Die Job

by Lila Dare

  “Way to go, Linds!” The blonde high-fived her.

  “She’s really good,” I said as play continued.

  “The best we’ve ever had at St. Elizabeth, according to Coach Adkins,” Glen said. “And she’s a damn good student, too. Stanford recruited her, but she opted to sign with Maryland because Mark Crenshaw’s going to the Naval Academy.”

  “I heard that,” I said. “It’s too bad.” I scanned the bleachers and found Mark seated alone at the far end, his eyes fixed on Lindsay as she caromed around the court.

  Glen looked a question at me as the Wildcats coach waved a finger in the ref’s face over a line call.

  “It’s too bad she’s letting the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing dictate her decisions,” I explained. “Chances are, their relationship will come to nothing, but she’ll be stuck with the results of the education choices she makes now for the rest of her life.” As I was. What choices would I have made differently if I hadn’t been set on marrying Hank? Ye gods. A BA would’ve done me a lot more good in the long run than my temporary MRS.

  “It’s not like Maryland is a diploma mill or something,” Glen observed mildly.

  “You’re right. I’m sure it’ll work out. Where did you go to college?”

  “UC Santa Barbara. It’s a big-time party school, but I managed to get my degree.”

  “And how did a biology major end up as an actor?” The second game had started—the Sabertooths took the first one—and I kept half an eye on it as we talked. Someone behind us was munching on a candy bar and the smell of chocolate made my tummy gurgle.

  “I was ‘discovered,’ ” he said with air quotes.

  “Really?” I didn’t know that happened in the real world.

  He nodded. “I was working at Sea World the summer after I graduated, doing the show with the walruses and sea lions, when an agent came up to me and said she could get me work in commercials. I did a deodorant ad and a spot for Home Depot and then I landed a movie.”

  “Quite the fairy tale,” I said.

  “More like a black comedy,” he said ruefully. “A couple of my movies went straight to DVD and one was never released because something got screwed up with the distribution deal, and—But you don’t want to hear about all that.” He waved a hand. “Teaching is a much more stable career,” he said, eyes tracking the volleyball as a Sabertooth served it, “and I get a lot of satisfaction out of helping the kids achieve their goals, whatever they are.”

  “Why Georgia?” I asked, mindful of Hank’s cautionary story about Glen. “Why not stay in California?”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, and I wondered if something in my voice let him know my question wasn’t as casual as it seemed. After a moment, he said with a forced laugh, “Ever seen the traffic in LA?”

  I laughed with him, but I noted that he hadn’t really answered my question.

  GLEN DROPPED ME BACK IN THE ROTHMERE PARKING lot—now empty except for my Fiesta—a little before seven. The Sabertooths had won the match and we mostly talked high school sports on our way back to St. Elizabeth.

  “Don’t bother getting out,” I said as he cut the motor.

  Ignoring me, he came around to my door and opened it. I stepped out and found my face only inches from his as I stood. “I’d take you to dinner,” he said, “but I’ve got to get on with the grading.” He leaned forward as if to kiss me, but I reared back, bumping my back painfully against the door frame.

  “Why did you kiss me the other day? In front of Hank?”

  It was almost pitch-black out here with only a couple of small spotlights casting fantastical shadows from a topiary stag and unicorn, and I found it hard to read Glen’s face. His eyes seemed to hold a speculative look as he studied me. “Can’t a guy kiss an attractive woman without getting the third degree about it?”

  “You just made up that bit about me inviting you in.”

  “Guilty.” He backed away from the door and I stepped around it. He closed it behind me with a thunk. “Let’s just say cops aren’t my favorite breed and he was obviously so jealous that I couldn’t help myself. It wasn’t fair of me to put you in an awkward position—did I?—and I’m sorry.”

  Honest contrition sounded in his voice and I found myself confused by him. He was handsome and fun, but he was pushing things too quickly, and even though he’d now apologized, his using me to needle Hank was off-putting. “Where were you Sunday night?” I asked.

  “So, now I’m a suspect because I don’t like cops?” His voice hovered between irritation and amusement and I wished I could read his face better in the darkness.

  “No, you’re a suspect because you were at Rothmere when Braden was pushed.”

  “I was home—alone—grading papers. What about you?”

  “Home—alone—watching a DVD,” I admitted. “I enjoyed the game.” I offered my hand. “Thanks for asking me.”

  He shook my hand with mock solemnity, but there was a glint in his eyes. “You’re welcome. Maybe next time we can go to a Jaguars game, if you like football.”

  “I like football.” Smiling noncommittally, I crunched across the gravel to my Fiesta and unlocked it. A bat zipped by, no more than a foot over my head. Glen waited until I was in the car with the door locked before beeping his horn in farewell and taking off.

  LIGHTS WERE ON IN MRS. JONES’s HOUSE WHEN I pulled up to the curb, and I debated going in to see how she was doing. I was tired, though—maybe from my early morning swim—and I elected to skip the socializing in favor of some scrambled eggs and toast. I couldn’t remember when I last ate, and I felt light-headed as I approached my door. A glimmer of white attracted my attention and I moved faster when I realized someone had left a note on my door. As I stepped onto the stoop, something squished underfoot.

  I looked down to see a squirrel carcass, its flattened form a grotesque doormat. “Ye gods!” I breathed, almost falling backward off the stoop in my haste to get away. I frantically wiped my foot in the grass for at least two minutes before returning to the stoop, stepping carefully around the dead squirrel, to snatch the note from the door. It was only taped up and came away easily when I tugged on it.

  “Stop asking questions. Or you will end up like this squirrel.”

  The ugliness of the words hit me and I dropped the note, catching it before it fluttered to the ground. I read it again. The words were printed in a generic font on a plain sheet of bond paper. No signature. Duh. I started to call the police but thought better of it. I wasn’t in immediate danger; there was nothing the police could do. Instead, I dialed my mom’s number. No answer. Maybe she was out with Althea or Walter Highsmith. Wandering away from the stoop toward the comforting light streaming from Mrs. Jones’s windows, I called Vonda.

  “Ick,” she said when I explained what had happened. “I’ll be right over. Ricky can man the fort here.”

  While I waited for her to arrive, I stepped over the squirrel again, repressing a shudder, and entered the apartment. Grabbing a trash bag, rubber gloves, and barbecue tongs, I returned to the stoop and gingerly tweezed up the squirrel, depositing it into the bag and pulling the ties tight just as Vonda drove up in the old station wagon with a “Magnolia House” logo magneted to the door.

  “Is that it?” she asked, nodding toward the bag.

  “Yes.” Vonda followed me as I carried the bag to the rear of Mrs. Jones’s house, where two covered rubbish bins sat, and plopped it in.

  “Maybe we should have given it a decent burial?” Vonda suggested.

  “Vonda!”

  She held her hands up in apology. “You’re right. Sorry. I brought a little pick-me-up.” She pulled a bottle of

  Jeremiah Weed, a bourbon liqueur, out of her purse. “Remember?”

  I had to laugh. The first drink either of us had ever had was Jeremiah Weed liberally mixed with 7Up. We’d been on a church-sponsored retreat and one of the youth leaders had supplied the bottle, along with a case of beer. We’d both gotten royally sick and thrown u
p in the church van, as had a couple of the boys chugging beer. The youth leader had plenty of time to regret his stupidity as he hosed out the van. I don’t think we ever told on him.

  “This may be the same bottle,” Vonda said, examining it. “I found it in the back of the pantry when I was setting mouse traps last week and I’ve been meaning to bring it over.”

  As she talked, we walked toward my apartment. “I don’t see any blood,” Vonda said, scanning the cement stoop. “I guess it wasn’t killed here, which is a good thing. You don’t want someone performing animal sacrifices at your front door.” Light from my living room illuminated her hair, which was back to the bright red she’d had me dye it a couple of weeks back. No more vampire black. Her bangs were long and swept to one side, emphasizing her big brown eyes.

  “I think it was road kill,” I said, stepping over the spot where the squirrel had lain, even though nothing remained to mark where it had been. I’d examined the poor critter when I bent to pick it up, and it seemed to have a greasy tire track pressed into its fur.

  “I guess that’s better,” Vonda said doubtfully. “Why do kids get up to such sick pranks every Halloween?”

  “I don’t think it had anything to do with Halloween.” I led her through the apartment and into the kitchen where I poured liberal measures of Jeremiah Weed into orange juice glasses. Then I caught her up on events and showed her the note. “Thanks for coming over,” I added.

  She gave me a hug and handed back the note. “Succinct,” she said. “Are you going to tell the police?”

  “I might drop it by tomorrow. It’s not like they’re going to open up a major investigation. They don’t have time to follow up on penny-ante stuff like this.”

  “Hank would give it special attention,” Vonda said archly.

  “Another reason not to take it in.”

  She laughed.

  We headed for the small living room and I sat in my recliner while Vonda settled onto the love seat. Vonda took a long swallow of the amber liquid and held her glass up to the light. “Liquor doesn’t go bad, does it?”

  “It gets better—and more expensive—with age.” The liquor warmed my throat and opened my nasal passages as I held a small mouthful for a moment. Swallowing, I leaned back in the puffy chair. My muscles ached, my scrapes burned, and I felt about as energetic as an overcooked spaghetti noodle. I was glad Vonda was here.

  “Any idea who left it?”

  “Not really.” I tried to focus my tired brain. “Lonnie? Seems a step down from pulling a gun on me and Althea. Glen, because I’m asking about what happened in

  LA? Doesn’t seem like his style, and besides, he’d hardly have had time to put it there before I got home. Coach Peet? Dr. Solomon, because I’m asking about the drug study? One of the students? Could be any of the kids who were at the ghost hunt.” I sighed and took another sip of the liquor.

  “Maybe you should drop the whole thing,” Vonda suggested. “Let the police find out who killed Braden.”

  “But I feel responsible,” I said, blinking back tears. “I was there. I was supposed to be keeping those kids safe. And I didn’t.”

  “Making the murderer nervous by asking questions all over town won’t bring Braden back.”

  I shrugged, not convinced. I didn’t have the energy to argue with her. “What’s new with you?” I asked to distract her.

  “The only thing going on in my week is a gaggle of Hollywood people staying with us.”

  “Avaline Spirit Whisperer and friends.”

  She stared at me, her eyes round. “Are you psychic? How did you know?”

  I explained about Avaline’s offer to interview me for the TV show.

  “Lucky you,” Vonda said. “Will they have a real Hollywood makeup artist do your makeup? Do you think you could work in a mention of Magnolia House? Do—”

  “I’m not doing it.” I poured a little more bourbon. It was making me feel pleasantly woozy.

  “I’d do it,” Vonda said enviously. She ran a hand through her short hair. “Anyway, things have been hectic with the B and B. Lots of hurricane prep to do, you know. Ricky wanted to shut the place up and evacuate, but then The Spirit Whisperer people showed up and rented every room in the place, and we decided to ride it out.”

  I knew Vonda and Ricky were barely breaking even with the B&B since business had slowed during the recession, so I was glad to hear they were making some money off Avaline and her crew. “Has the spirit summoner communicated with any phantoms at Magnolia House?” I asked.

  A grin split Vonda’s pixie-ish face. “No. She looked like she was going to give it a go last evening—started to look all trancey and mystical—but I started vacuuming the living room and she went up to her room. Ricky’s always thought being able to say the house was haunted would bring more clients, but I can’t imagine that people would want to stay in a house infested with ghosts. Visit one, maybe, but not stay. Speaking of which”—she set her empty glass down with a clink—“I’ve got to go. RJ’s running a little fever and I promised I’d be home to read his bedtime story. He’s really into the Percy Jackson books—the ones with the kid who’s half god, half mortal. I tell you, reading them with him has helped me brush up on my Greek mythology.”

  “Ever useful,” I said, rising to give her a hug.

  “Show the cops that note in the morning,” she said.

  “I will,” I promised.

  Chapter Seventeen

  [Wednesday]

  SLIGHTLY HUNGOVER THE NEXT MORNING, I DRAGGED myself to the police station before showing up at the salon. The officer on duty took the note and jotted a couple of lines about what happened but didn’t promise anything would come of it. “Likely just a prank, miss,” he said. “Do you have teenagers? Sometimes kids leave weird notes and stuff for each other.”

  I left, depressed that the officer thought I looked old enough to have teenagers. I was barely thirty. Maybe the cop was working from data that said teen pregnancies had increased in Georgia in recent years. Yeah, that must be it. We’d had a woman in the salon just last week who bragged about being a grandma at thirty-two. Ye gods. I crossed Bedford Square, noting that fewer cars than usual were parked at the meters and only a couple of Doralynn’s tables were full when I peered in the café’s window. St. Elizabeth was turning into a ghost town, at least temporarily. At Mom’s, I clumped up the stairs to the veranda before noticing the “Closed” sign on the door. Not really surprised after the dearth of business yesterday and how empty the town looked with so many people having evacuated. I traipsed around the side of the house to the kitchen door.

  Mom and Althea looked up as the screen door banged shut behind me. “Hi, dear,” Mom said, giving me a hug and a kiss. She was in the blue cotton robe that hugged her rounded figure and made her periwinkle blue eyes look even bluer. “Tea?”

  “Thanks.” I dropped into a chair at the table, catching my reflection in the copper pots that hung from a rack overhead. I hoped my complexion wasn’t really that green.

  “You look like something the cat yakked up,” Althea said.

  “I can always count on my friends to make me feel better.” I added honey to the mug Mom handed me. She disappeared into the walk-in pantry.

  “Just saying,” Althea said with a shrug. She pursed her lips to blow on her coffee. “Since we’re not making anyone beautiful today, I thought maybe I’d experiment with a new hand cream I’ve been thinking about for Althea’s Organic Skincare Solutions. Glycerin, maybe some sandalwood oil and ginger to give it a more exotic scent . . .” She made a note on a lined pad.

  “Did you hear from Loretta yesterday?” I asked Althea casually, aware of my mother shifting cans in the pantry.

  Althea’s eyes slanted toward the pantry door. “That boy never came home last night,” she said in a low voice. “Loretta’s worried sick about him.”

  I wondered if I should mention that Dillon had wanted the police to bring Lonnie in. Maybe he hadn’t shown up at home
because he was in jail? No, if that were the case, someone would have let his aunt know.

  “Said several folks had been by asking for him and Loretta didn’t like the looks of any of them.”

  “Did you mention the—” I made a gun with my hand.

  Althea nodded heavily. “I thought she should know. If she gets a chance, maybe she can talk some sense into him.”

  “Into who?” Mom asked, emerging from the pantry with a can of crushed pineapple in her hand. Not waiting for an answer, she said, “I thought I’d make some pineapple upside-down cake. Just in case we lose power tomorrow, it’ll be good to have something special to eat.”

  “Good idea.” I finished my tea, feeling much better, and stood. “I’m going to find Rachel and see how she’s doing.”

  “She’ll be at school, dear,” Mom pointed out.

  “Oh.” I’d forgotten. “Well, then I’m going to read through the rest of my Rothmere letters and maybe talk to Lucy to see what she’s knows about Clarissa’s fate. Can I come back for dinner?”

  “Of course. Spend the night, too, if you want. The forecasters say Horatio should make landfall late tonight. You’d rather be here, wouldn’t you, than in that dinky old carriage house?”

  “Absolutely. We can play Crazy Eights and Spades if the electricity goes out.”

  “Yippee,” Althea said with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

  Mom and I laughed. I kissed them both and headed out, feeling strangely at loose ends.

  The copies of the Rothmere letters were still in my car, so I walked home, the wind nudging me from behind. A big clump of pampas grass planted beside the Rivingtons’ driveway, taunted by the wind, reached out to slap me with its long blades as I passed. Retrieving the pages from my Fiesta, I shut myself into my apartment and sorted out the ones I’d already read. The next one that came to hand was from Clarissa to her friend Felicity.