bucks. Afterwards, down at the pier for lunch, we ended up spending the winnings on that silly crystal decanter. Where is that decanter now?

  Ah, shit! Bobby squinted as other little bits and pieces started clicking into place. Details of Nathan and his trips to the racetrack. How he always wanted to wander the pens first, see the dogs or horses in person and pet them when he could get away with it. How Nate always picked the bets. And now that Bobby thought about it, he could not remember a single time they lost. How did I not see that then? God, it’s so obvious. It’s like Nate had inside information.

  Nate had never been greedy about it, though. They shared just a few small winnings, making an occasional happy afternoon of it.

  Other details started falling in, clicking into the mosaic in such a blur Bobby was fighting a headache. He kept remembering strange little things Nate had said here and there throughout their relationship. Nate’s offhand suggestions now felt like little prenudges before something came up.

  He yanked up his head and focused on the world again when the car behind him honked. Bobby moved the car forward, taking his place at the window. His food was already waiting; he merely had to pay and then collect his bags. He drove back to the house, his mind an agitated jumble.

  Chapter 10

  ONCE the Realtor had been dealt with, Bobby looked once again at the postcard. The unlock and heart were still a little confusing since the crystal decanter was oval shaped. The heart word could just belong to the cupid phrase, merely another part of the reference to Valentine’s Day.<
br />
  As for the unlock part, the decanter just had a simple lid that rested atop the jar. What could the unlock be referring to? he pondered as he went upstairs, recalling that the decanter was in the master suite.

  Bobby froze in the doorway of the bedroom, scolding himself for being so silly. This room was not haunted. He spotted the decanter on the dressing bureau. Just walk in and open it.

  He started across the room, his walk turning into a jog. Instead of just opening it, which seemed like a long waste of time to spend in the bedroom, he grabbed the decanter and hurried back out the door. He exhaled finally as he looked down at the container he clutched in his hands. Bobby took it downstairs to the kitchen before he opened it.

  Inside, he found only one item. He removed the dully glinting brass key and examined it closely. It was a smaller skeleton-key sort of shape, with a fancy scroll design at the head of it. The unfamiliar image looked like the blending of a fleur-de-lis and a Celtic knot. Definitely unusual and distinctive. Bobby would remember if he’d ever seen it or saw it again. Maybe that was the point. So now the unlock part makes sense. But what do you unlock?

  His cell phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. A call from Sharon.

  “Hey, Shar, s’up?”

  “You still in Texas?”

  “Nope, darlin’, moseyed on back hereabouts yestee-day.”

  “Gawd, Bobby, you were only there two days. They hickafied you that fast?”

  Bobby laughed. “What are you up to?”

  “Just got home from work, checking to see if you need a butt-kicking.”

  “Don’t think so. Had a busy day. Saw Lorainne.”

  “Ah, shit, is she doing better?”

  “I didn’t see her before, so can’t judge if it’s better or worse, but she’s pretty bad.”

  “I know, poor woman. Husband and son in less than five years. That’s gotta suck a big green donkey one.”

  “I know.” Bobby looked down at the key. “Hey, I got another postcard too. This one led to a brass key.”

  “Brass key? What kind of key?”

  “One of the smaller old-fashioned ones, like maybe for a jewelry box or something. Has a weird Celtic-knot thing on it.”

  Sharon paused. “Looks sorta like a French fleur-de-lis?”

  “Yes, sorta looks like it.”

  “I have the box. I’m off work tomorrow. How about I bring it by then?”

  “Sharon, what’re you doing with it? And really? You wanna wait until tomorrow?”

  Sharon laughed. “Of course not, bitch, just wanted to freak on you a bit. I’m dying to know what’s in it too. I’ll be there in twenty.”

  “Okay, see ya.”

  “Later.”

  WHEN Sharon arrived, they ended up sitting on the barstools at the kitchen bar. She set the brass heart-shaped box on the counter. On the top lid, Bobby saw a larger version of the unusual fleur-Celtic knot. “Nate gave this box to me, like, ten years ago. Wanted me to hold on to it. He said I’d know when to give it back.”

  “Ten years ago….” He looked Sharon in the face. “So, did you know anything about him being psychic and all?”

  She didn’t seem surprised by the question. “What did you hear?”

  Bobby studied her. “I talked to Ivette today. She mentioned a few things about it.”

  “Like what?”

  “God, Shar, why are you still covering for him?” He sighed exasperatedly. “Just tell me….”

  Sharon looked down at the box. “Let’s open it first. Then we can talk about it.”

  Bobby sighed again and picked up the key. “Okay. But you better spill.”

  He inserted the key and unlocked the box. The lid stuttered open on stiff hinges as they both leaned down to peek inside. Only a folded sheet of paper took up the space.

  Bobby took out the page and unfolded it. He and Sharon puzzled over the strange computer printout they saw.

  A+C= typical :(

  B+A= rich?

  B+C= intense?

  B+A+C= jackpot

  Bobby glanced at Sharon, who stared back. “What the fuck?” they both asked at once. Then they laughed nervously.

  Sharon looked down at the note again. “That fuckin’ shithead. I was hoping the box might explain some things. This is just nuts.”

  “Well.” He frowned over the message. “Maybe it just doesn’t make sense yet. Ivette was the one sending the postcards. I wasn’t supposed to get this last one until the end of June.”

  Sharon smirked. “I think we could wait ’til hell freezes over and this shit still won’t make any sense.” She went to the chiller and grabbed one of the bottles of wine. She snagged two glasses on the way back.

  Bobby got the corkscrew from the drawer and handed it to her. “Okay, spill.”

  “He had some weird vision thing,” she said as she opened the wine. “Nate said he could see how things were connected and how they might be connected. He really didn’t tell me much more than that.”

  “Why’d he keep it a secret from me?” he asked as she handed him a glass of wine.

  “He was afraid it would screw with your relationship. That if you knew he saw things sometimes, you’d be tempted to ask, and he’d be tempted to tell you. Since your career was a game of chance, he worried about consequences. It was easier not telling you at all than having to tell you ‘no’ all the time.”

  “But,” Bobby started to argue. Then he frowned. “The temptation would have been there, I guess. I would have respected him, though.”

  “Most of the time, maybe, but the tension would have still been there. Even if you didn’t ask aloud, you’d wonder. You’d examine every little thing he said, looking for extra meanings. I know I did sometimes.”

  “True. I guess.” He held up his glass to toast. “To Nate and his fucking secrets.”

  Sharon clinked his glass. “He sure loved ’em.” She snickered. “Even his fricking name. Took me eight years before he told me what his middle name was.”

  “Oh.” Bobby chuckled. “I only held out a year before I snooped in his papers and found his birth certificate.”

  Sharon laughed. “Wish I’d had that option. I don’t know why he was so embarrassed about Ichabod.”

  “Well, does bring to mind that silly Halloween story.”

  Sharon swirled her wineglass. “Now your turn. Tell me about that artist.”

  Bobby took a big swallow of wine and then sat back on the stool. “You might have met him, I think.”

  “What?” Sharon leaned forward. “Who is he? When?”

  “In Key West, do you remember meeting a sculptor?”

  “Oh, the little midget guy, Opie or something.”

  Bobby scowled. “Geez, Shar, could ya be any more offensive?”

  “Sorry.” She flinched back. “That’s the guy? The sculptor?”

  “Yeah. He’s not a midget, just, shorter. And his name’s Odis. Named after a god or something.”

  “Oh.” Sharon poured some more wine into her glass. “I remember him, but I didn’t really talk to him. Nate did, though, spent a long time chatting him up.” Sharon swirled her glass with a puzzled look on her face. “And he’s the guy Nate sent you to.”

  “You say that like there’s something wrong with him.”

  “No. Like I said, I hardly talked to him.” Sharon waited a minute, but Bobby just kept staring off thoughtfully. “So, tell me. What happened in Texas?”

  Bobby shook his head. “I honestly don’t know. We made out that first day.”

  Sharon smiled as she eyed him. “Mr. Lane,” she teased. “You just walk in and start kissing a strange man?”

  “No, we smoked some pot first.”

  Sharon’s eyes popped open. “And what magic spell did he put on you to make that happen?”

  Bobby smiled sheepishly. “No spell. He didn’t know who I was, so we started talking about Nate and everything. Then he gave me his pipe.”

  “Well, then, I won’t a
rgue.”

  “Argue?” Bobby puzzled aloud.

  “With Nate. If it took sending you to Texas to pull you out of… whatever, and get you talking, then I’m not going to argue with Nathan’s methods.”

  “I’m sure he’s happy to know he has your approval.” Bobby looked over at the brass box. “So, did Nate get that box in Key West?”

  Sharon just shook her head, but her eyes widened when she caught Bobby’s train of thought. “Oh no, we got it in Savannah, Georgia, where we stopped for the night on the way back.”

  Bobby nodded. “He got the box and gave it to you right after Key West.” He smoothed out the enigmatic note and studied it again. “Then this must have something to do with Odis.”

  “Beats me.” Sharon looked down at the note.

  “The timing of the box right after meeting him sure points to it.”

  “Maybe.” Sharon glanced at Bobby again. “Okay, after getting stoned and making out the first day, what happened the second day?”

  “The piece Nate ordered was for my birthday, so Odis stayed up all night finishing it while I was at the B and B. He showed it to me the next day, then took a nap while I worked out. We sorta ended up in bed after that.”

  “Bobby Lane, you slut,” she teased with a silly grin. “What was the sculpture?”

  “A huge weeping willow tree, with hummingbirds and other stuff.”

  “Wow, sounds great. I can’t wait to see that.”

  “Oh, it is great,” Bobby said, his face lighting up. “It’s all strong and soft, both at the same time. And lots of personal stuff too, like he carved n.i.p. plus r.p.l. inside a heart on the trunk of the tree, you know, like a lover’s stamp… lots of stuff.”

  She peered at him over her wineglass. “And when did you fall in love with him?” she asked very quietly and innocently.

  “The second day was when—” Bobby suddenly jerked up and stared at her. “Who said I fell in love?”

  “You just did, dear,” she answered with a knowing smile.

  “Shit.” He scowled. “He… I don’t know, Shar. I keep trying to convince myself I was just feeling weird shit from the weed, but it’s not working.” He dropped his head. “I think I did.”