Black Beans & Vice

by J. B. Stanley

  James selected a mug from the cupboard, noting the chip on the rim. The majority of the coffee cups were damaged in some way and the dinner plates weren’t much better. Jackson might have given the kitchen and upstairs bedrooms and baths a makeover, but those major cosmetic changes were enough to last him for decades.

  Milla had brought her own cookware to the marriage, but she appeared to be perfectly content with the chipped crockery, the twenty-year-old curtains, and the ancient television in the den. She merely filled a closet with her clothes, added some pots and pans to the cabinets, and hung a few pictures on the wall. Most of these were of her beloved Corgi, Price Charles, who had passed away in his sleep shortly after Jackson and Milla were married, but there were photographs from her childhood as well. The end result was a house simultaneously marked by both of Jackson’s two wives and no one entered the structure without feeling immediately and inexplicably at home.

  “Eliot is still committed to his decision to be a vegetarian,” James answered Milla’s question as he fixed his coffee. “He complains about all the extra fruit and vegetables that show up in his lunchbox, but he eats them.”

  “Stickin’ by his guns, just like his daddy and granddaddy.” Milla used a spatula to lift a scalding bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich from her griddle onto a plate. James stopped her before she could add a piece of coffee cake, though the cinnamon crumble topping sorely tempted him. “You still trying to avoid sugar?” she asked.

  “I am. I don’t know that it’s done any good, but I’ll weigh myself tomorrow and hope for the best.” James put his plate down on the kitchen table. “Where’s Pop? Out in the shed?”

  “Yes. He’s doing a new series of paintings showing women at work.” Milla set a loaded dish in front of Jackson’s place. “’Course he won’t let me look at them until they’re done, but perhaps you’d be willing to risk your neck and tell him his lunch is ready and already getting cold.”

  Jackson shouted his usual, “Go away!” when James knocked on the shed door.

  “Come on, Pop. Milla’s made you a meal fit for a king!”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Jackson mumbled, but his voice betrayed his anticipation. “I gotta finish this one thing, but it just ain’t comin’ out right.” There was a pause and then Jackson shouted, “Damnation!”

  James smiled. “Let me in, Pop. Or I’ll huff and I’ll puff …”

  After a long hesitation, Jackson shuffled over to the door and slid a key into the padlock. His face appeared in the doorway, but he made no move to allow James inside. “That big, bad wolf thing never gets any funnier, no matter how often you say it.” Finally, he sighed and backed away, letting his son enter his private haven. “Go ahead. Never mind my food’s gettin’ cold as ice.”

  Jackson had begun his artistic career by painting birds. He then focused on the rendering of people’s hands as they performed various tasks. After that, he produced a large number of paintings of little boys (all of whom bore a close resemblance to Eliot) until the D.C. gallery owner (who also happened to be Lindy’s mother) asked him to find a fresh subject.

  Taking her advice, Jackson had worked feverishly for the past few months. He’d started at Dolly’s Diner, watching the waitresses and of course, Dolly herself. After painting a woman bearing a heavy serving tray, he’d selected a cashier at Food Lion, a female construction worker, and a mother balancing a toddler on one hip and a bag of dog kibble on the other. The women were busy concentrating on their tasks, their faces aglow with purpose. Every captured movement held a trace of power, and the determination in each woman’s plain face transformed them into radiant beauties.

  “You’ve done it again,” James whispered in awe as he stared at the canvases. “These are magical.”

  Suddenly, he had an idea. “Pop? I’d like to talk to you about a commission.”

  Jackson snorted. “You can’t afford me, my boy.”

  Knowing his father was just giving him a hard time, James slung an arm over the older man’s bony shoulders and squeezed. “Come on, Pop. I know how much you want me to drive you to Home Depot this afternoon.”

  “All right, son. We’ll talk in the kitchen. Can’t make sense of anythin’ without a big plate of bacon.”

  ______

  Later that afternoon, James returned home with the parts he needed to replace the leaking faucets in the master bath and the kitchen sink. He’d never had reason to perform home repairs before as Jackson had handled all the maintenance around the Henry home, but he was excited to learn. Armed with a Time Life book on basic plumbing, James felt confident that he possessed the smarts and the tools to complete the necessary repairs.

  He began with the bathroom faucet. By the time he’d figured out how to turn off the water, replace the faucet, and clean the water spots from the countertop, mirror, and floor, the sky had begun turning the orchid-purple of twilight.

  James decided to repair the kitchen sink before heating up a dinner of roast chicken marinated in white wine and rosemary with a side of butter beans. It was only when he laid out his tools on a dishcloth next to the cutting board that he happened to glance out the window facing the backyard.

  Something was hanging from the yellow birdhouse he’d placed in the center of a ring of Knock Out rosebushes behind the deck. The birdhouse stood on a tall wooden post and a light breeze was wafting through the yard, causing what appeared to be a piece of paper taped to the base of the birdhouse to flutter up and down.

  Laying his wrench on the dishtowel, James stepped outside and walked to the garden bed. After pulling the letter off the birdhouse, he swiveled so the waning sun would illuminate the plain white sheet. He read the single sentence printed there in plain block letters. Stunned, he read it again. It said:

  Taped to the bottom of the paper was a single black feather.

  James stood rooted to the spot for several minutes, his eyes moving from the letter to the deepening shadows in the trees and back to the letter again. His eyes fixed on the words and his body became unnaturally still, as though an invisible Gorgon had turned him into a piece of statuary. When something flew past his face, startling him, he looked up and saw a cluster of bats darting across the purplish sky. The rapid fluttering of their wings and their high-pitched squeaks awoke James from his immobility.

  Rushing into the kitchen, he eased the letter into a gallon-sized freezer bag, grabbed his car keys from the counter, and dashed out to the Bronco. A combination of anger and fear caused him to take the winding mountain roads at a risky pace, but his dependable old truck gripped the pavement as though sensing James’ need.

  Once, as James paused at a stop sign, he glanced at the letter lying on the passenger seat. The words, printed in bold ink, seemed to be silently shouting at him and the black feather looked like the curve of a malicious smile at the bottom of the paper.

  He did not look over again.

  It took less than ten minutes to reach Lucy’s house on the outskirts of town. As James pulled into her dirt driveway, stirring up billows of dust as he rammed his gear stick into park, her three German Shepherds bounded from the open gate in the backyard and swarmed the Bronco. Though the dogs had known James for years and were intelligent enough to recognize his truck on sight, they enjoyed the idea of intimidating any intruder and began a chorus of snarling and barking raucous enough to wake the entire valley.

  James rolled his window down an inch. “Bono! Bon Jovi! Benatar! It’s me!”

  Clearly, the canines were not impressed by the voice of their mistress’ ex-boyfriend. In fact, they curled their lips, revealing more of their threatening fangs and their dark eyes glimmered with excitement.

  “Come on, now.” He pleaded with them through the window. “I’ve seen all of you act like oversized lap cats plenty of times! I know this is all a front. A few Milkbones and you’re putty in anyone’s hands. Are you going to let me out or what?”

  Apparently, they weren’t. Tails swishing with glee, the dogs circled the Bronco and c
arried on with their howling until Lucy opened her front door. James only saw her for a second, but he could have sworn that she was wearing a slinky nightie. She vanished from view, returning less than a minute later.

  Attired in sweatpants and a tank top, Lucy trotted down her front steps and walked hurriedly toward the drive, shouting at the dogs to “stand down.” James noticed her feet were bare and she didn’t seem too pleased to see him.

  That was when James noticed there were two vehicles parked along the fence line toward the rear of Lucy’s house. Her dirt-covered Jeep and a mud-splattered Camaro.

  “I’m sorry,” he said after she’d secured the disappointed canines in the enclosed backyard. “If I known you had company …” he trailed off. “Actually, I would have come anyway. You’re the first person I thought of to turn to …” He met her eyes and saw that the initial disapproval he’d seen there had been replaced by concern.

  “What’s wrong, James?” She stepped aside, beckoning for him to get out of his truck.

  He handed her the letter and then explained about the dead birds left at Jane’s house.

  Lucy brought the plastic bag closer to her face. “Doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me. A crow was nailed to her door and now there’s a crow’s feather taped to this letter.” She shook her head. “I don’t like this. Someone’s trespassed on two properties and deliberately placed animal corpses or threatening letters in strategic locations. It’s too invasive and far too sinister to be considered a practical joke.”

  “What should I do?” James hated the plaintive sound to his voice, but he couldn’t help it. “I’m not worried about me, but I feel like Jane and Eliot are vulnerable. The cops have put her place on their drive-by list, but now that I’ve received this, it’s clear that this person followed her to my house. Jane’s got some kind of psycho stalker!”

  Lucy studied the note a little longer. “You’d better come inside. I’d like to show this to Sullie and get his take.”

  So that’s who owns the Camaro, James thought and was surprised at how quickly Sullie and Lucy had become intimate, as her previous attire strongly indicated.

  Half expecting to see Sullie lounging on the sofa wearing silk boxers while Barry White’s voice crooned from the stereo, James entered the house hesitantly. Instead, he found the hunky deputy seated at the kitchen table, sipping a bottle of Budweiser as he paged through a magazine. Like Lucy, he was clad in sweats and a T-shirt. Upon seeing James, he jumped up and smiled.

  “Good to see you, man! You’re lookin’ well.” He grasped James’ hand and shook it heartily.

  “You too,” James answered, observing Sullie’s manly jaw, mammoth shoulders, and tree trunk legs. The man looked like he’d been carved from a block of limestone. Though he didn’t possess the sharpest of wits, he was handsome and extremely friendly. James had done his best to cultivate a dislike for the man in the past, but found he harbored no ill will toward the amiable deputy.

  “Welcome back to Quincy’s Gap, Sullie. I truly apologize for disturbing your evening, but I’m feeling a little desperate.” James gestured at Lucy. “She’s always been the problem-solver of our group and I’ve got a major problem.”

  Lucy gave him a grateful smile and then placed the note in the center of the table. When she spoke, it was with the voice of an officer of the law. She reviewed the pertinent details for Sullie and then awaited his assessment.

  “Your ex-wife believes the perp could be one of her students?” Sullie asked.

  James shrugged. “It seemed like the most logical conclusion at the time, but now that I’ve gotten this note … well, it’s just hard to imagine a disgruntled coed tracking me down and leaving me this letter because of a low exam grade.”

  “Do you and Jane share any common enemies?” Lucy’s fingertips hovered just above the crow’s feather. “Perhaps someone who likes birds or spends a lot of time outdoors?”

  Sullie nodded, as though Lucy’s question was a sound one. He then crossed the kitchen in three strides and retrieved two bottles of Bud from the refrigerator. Popping the caps off into the garbage can, he handed one to James and offered the second to Lucy. She declined, her attention fixed on the letter.

  “Honestly, the only person who might have reason to dislike us both is Murphy.” James felt his cheeks rush with heat. “I think she planned on rekindling our old flame upon her return to Quincy’s Gap and wasn’t too thrilled to hear that I had a son and was on great terms with my ex-wife.”

  Lucy’s expression was masked and James hoped he hadn’t offended her. In describing Murphy’s hopes, he’d basically described the way Lucy had felt until very recently. She remained silent, but Sullie took a swig from his beer and said, “Makes sense. If Murphy wants you to stay away from your ex and is angry about you two spending time together, then she might have written this.”

  “Still, I can’t see her driving to Harrisonburg and nailing a dead crow on Jane’s front door,” James protested. “You’d have to be pretty twisted to do that.”

  James had barely finished speaking when Lucy slapped her palms against the table, startling both men. “May I remind you that this woman was secretly writing a book about you, about us, the whole time you were dating? Don’t underestimate what she’s capable of!”

  Chastised, James pretended to be very interested in the pattern of Lucy’s linoleum floor.

  She touched him briefly on the arm, as though to apologize for being harsh. “The least I can do is find out what Murphy was up to this evening. Not officially, of course, but I know she’ll be at The Sweet Tooth tomorrow morning, picking up coffee and a croissant, and I can casually question her then.” Lucy frowned. “That woman eats carbs every single day and is thinner than a tomato stake. It’s just not fair.”

  “Men don’t like women to be skin and bones.” Sullie put a proprietary hand on Lucy’s hip. “We want soft curves with just the right amount of steel underneath. Like you, baby. You’re all woman.”

  Seeming embarrassed but pleased, Lucy removed Sullie’s hand from her hip and kissed him on the palm. James resumed his interest in the diamond pattern on the floor as the pair of deputies exchanged murmured endearments. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Well, I’d better be on my way. Thanks for hearing me out—both of you.” He gestured at the letter. “Should I leave this with you?”

  Lucy nodded and accompanied him to the door. “If I think Murphy is lying to me about her whereabouts this evening, I’ll whip this out and see if it creates a reaction.” Her blue eyes flashed, reminding James of the aggressive glimmer he’d seen in her dogs’ eyes when he’d first arrived.

  “I know you’d like to bring Murphy down a peg,” James said softly. “Lord knows she deserves some kind of comeuppance besides fame and fortune, but I still can’t imagine her doing something like this.”

  The pair stood on the stoop for a moment, watching the moths flutter around the lamppost guarding the entrance of Lucy’s path. James experienced a strong surge of déjà vu, for he and Lucy had lingered in this spot many times before, as good friends and later, as lovers. For months, a feeling of awkwardness had existed between them, but James wanted their relationship to return to what it had been when they’d first formed the supper club. Glancing at her, James wondered how to express this desire.

  “This is good,” he said, once the silence had stretched on too long. “You and Sullie. I know it’s a relatively new thing, but you seem right for one another. There’s an ease between you two that usually only develops after a couple has been together for a long time.” He cleared his throat and continued. “You’re one of my best friends, Lucy. I want you to be happy. Thanks again for being so gracious tonight.”

  Giving her a smile, he began to walk toward the Bronco.

  “James!” Lucy called after him. “I’ll also check in with the Harrisonburg police tomorrow. Let them know that the person bothering Jane is up to something down here too. That ought to ensure her house stays on their patrol l
ist a little longer.” She put her hands on her hips, doing her best to look fierce. “At least that’ll give you some peace of mind. And I’ll be driving by your place myself. After all, nobody messes with one of my dearest friends and gets away with it.”

  And just like that, their friendship was restored.

  James drove home beneath the white light of the full moon. Hung high in the sky among a cluster of stars and a brighter orb that was likely a planet, the moon seemed to grin down upon the round hills of the Shenandoah Valley.

  Back at home, James took a beer out to the deck and settled into a plastic lounge chair. He listened to a chorus of crickets and the buzzing of other insects until his grumbling stomach reminded him that he’d neglected to eat dinner. It was late and he was tired, so he settled for a generous snack of Jalapeño-flavored Pringles. He sat this way for a long time, his anxiety ebbing away as the night wore on. Sighing, he let his body sink into the chair and as his lids grew heavy, James realized he’d eaten the entire tube of potato chips.

  This does not bode well for tomorrow’s weigh-in, he thought and sluggishly climbed into bed. Still, he decided that a threatening note could force even the most disciplined eater into a junk food binge. Anyway, it’s not like I had a bunch of sugar, he reasoned before drifting off to sleep.

  –––––

  The next morning, James shucked off his T-shirt and pajama bottoms and prepared to face off against the scale. It had nearly killed him to go through an entire week without weighing himself. He was, after all, a creature of habit and it was his habit to wake up, shuffle into the bathroom, turn on the shower, and shed his clothes. He’d then put his hands on his belly in front of his bathroom mirror, pivoting this way and that and squeezing his flesh, trying to determine whether his paunch felt bigger or smaller than the day before.