Molly: House on Fire

by R. E. Bradshaw

  At that moment, Molly was struck with a wave of emotions she could not identify. It was so odd to feel this way at a time when her life was spinning out of control, but if Molly had ever felt at home, she did that minute. Déjà vu, prophecy, fate, whatever she was experiencing, coming through the front door to find Leslie waiting, appealed to some place of longing. Was it a wish, a hope that one day coming home would feel like this? Molly’s face must have shown her bewilderment. Leslie’s expression changed as well.

  Misinterpreting Molly’s non-reply to her news, Leslie said, “I’m sorry. Am I inserting myself where I don’t belong?”

  Molly did something she should not have. She stepped closer to Leslie, placing a hand on her elbow. Physical contact was not a good idea, but Molly held on through the surges of chemicals her brain was firing into her system. She understood the science of physical attraction, but had yet to feel it at this level, not with Stephanie, not with anyone. Everything about Leslie Walker was proving to be a unique experience.

  “You are exactly where you should be,” Molly said.

  She paused long enough to let Leslie hear all of what she was saying. In that fraction of a second, Molly gave up trying to hide anything from the beautiful psychologist. Leslie’s eyes searched hers, and Molly saw her message hit home. The worry lines on Leslie’s face softened and disappeared, a smile crept into the corners of her lips. Molly did not want verbal confirmation of a mutual attraction, the smile said enough. She let go of Leslie’s elbow, and led her to the parlor. Leslie would have to be dealt with at some point, but for now, Molly had things to do.

  #

  At fifteen minutes to five, after an afternoon of reading reports and drafting motions, Molly excused herself from the parlor table to change clothes for the trip to Rainey’s. Just before she left the room, Randy tried one more time to dissuade Molly from going alone.

  “Let me go with you, Molly.”

  “Tammy will be disappointed if you miss the catfish,” Molly said, as a way to brush him off.

  Randy was behind Leslie, so she could not see him. With an evil grin at Molly, he said, “I guess I’ll just have to stay here and talk to Leslie. I’m sure we can find plenty to talk about besides this case.”

  Leaving Leslie alone with Randy was a scary prospect, one Molly was not willing to risk. To Randy’s astonishment, Molly asked Leslie, “Why don’t you come with me? The investigator may have questions about Joey that you are more qualified to answer than I am.”

  A grin slid across Leslie’s face, as she said, “You know, I really don’t like catfish.”

  Now, Molly was driving out of Waitesville with Leslie in the passenger seat, out of Randy’s grasp, but definitely within hers. They both changed into jeans and cotton button down shirts, different colors, but nearly the same. They were both wearing blazers against the brisk night air. Molly’s light-brown tweed, English hacking jacket was cut very similar to Leslie’s gray wool. The only real variances in their chosen ensembles were Leslie’s roper boots and Molly’s brown leather, oxford shoes. They shared a laugh upon seeing each other, after emerging from their respective rooms.

  Already through Leslie’s enthrallment with her car, and showing off the stereo with Billy Joel’s, “Only the Good Die Young,” Molly lowered the volume. With the music below ear splitting levels, Leslie turned her attention from the car to Molly.

  “So, Molly Kincaid, what’s your story?”

  “I thought Brad filled you in on my humble beginnings,” Molly replied, smiling to let Leslie know she did not mind the question.

  “That was ten years of your life and it certainly didn’t deter you from reaching your potential. I’m more interested in who you are now, really. I know about attorney Kincaid. What does Molly do for fun, other than drive this car?”

  “Let’s see,” Molly said, “I like to go to museums, all kinds, from natural history to modern art, but I prefer the Realist movement from the second half of the nineteenth century.” Molly stopped talking and glanced at Leslie. “I guess you don’t need that much detail.”

  “I’m fond of the Wyeth’s,” Leslie said, indicating the details were not lost on her. “What else?”

  “I go to the theatre occasionally, the symphony, art shows. There always seems to be something going on in the arts around the Triangle. It’s a nice respite from murder trials. It reminds me there is beauty in the world.”

  Leslie turned in her seat, straining against the three-point harness, until she made friends with it. “From the pictures Tammy showed me, you don’t appear to have a lack of companionship and never have the same woman on your arm more than once.”

  Leslie was moving closer to what she really wanted to know. Molly grinned, one corner of her mouth rising higher than the other. “You know lesbians, you ask them out twice and it’s a relationship. It’s a much less dramatic exit, if they think I might call back.”

  Leslie chuckled. “Tell me about it. Shauna was one of those mistakes, that’s for sure.”

  “I don’t think she’s quite over you, yet,” Molly said, adding her laughter to Leslie’s.

  “Tammy calls her my stalker,” Leslie said, a bit of an edge to her voice now. “I can’t believe she just came out and told you we slept together. She really is nuts, you know.”

  “I got that impression. Still, that offer to get naked in the stacks was tempting. She’s not bad looking,” Molly teased.

  Leslie popped Molly lightly on the shoulder. “You did not consider doing that.”

  Molly faked pain and rubbed her shoulder. “No, I didn’t, but I can see how she wore you down. That hot librarian thing she’s got going probably didn’t hurt.”

  “Hot or not, stay clear of that one. Like I said, she’s nuts.”

  “Is that your professional opinion?” Molly said, unwilling to stop teasing Leslie.

  Leslie turned the tide. “And what about you, Ms. Kincaid? What crazy bitches lurk in your closet?”

  Molly thought about the question and answered honestly, “I don’t really have any stalkers or ‘crazy bitches,’ as you call them, but I’m not too popular with a few of my former acquaintances.”

  “Ah, the ones who wanted more than one date, I suppose.”

  “You could say that,” Molly replied.

  Leslie dug deeper. “What’s your coming out story? Everybody has one, what’s yours?”

  Molly considered the question for a second. “I don’t really have one. I just knew. I kept it to myself, but I was definitely attracted to women from the beginning of knowing what attraction was. I played the game and dated guys, but I never slept with one of them. It helped that my parents recognized it for what it was and never made me feel weird about it.”

  “I was fourteen when it dawned on me that my devastation at losing my best friend to military transfer was really a broken heart,” Leslie volunteered. “After that, it became pretty clear that I preferred women. I didn’t come out to my parents, though, until college.”

  Unable to control the need to tell this woman everything, Molly coughed up more personal information. “Carol asked me if it had anything to do with growing up in a house with an abusive male. I’m sure that happens, but in my case, I don’t think it did. I just like girls.”

  Leslie chuckled and sang, “Baby, you were born this way.”

  Just then, the first notes of a song Leslie liked came on the radio. She reached for the volume, saying, “I love this song.”

  The volume came up and Leslie started to sing along with Kelly Clarkson. Molly’s relief at not having to talk about her love life was short lived. The song was “Because of You,” and she was listening to Leslie and Kelly sing about her life. Molly did not want to be rude, so she let the song she avoided since the first time she heard it play on. Leslie was into singing along, seeming not to notice how quiet Molly had become. It was not until Leslie sang, “I was so young, you should have known better than to lean on me,” that she turned to Molly, and became immediately aware
of how the song was affecting her. Leslie reached again for the volume, this time turning it completely off.

  “I’m sorry, Molly. I didn’t think.”

  Molly stared straight ahead. She tried to cover her distress with a weak smile. “It’s okay, I like Kelly too, just not that song.”

  Leslie moved to face forward again, which was a good thing, because with her next words, “I’m so sorry you had to live like that,” Molly disengaged the cruise control. She hit the accelerator, almost redlining the engine before shifting gears, G-forces pushing Leslie back against her seat. Molly was doing one hundred when she down shifted and took the first exit she came to. When she finally brought the car to a stop in the parking lot of a barbecue stand, just off the highway, she got out and slammed the door. Molly knew her reaction to Leslie’s pity was out of balance with its intent, but she could not control it. She needed distance and a lot of it.

  When Molly opened the little diner’s door, she did not look back to see if Leslie was following. She crossed the worn linoleum floor to the counter and sat down on an old-fashioned round-top stool, the kind she loved to spin as a kid. She could almost feel the grease in the air of the small room with its red Formica-topped counter running nearly the length of one wall. The man in front of the grill, wearing a white full apron stained with today’s servings, turned to give her a smile.

  “What can I do for ya’, young lady?”

  Molly surveyed the plastic menu board, missing a few letters and numbers, and thought to hell with healthy. “A barbecue sandwich with slaw, fries, and a Coke.”

  She heard the door open and close behind her. Leslie appeared at her side and took the stool next to her.

  Red, Molly assumed since the name of the place was Red’s and this guy had remnants of red in his gray hair, called over his shoulder, “And what can I get for your friend here?”

  Leslie answered him, “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

  After taking turns in the washroom, they watched in silence as Red made their meals. He presented them with steaming buns crammed with chopped, pit-cooked, pork barbecue covered in coleslaw, freshly cut French fries right out of the deep fryer, and a ten-ounce, green-bottled Coke, with a straw. This was Carolina barbecue in the country, the best way to eat it. Red hovered over them, until they gave him the thumbs up on his creation.

  Leslie made him blush on top of his pork-eating, naturally red cheeks with her comment. “This is the best barbecue sandwich I’ve had in years.”

  Red looked in the parking lot through the front window, hand-painted with a large, pink pig in a chef’s hat. “Which one of you drives that speedster there?”

  Molly did not have a chance to answer. Leslie said, “It’s hers. I’m just along for the ride.”

  “Bet it’s fast,” Red said. He seemed to be imagining himself behind the wheel.

  “Oh, it is,” Leslie said, “I just had a little taste of it, and I’d say it’s quite impressive.”

  Red could not take his eyes off the LFA. “I heard her gearing down coming up the ramp there. Knew it was something special by the pitch of the engine. Y’all must have come off that highway pretty hot.”

  Leslie chuckled. “Yeah, who knew my singing would inspire her to pass cars like they were standing still and cause a sudden craving for this incredible barbecue.”

  Molly turned to look at Leslie, who now had a mouth full of sandwich. Molly started to laugh, when Leslie winked at her. All the rage she felt about Leslie’s pity flew away, with the batting of an eyelash. They finished the meal with a few more questions from Red about the car. Leslie even let Molly answer some of them. Molly finished first and went to wash the grease off her hands. Leslie was waiting outside the bathroom, when Molly opened the door.

  “I paid the bill,” Leslie said, as they changed positions.

  Molly was now in the tiny hall, Leslie just inside the bathroom threshold. Molly put her hand out to prevent Leslie from closing the bathroom door. She smiled, embarrassed now by her behavior, but wanting to make it clear what happened.

  “Leslie, I don’t want you to ever feel sorry for me. Pity never provided me with anything, not food, not shelter, not love. All it represents to me is shaking heads and turned backs. Can you understand that?”

  Leslie held Molly frozen with a gentle touch to her forearm, while those deep blue eyes searched Molly’s face. Leslie’s voice was soft and warm, when she said, “You’re confusing compassion with pity, Molly. I’m sorry if it came out that way, but I do feel compassion for the courage it took to become the woman you are. I won’t be sorry for admiring you.”

  Molly burned to kiss this woman. That came to a screeching halt, when Red called down the hall, “Y’er to-go order is ready.”

  Leslie shrugged her shoulders. “It was good. Red said he had just frozen some today. It will be all right in the trunk, until we get home.”

  Molly laughed. “It’s a hatchback. It doesn’t really have a trunk.”

  “Oh,” Leslie said, then laughed, and pushed Molly out of the bathroom.

  Molly picked up the to-go order, dropped a twenty in the tip jar, and was waiting in the passenger seat when Leslie came out of the diner. Leslie stopped in front of the car, not sure what to do. Molly waved her toward the driver’s door. Leslie’s face broke into smile so big, laugh lines formed in the corners of her eyes. She nearly ran to the door and snatched it open.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Leslie said, sitting down in the driver’s seat.

  Molly started laughing. “No, I think you earned the right to drive it. Sorry if I scared you.”

  “Oh that,” Leslie said, then grinned even more. “That was fun.”

  Molly talked Leslie through the paddle-shift, explaining if she punched it, the car could red line in less than ten seconds. Leslie got the hang of it quickly and giggled like a schoolgirl, as she weaved through the traffic nearing Chapel Hill. Molly gave directions and soon they were stopped at the security gates of Rainey’s gated community. Molly could tell by Leslie’s expression she was a bit overwhelmed.

  “Who is this person we’re going to see?” She asked.

  “I’ll explain in a minute. Roll your window down.”

  An armed guard stepped out of the little house by the gate and up to the driver’s side. Molly leaned over Leslie, very conscious of the heat from her body.

  She handed her ID to the guard, saying, “Molly Kincaid to see the Bell-Meyers family. I’m expected.”

  The guard checked his clipboard. Finding what he wanted, he scribbled something, and handed Molly’s ID back through the window. “Thank you, Ms. Kincaid. Good to see you again.” He tipped his hat to Leslie. “Nice car.”

  Molly took her ID, brushing against Leslie as she sat back up. Leslie did not seem to notice.

  Leslie grinned at the guard. “Thank you. I’m sad to say it isn’t mine. She’s just letting me dream a little.”

  The guard answered, “Never hurts to dream. Y’all have a good evenin’, now.”

  He tipped his hat again and went back in the guardhouse. The heavy wrought-iron gate retracted to allow them entrance. Leslie followed Molly’s instructions through the exclusive neighborhood streets lined with homes starting around a half-million and up.

  Molly began to explain, “Rainey is a former FBI Behavioral Analyst. Maybe you have heard —”

  Leslie cut her off. “Oh, my God. Are we going to Rainey Bell’s house? I’ve seen her on TV a few times.” She glanced over at Molly and winked. “She’s very attractive and her girlfriend is gorgeous.”

  Molly chuckled. “Yes, she is. Katie lives here, too. They just had triplets on Christmas Day.” Molly pointed at a house on the end of the street with a gated driveway and surrounded by a high security fence. “That’s the house.”

  Leslie pulled the car to a stop by a black box, equipped with speaker and camera. Molly knew their presence had been detected by additional surveillance cameras around the property and was being displayed
on monitors in the house.

  “Roll your window down and push the button,” Molly said.

  Leslie turned to Molly. “Your friend must be paranoid to live behind all this security.”

  Molly did not smile when she said, “She has good reason to be.”

  Leslie punched the button. Within a few seconds, the sound of a crying baby crackled through the speaker, followed by, “Come on in, Molly.” There was a short pause, followed by, “That is if you’re sure you want to.”

  The gate slid open and Leslie pulled the car up to the three-story colonial. The gate closed behind them. Leslie shut the car down, and then turned to face Molly.

  “Thank you. That was fun.”

  Molly grinned back at her. “Just wait until we take it to the airstrip you were talking about.”

  Leslie actually flirted with Molly for the first time. “Be careful. I may fall in love with your car and become a stalker.”

  Molly winked. “I don’t think I’d mind that too much.”

  They stayed there for just a second. Molly was being pulled toward Leslie like a magnet, and judging by the look on Leslie’s face, she was feeling it too. The moment was broken when Rainey came out the front door.

  Molly saw her and reached for the door handle. “I guess it’s time for you to meet the famous FBI agent herself.”

  Looking up at Rainey on the porch, Leslie started laughing, and said, “You know, I don’t think I’d mind being patted down by that cop.”

  Molly replied, trying to be serious, “Be careful. Katie knows how to use a gun.”

  Rainey’s thick chestnut hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Dressed in jeans and a University of Virginia sweatshirt, her green eyes looked tired, but Rainey was glowingly happy as Molly introduced her to Leslie.

  “Rainey, this is Leslie Walker. She’s a psychologist working the case with me. Leslie, Rainey Bell.”

  Rainey extended her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you. Come on in out of this cold.”

  Molly wanted to laugh, as Leslie stared up at the taller Rainey, a bit star struck. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well.”