Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles)

by Paisley Ray

  “What a night,” she said.

  “For you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “In trashing Katie Lee’s relationship. Why did you screw Nash?”

  Before she could hide the truth with lies, she froze.

  I brushed her hair on her left back. “Missing an earring? I heard you in the master bedroom.”

  She pulled me into the sewing room. “It’s not what you think.”

  I didn’t speak. I wasn’t going to help her explain.

  “Katie Lee is an amazing person. I did her a favor.”

  A toy-dog bark screeched from my throat. This was going to be good.

  “Nash isn’t right for her. She deserves better, and I sacrificed a few minutes of my time to prove it.”

  “That’s big of you. Have you told her what you’ve done?”

  “Not yet, but I intend to.”

  “And you think--she’s going to thank you for your sacrifice? Do you plan on charging her for your time?”

  “Rachael, come on. I know it was unconventional, and she may lash out initially, but Nash Wilson is not boyfriend material.”

  “I’ll agree with you there.”

  “So you won’t tell her? You’ll let me?”

  “You’re the one who graciously offered yourself to prove a point, you tell her. But if you don’t, I will.” Spinning around, I left her in my dust. Slamming the bedroom door, I locked it.

  My blood pumped, and I felt jittery. This was not the scheme I had wanted to uncover. It was late, and the house smelled partified. I lifted the blind and cranked open the double pane window. The blanket of vapor that had snuck up the riverbank, now draped its eerie cloak over the magnolia trees. Nash’s voice carried from somewhere in the night. Flicking the switch on the wall plate off, my eyes adjusted to the dark. The mist gave Billy Ray’s purple shirt a ghostly aura. I pressed my ear to the screen. What was Billy Ray still doing here? And where was Katie Lee?

  Billy Ray’s feet staggered, and he windshield-wipered a thick finger in front of Nash’s eyes. “Ten-thousand,” he said, poking Nash’s chest. “I want it, now.”

  Nash gripped Billy Ray’s wrist. “Keep your voice down. I told you, it’s tucked away.”

  Billy Ray shook loose and leaned into Nash’s face. “Don’t fuck with me.”

  NOTE TO SELF

  Small get-together is code for bash.

  Nash drugged Macy and slept with Bridget. There’s gonna be trouble when Katie Lee finds out.

  Nash must have stolen money out of the suitcase and Billy Ray wants it back. Guessing Nash doesn’t have it under his mattress.

  19

  Someone Please Tell Me What Happened

  Toilet-flushing and pipe-rattling noises woke me up. With Frankenstein precision, I shuffled to the bathroom sink and drank from a Dixie cup before sticking my head under the running faucet and guzzled. I pretended not to recognize my reflection. My matted hair stuck to the side of my head, smeared mascara circled my eyes, and I wore my T-shirt inside out, back-to-front, with the wash instruction tag hanging under my chin.

  The sensible thing to do would be to go back to bed, but my armpits stuck together, and I wore an avid outdoorsy scent. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I rotated the shower knob and waited for hot water. Inflamed red bumps covered my sensitive areas, triggering my memory. The only thing I’d figured out last night was that it’s entirely possible to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, more than once on an evening. I’d been attacked by a swarm of chiggers, kind of made-out with a minor, witnessed a basement brawl, and hadn’t gotten around to telling Katie Lee that her boyfriend had slept with Bridget and owed Billy Ray ten thousand dollars.

  As I rinsed away last night’s party funk, knots tied inside my stomach, and an inner turmoil regarding Katie Lee’s reaction to Bridget’s forthcoming confession manifested inside my chest. Before today ended, Katie Lee was going to freak. Bridget would probably get a purple eye and be paying for a one-way ticket on a Greyhound Bus back to Greensboro. I needed to brace myself for the verbal outlash and tears that would be forthcoming.

  I heard shouting, and wrapped my head in a towel turban. I hopped on one foot to unplug the water in my ear. Definitely yelling. Mostly profanities with a southern drawl. An engine revved outside the bedroom window. I threw on clean underwear and a fresh T-shirt, before kneeling under the billowing shade.

  Beyond the magnolia tree’s, Nash’s stationary truck was missing both rear tires and the wheel drums rested on cement blocks. Both rear tires were missing. Wearing only jeans, he ran down the street and launched a rock at a red turbo Mustang that sped away. “You speed on home and climb back in bed with your mama. You deep-fried chicken shit.” If he was trying to wake the neighbors, he was doing a great job.

  Slipping some clothes on, I brushed out my hair and checked outside the window again. Nash walked up the driveway, and smacked unsuspecting foliage with a stick he’d found.

  I hustled downstairs to find out what was going on. At the kitchen table, Macy nursed a can of Mountain Dew through a straw. She wore a black dragon kimono robe and her hair was clumped in unnatural angles. “You aren’t looking so good.”

  “I feel like dog-do.”

  “Where’s Katie Lee?”

  “Outside.”

  “Bridget?”

  The door to the garage slammed shut. Out of breath, Katie Lee said, “Still asleep, in my parents’ room.”

  So, Bridget hadn’t rushed down to have a heart to heart with Katie Lee over toast and coffee.

  “Why is Nash’s truck on cement blocks, and did I just see him in a sprint, without a shirt, shouting obscenities in the street?”

  Katie Lee shook her head heavenward. “Billy Ray’s pissed that Nash kicked him out last night. He stole a couple of wheels off the Dodge truck.”

  Macy removed her lips from the straw. “That’s fucked up.”

  “Where’s Nash now?” I asked, wondering if he’d gone to fetch ten thousand from under his mattress.

  “He took Big Blue.”

  I tweaked my head. “You let him have the keys to your car?”

  “How else would he get his tires back?” Macy said.

  “Guess we’ll all be bussing it back to Greensboro,” I mumbled.

  Katie Lee poured a bowl of dry cereal and picked out the colored marshmallows. “So Macy, did you fool around with Stewart Hayes?”

  Macy curled her lips in a toothless smile. “He nibbled on my neck, and I was into him.” Her raspy voice sounded like she’d been screaming at a concert all night. “Before we went upstairs, I needed to take pregnancy precautions, but I’d left my safety gear in my travel case, inside Big Blue.”

  I put my hand in the air like a stop sign. “Do we really need these details for this story?”

  “Yes,” she growled. “Now where was I?”

  Katie Lee reminded her, “You’d secured your diaphragm.”

  “Right, I grabbed a drink before I went looking for Stewart and bumped into Nash and Bridget.”

  Macy was getting to the juicy part when the phone rang. “Hold it right there y’all,” Katie Lee said, “I don’t want to miss anything.”

  Softening her voice, Macy confessed, “That blue pill Nash gave me knocked me on my ass.”

  “Really.”

  “Nash is a terrible pharmacist.”

  “He’s a prison sentence waiting to happen,” I said.

  Katie Lee walked back into the room. “That was Patsy. She’s on her way. Keep goin’.”

  “I was headed upstairs,” Macy said, “to fool around with Stewart when I started chatting with Nash. He offered me some pills, and I took one.”

  With a mouth full of milky cereal, Katie Lee asked, “What kind of pill?”

  Macy rested her head on her arms and groaned. “I didn’t ask.”

  Pushing her breakfast aside, Katie Lee sighed. “Nash thinks he has emotional anxieties. Even though I wish he wouldn’t, he relies on meds
.”

  As Katie Lee confided in us, I hoped she felt queasy from being spun by Nash’s Tilt A Wheel of lies and deceitful behavior. If she was near her breaking-up-point, maybe Bridget’s confession would convince her to make a clean break.

  “His family life hasn’t been the greatest. He escapes with drugs and alcohol.” The corners of her eyes clouded. “He’s never straight with me. When I ask him what’s going on, we end up fighting. Last night was another big blowout, and we didn’t make up until early this morning. Y’all, I love him, and I know I can help him.”

  URG. That did not sound like a pre-breakup statement.

  Katie Lee blew her nose, and turned to face Macy. “Did you sleep with Stewart or what?”

  “Sleep with him. Yes. Have sex with him, I don’t think so.”

  “How can you not know?” I asked.

  Footsteps disturbed a kitchen floorboard and Macy closed her open mouth. A few strands of Bridget’s blonde hair fell out of an otherwise perfect ponytail. Her makeup looked fresh, and her eyes avoided mine. I hadn’t forgotten her plea. I intended to make sure she told Katie Lee that she’d slept with Nash and had no intention of backing down. Bridget didn’t have to worry, I’d drop her off at the bus station.

  “Hey Bridget,” Katie Lee said.

  Bridget acknowledged the morning with a meek wave, before staring inside the open refrigerator.

  “We started fooling around upstairs,” Macy said. “But that blue pill kicked in, and I passed out. I woke up naked, but everything seemed in order south of the border.”

  “Good Lord,” Katie Lee said.

  Macy stood up to get another soda. She asked Bridget, “Did anything exciting happen to you last night?”

  “Compared to you, I’ve got nothing.”

  A BRIGHT GLARE DRENCHED warm rays on the kitchen patio and streaked past the hourglass curtains on the French doors. The sunlight blinded my vision, and I switched chairs. I didn’t need any more heat radiating on me. Bridget’s twisted deceit had charred my internal organs like a blackened marshmallow on a fire pit. She was an idiot to have slept with Nash. Katie Lee would never forgive her. I didn’t attempt to grasp either one’s interest in Nash, a guy who laundered money and was involved with God only knows what.

  The audile grunts of their bedroom romp that I’d heard from behind a bathroom door had distracted my sleuthing focus. Bridget’s excuse was uber-lame, and I guessed Nash’s wouldn’t be much better. Being the recipient of deception sucked. I knew that first hand, thanks to my mother. When Katie Lee found out about Bridget’s tryst in the sheets, our connections to Nash would be history.

  Katie Lee disappeared into the laundry room off the kitchen. I shot Bridget goldfish eyes while spasming my neck in Katie Lee’s direction. Bridget stared at me for two seconds, before moving away from the refrigerator. Holding a pitcher of juice, she asked Katie Lee, “Where do you keep the glasses?” If she felt remorse, I didn’t see it.

  “Bridget,” I said, “I heard something happened to you last night.”

  Her mouth contorted, and she wore a brain dump expression.

  Katie Lee glanced from me to Bridget. Grinning, she asked, “Did you fool around?”

  Bridget took a sip of juice. “I wish.”

  I beaded my eyes tight, and wished I had a blowgun with venomous needles to shoot at a blonde target. “You fucking liar,” rested behind my teeth. A primal grunt shot out my mouth, but a rat, tat, tat sidetracked my impending verbal assault.

  Patsy muffled, “Hey y’all,” around a powdered Krispy Kreme that clogged her pie hole. She pulled three-quarters of the donut out and asked, “How’s the basement?”

  “The damage is minor,” Katie Lee said. “Nash and I used wood glue. The racks are standing. I’m just waiting for them to dry.”

  “I didn’t hear a damn thing last night,” Macy said.

  “How many bottles broke?” I asked.

  Katie Lee held up six fingers.

  Bridget relaxed on a counter stool. “Can I pitch in to buy replacements?”

  Katie Lee shoulders dropped. “You are so thoughtful to offer. The whole incident wouldn’t have been so horrible if the assholes hadn’t broken Mama and Daddy’s commemorative champagne. I’m beyond irked at Billy Ray. Now I’ll have to ‘fess up’ about the get-together.”

  The skin under the seams of my jeans felt dry and inflamed. I couldn’t stop scratching my hip. Macy squinted and asked, “Do you have fleas?”

  Lifting my shirt, I showed the girls my chigger rash, above my waistline.

  Macy backed her chair away from mine. “Eugh. How did you contract that?”

  Patsy answered for me. “Rachael sat in a chigger patch down by the river.”

  Katie Lee visually inspected my red marks. “There’s oatmeal soap in the master bath linen shelves. Do you want me to get it for you?”

  I locked eyes with Bridget. She barely stirred, enjoying the morning as if this was any ordinary day, not the one where she was going to turn Katie Lee’s world upside down.

  “I’m familiar with the master bathroom,” I said. “I’ll find it.”

  I TOOK SHOWER NUMBER TWO with an oatmeal bar, and afterwards applied a heavy application of pink calamine lotion. I still itched. After last night’s alcohol consumption, I needed air, the outdoor kind, and trod downstairs with the intention of walking out on the dock while avoiding the chigger-infested grassy bank. Wondering if Nash had returned Big Blue, I heard hushed tones in the family room and froze. “I was drunk,” Bridget whispered. “I don’t even like him.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Katie Lee said.

  I didn’t have boyfriend experience, but if I’d been dating the same person since high school, I would’ve reacted with some emotion and made sure Bridget had a reason to visit a chiropractor —- weekly. Maybe Katie Lee intended to break up with Nash and had moved beyond caring. I needed to find out for myself. Clearing my throat, I made a casual entrance and plopped into Dr. Brown’s reading recliner. There weren’t any noticeable signs of distress, boxes of tissues, or one of Dr. Brown’s rifles pointing at Bridget’s head. Was Katie Lee in shock? The two stopped the conversation, and I asked, “Are we cool?”

  “Yeah, Rach,” Bridget said. “We’re cool.”

  “Everything’s okay?”

  “As okay as it can be,” Katie Lee said, “Y’all, we need to get ready to go to Jackson’s.”

  “Wait a minute. Who’s Jackson?” I asked.

  “Jackson’s a great guy,” Katie Lee said. “But I gotta warn ya. He’s a big Deadhead.”

  I sunk into Dr. Brown’s chair and pulled the recline lever. “What do ya mean?”

  Katie Lee shrugged. “His hobbies are the Grateful Dead and psychedelic experiences.”

  Unable to believe Katie Lee was okay with sharing Nash, I asked, “Do we have transportation.”

  “Not yet, but Nash’ll be here.”

  Weird. She’s taking this well.

  “Where is Jackson’s?” Bridget asked.

  “Jackson’s apartment is above the Marina Supply Store. Patsy got the clambake invite. He’s expecting all of us this afternoon.”

  “Katie Lee,” Bridget said. “Clams aren’t in season.”

  “Around here, they’re never out of season.”

  NOTE TO SELF

  The marshmallow fluff inside Bridget’s head has hardened and cracked. Sleeping with a friend’s boyfriend—-a naughty sex addiction?

  Katie Lee took Bridget’s news well. Too well. Is Katie Lee really okay sharing Nash? I won’t be borrowing his service.

  20

  One Bad Clam

  The sky was cloudless, and intermittent gusts of warm air tossed my ponytail. I rested in a rocker on the front porch and Katie Lee’s tabby cat wound figure eight’s around my legs. Patsy’s turquoise Chevy Nova streaked up Katie Lee’s driveway. Clive rode in the front, and Mitch in the back. Before she’d cut the engine, Nash coasted Big Blue in behind them. Patsy rolled her wind
ow down. “Wanna ride with us to Jackson’s?”

  “I’ll grab a sweater and let Katie Lee know.”

  Clive fiddled with the cassette case and Mitch hopped out of the back, resting his arm on the roof. “Hey Raz. It’s been awhile.”

  Mitch’s hair was wet, and he smelled freshly showered. He held the back door open until I buckled myself in. Despite being considerate and cute, he wasn’t a big enough distraction to ease my mind about Katie Lee’s lackadaisical reaction to what Bridget labeled ‘a sacrifice’. And then there was Nash and Billy Ray who were at odds. I didn’t have a fuzzy feeling about being at a party with those two. I went through the motions of conversation as Patsy drove us across town, but my mind spaced. I needed to get a handle on what was inside Katie Lee’s head. I empathized with her. Under a smokescreen of self-preservation maybe she concealed Bridget’s earlier confession. But tonight, she could very well pop her top. And when she did, I didn’t know if I could guarantee my own self-control. Bridget could be wearing two purple eyes before tonight ended.

  In under fifteen minutes, Patsy cruised a quaint street of shops with scalloped awnings over storefronts. Searching for somewhere to parallel park she glided into an unmetered space near the pier.

  A brick sidewalk with evenly spaced willow trees framed a dozen shops. Digging deep into her paint-splattered canvas purse, Patsy took her time getting out of the car. When Mitch and Clive spotted a docked Hewes Craft fish-troller, a magnetic force reeled at them to take a closer look.

  I leaned against a black street lamp and waited for Patsy. New Bern, with its postcard perfect shops and marina alcove had a Norman Rockwell charm. She found what she’d rummaged for and paused to light a cigarette.

  Across the street, a small art gallery nestled on a corner near a restaurant outdoor-patio. The brick exterior was painted periwinkle. Glossy black paint trimmed the display window and the Dutch door. A paper clock hung inside with a hand written note that read, Be back soon.