Johnny Cakes (The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles)
Page 30
Although still cordial, she’d pulled away from Nash and had spoken to Hugh on just one occasion. She’d given closure to their relationship by telling him she didn’t see them getting back together since she didn’t feel she could trust him.
As for Nash, he hadn’t been spending the night. I had enlightened the gang to his gambling hobby and the stealing of paintings from Schleck. Katie Lee had a sit-down with him. Initially he denied everything. But eventually he admitted to pawning poster art as a way to fund his bets. And since the basketball team switched to bottled water, he’d stopped showing up at the games and their stats improved. We all suspected, but no one could prove that he used sedatives to help his betting odds. Katie Lee told him that he didn’t have enough sense to keep himself or the people that love him out of trouble, and that wasn’t the way she intended on living her life.
I felt justified in not feeling pity that Jack Ray’s right arm had been blown off at the elbow. I only wish the bullet had sunk in more to the left and penetrated a vital organ or two. He didn’t deserve to live. By the time the girls had freed us, law enforcement showed up at the warehouse loading dock.
Turns out bad news spreads fast, and Agent Cauldwell wasn’t all too pleased that I’d left on spring break without telling him my plans. Jack Ray had been under surveillance as the feds investigated leads in the sudden appearance of war crimes art into the states. Since it involved overseas art, and dealers in the state, it had become complicated. Dad’s boom for appraisals was about to come to a crashing halt.
The one thing all my roommates and I were in agreement on was that fate had bonded us for what I imagined, would be, forever.
“Working life must be nice on a day off when you don’t have to think about anything,” Katie Lee said.
After patting her chest with a beach towel, Jet plunked onto the sofa at Sheila’s feet. “The only thing I have to worry about is making enough money to pay rent and save up for my own shop.”
Sheila focused on Jet, “How about a movie? Popcorn’s my treat.”
“Knock fifty bucks off next month’s rent and you have a deal.”
I knew from overhearing Jet’s parting words with her mom that they’d made a financial agreement about her future, and Jet was going to be held accountable for paying back the lost tuition by working at Shucks down in Bluffton full-time this summer and on holidays. The garage was going to have to do without her for a few months.
A part of me envied Jet. She’d made up her mind and knew what she wanted from life. With her sights set on saving up for her own mechanic shop, she’d dropped out of school. As the end of the semester approached, she’d decided spring break was when she’d drop the bomb to her parents. It had taken her weeks to work up the courage, but turned out they already knew. Apparently when you don’t show up for class for eight weeks, your absence gets reported. Jet hadn’t realized that a letter was sent home to the payers of her tuition. Her mom knew she’d bailed on college classes. Figured her daughter was finding her way, and wanted Jet to come to her, not vice versa. Unbeknownst to me, I kept Jet’s mom in the loop with all the back and forth phone calls. Ina Jean confided that our short conversations when Jet couldn’t be reached eased her worries a bit until her daughter finally ‘fessed up over spring break.
There was a knock on the door and Katie Lee jumped.
Sheila looked to Jet.
“It’s not the boogie man,” Francine said as she moved to the door.
“Rachael,” she shouted. “You got company.”
Everyone in our inner circle knew we were keeping a low profile with finals and all. Stone was back on Spring Island, and I’d only brushed over the events so I didn’t worry him. If he came to town he’d be a total distraction to my passing finals, so I decided to wait until the semester was over to fill him in on details.
Roger and Francine kept apart so they could hunker down on the books. When they were together, Francine felt obliged to cook homemade meals, which took up valuable study time.
Since Sheila made the phone calls that basically saved our asses, Katie Lee had dropped the lawsuit. Sheila happily moved back into her place, leaving Hugh and Clay to themselves. We’d given statements and answered all the questions for the local Savannah police and FBI.
“Hey there, Rachael. Ladies.” Tuke said, placing a basket with a red-checkered napkin on top of Francine’s books.
“Tuke?” I said and stood up. “What’s going on?”
“Hadn’t seen you around Professor Schleck’s office in a while.”
“Well, yeah, um.”
Removing his cap, he shooed imaginary flies with a manila envelope he held. “No need explaining. I heard what happened.”
“You did?” I asked.
“Police have been scouring the Humanities building. Air duct above the dean’s needed repair when they came to see him on special business. Real creep, that Ray character, eh? Pretending to be a Baron and all. Silvia deserves better.”
Katie Lee looked gobsmacked, but kept her mouth quiet. We all knew the professor was on an extended leave with an undetermined return date. I held my annoyance at Schleck’s taste in men and her denial of knowing the scheme under my skin. None of us was entirely convinced of her innocence. Since this was an ongoing investigation, we only blabbed among ourselves.
Despite standing in an air-cooled room, a sheath of sweat that lingered from the outside heat beaded on Tuke’s forehead.
I moved away from the table and toward the sofa where Sheila had newspapers spread, and I caught a glimpse of a headline, “Secret Operation dubbed Golden Pheasant.” Picking up the newspaper, I read the next few lines. Under a veil of secrecy, US troops were deployed in March to overrun Contra rebel supply caches. They moved quickly into position at a Honduran military base to facilitate the guarding of a local general and his family.
Wait until I tell Stone he’s not the only one with a Golden Pheasant story.
“You okay, Rachael?” Tuke asked.
“Hot one. Can I get you something cold to drink?” I asked.
“Don’t want to keep ya with finals looming and all. Just brought a basket of pawpaws from my back garden. Got me a bumper crop. Thought y’all ’d enjoy em. Brain food. Anyway I best git going.”
I followed Tuke down the hallway. “Thanks for stopping by.”
He turned around to face me at the door. “Don’t be silly. Not only are you girls the prettiest, you’re my favorites on campus. He lowered his voice, “Besides Silvia Schleck, that is.”
There was a Stanley Steamer truck parked in front of our house. “Did you quit your maintenance job?”
“Naw. Just headed over to the professor’s.” He nudged my shoulder with his. “Overheard her on the phone when she was cleaning out her office. Seemed all worked up about a stain on her entry rug and I decided I’d surprise her with free carpet cleaning.”
“Tuke,” I said with trepidation in my voice, but decided against lecturing about the vices of cleaning a hand-loomed, antique oriental rug with a commercial steam machine.
“Professor Schleck’s a fancy kind of gal. Being put on mandatory leave before the semester’s ended and waiting on a pending investigation can bring anyone down. I thought I’d pick up a bottle of wine and some Chinese take-out. What do you think, red or white?
I didn’t think Schleck deserved the gift or Tuke, but replied, “White. Definitely white.”
He stepped out of the door. “Oh, this is for you.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t know. It was on your doorstep.” He said and handed it to me.
The outside of the fat folder was blank.
“Thanks,” I said and waved.
The envelope was sturdy, constructed of waterproof plastic material and the seams were taped.
“Hey Rach, what’d you have?” Katie Lee asked.
“Not sure. It was on the porch when Tuke arrived.” I stepped toward Francine. “Can you hand me my knife?”
She ha
nded me a pair of scissors. “These should work.”
A shiver crept up my back.
“Something wrong? You don’t look so good.”
I shook off the image of my mother and the words of warning she’d spoken. “It’s cold in here. Can you turn the air down? After snipping the top off, I removed five perforated envelopes. Fanning the documents, I realized that there was one for each of us, addressed to our homes. “These look a lot like end-of-semester grades.”
Francine and Katie Lee huddled behind me. Dropping the outer envelope, I handed them theirs.
“I won’t be getting one of those,” Jet said.
“I don’t want one of those,” Sheila remarked.
“They can’t be grades. The semester isn’t over. We haven’t taken finals,” I said.
Katie Lee and Francine tore theirs open while I handed Jet and Sheila envelopes.
“Holy Shit, I got straight A’s this semester,” Katie Lee said.
Francine looked up from the envelope she’d opened. “Damn Skippy, so did I.”
I began peeling my envelope open. “This has to be a joke.”
“It has the university seal and the classes are all correct,” Katie Lee said.
Sheila squealed, “Daddy’s gonna be so proud. I may get a new set of wheels.”
Jet sat down at the table. “I have straight A’s too, and no absences.”
My eyes scanned my report card. My name was spelled correctly and just like Katie Lee’s, all my courses were correct. The piece of paper even tallied my cumulative GPA. “This is some kind of joke. Someone’s screwing with us.”
Sheila rattled her key chain. “The Seventh Sign and dinner, all on me.”
“There’s no way this is for real.”
“Is there anything else in the envelope?” Francine asked.
Picking it up, I stuck my hand inside and pulled out a piece of notebook paper. Chicken scratch handwriting read:
Sorry for all the trouble I caused. Hope these make up for all the lost study time and the inconvenience of living with a snake. Miss ya’ll, Francis two.
Nash
“This is awesome,” Sheila said.
My voice pitched high, “No, it isn’t.”
“It really was a thoughtful gesture. I’ve been so stressed, this would really save me,” Katie Lee said.
“Wait, what? This is Nash, being Nash. These grades aren’t legit. Someone will find out, and we won’t graduate.”
Admiring the piece of paper she held, Francine said, “Things like this probably happen all the time.”
“No they don’t.”
“Guess I’m leaving on top,” Jet said.
“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”
NOTE TO SELF
NASH #$@&%*!
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COMING SOON
Contents
Title page
Acknowledgements
Also by Paisley Ray
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
COMING SOON