Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) (43 page)

Patsy bolted upright and turned around purposefully. She crossed her arms and pierced him with cobra eyes. I drank from my wine cooler worried what she might say or do.

Billy Ray dressed in yellow denim, a matching picnic-table check shirt, and yellow leather docksides with white soles.

Patsy looked him over and uncrossed her arms. She waved her index finger in his face. “You don’t have the sense God gave a chigger. You slap me again, and you’ll be resting in the marble orchard.”

“Ah Patsy, you’re crazier than a hoot owl. You know I’s just messinwithya.”

Under a laugh, Stewart tipped the lid of his NC baseball hat. “Hey y’all.”

Katie Lee had joined Nash in the corner of the room while Patsy racked the balls.

When Billy Ray spotted me, his eyes widened. “Razzle Dazzle, we meet yet again.”

I waved.

Spreading his arms, he moved toward me like a tractor plow. “Don’t you shoo flies at me. Give Billy Ray a hug.” He tripped over a chair leg, sloshing Bud on his hand. I stared at an overgrown Marshmallow Peep, a.k.a. Billy Ray, that someone had let out of the cellophane package.

I leaned into Patsy, “Don’t leave me alone with him.”

Patsy blocked Billy Ray’s path and handed him a stick. “Are we huggin’ or playin’ pool?”

“Both,” he said, scooping the two of us off the floor and into his arms.

A mounted wall case housed a dozen sticks and two extenders. I selected a cue with a dark wood maple inlay. From behind, someone covered my eyes causing my back to stiffen. Billy Ray hadn’t taken the hint, and I prepared to ram his eight ball.

“Mitch,” Patsy shouted. “Get your paws off my partner.”

I slouched my shoulders and turned around. “Perfect timing. We need another player.”

Mitch combed his blond hair with his fingers, and it lay in a perfect feather. “Using me for my gaming skills?”

A wisp of his hair fell over the corner of his eye. “Mitch McCoy, I’m going to have to watch out for you.”

Mitch dragged a finger across the pool sticks in the notched velvet case. “It’s good to have you back in town.” He chose one, and I noticed paint stains under his nails.

Opening his palm, I asked, “What have you been painting?”

Mitch’s cheeks flushed. “Model cars.”

New Bern bred suspicion inside of me. I needed to get a grip. As I channeled for an inner-calm, Stewart distracted me. His Clydesdale frame didn’t push my buttons. Surprised to see Macy, he flirted, and she acted interested.

He took it upon himself to organize three teams for a best-ball competition. “Losers have to shotgun an entire beer.”

I remembered his competitive streak from the foosball game at the clambake. Every holiday for the past ten years, Gert had taught me the geometry and strategy of the game. I didn’t mention my Aunt Gert’s overflowing trophy cases from pool tournament wins. I wouldn’t be shotgunning.

Heads angled down, Katie Lee and Nash stayed in the corner. Between the noise of our pool game, and people coming and going, I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Was he telling her he’d slept with Bridget? Would she fess-up about Hugh? This could be an early night.

Stewart paired the Marshmallow Peep and me together, which suited my plan. I wanted to know how Billy Ray busied himself in this small coastal town.

In the first round, we played against the McCoys. Patsy took the first shot and scratched a stripe ball.

Billy Ray was a drunken space invader. If I’d sipped the wine cooler I held, I’d have knocked my elbow into his chin. Stepping back, I asked, “Have you been staying out of trouble?”

He stepped toward me and edged my arm with his. “Never,” he laughed, closing the space I’d gained. “What about you? Have you been staying safe? No more fractures or torn ligaments?”

“It’s so kind of you to think of my well being. I’ve managed to stay accident free.” I sipped my wine cooler. “Have you painted lately?”

Tipping back on his heels, he polished off his can of Bud. “What do you mean?” he asked, before crushing it.

“The miniature you gave me for Valentine’s was impressive. Have you made any more?”

The Coleman cooler Billy Ray and Stewart had brought rested under the pool table. He reached for a can. “Need a drink?”

“No, I’m good.”

He pulled the tab top off and pushed it inside the beer. “I paint when I can.”

“Just miniature landscapes?”

His eyes twinkled. “I can paint anything.”

“Anything?”

“Why you so curious?”

“I want to open my own gallery someday. Maybe I can feature your art.”

Billy Ray’s pie eyes opened. “Darlin’, I have enough art to fill a gallery.”

“Really? Where do you paint?”

“I work out of a barn.”

“O’Brien,” Mitch said, “you’re up.”

The balls had broken into a decent scatter, giving me options. We were solids. I sunk the one, five and six.

“God damn,” Billy Ray shouted. “You’re a shark.” Encouraging him to sing like a canary was proving tougher than I thought. Somehow, I needed to loosen his vocal cords. Stalling, I missed the solid red seven.

Stewart’s stature dwarfed Macy. He leaned against a corner wall wearing faded-jeans with an unbuttoned oxford over a T-shirt and a pair of leather loafers. The shoes looked Italian. Expensive. Macy knew I suspected he played a part in moving the paintings. I trusted her to be discrete, and hoped she didn’t reveal my suspicions.

On the corner sofa, Katie Lee hunched her upper body and dropped her head into her hands. She stood and left the boathouse. Nash hung back a few beats, then followed. Nash had kept his word.

Mitch knocked a striped purple twelve into a side pocket. “Y’all took a while to get over here. Did you pre-party?”

Patsy high-fived Mitch for sinking a ball then looked over her shoulder when she heard Nash slam the door.

“We picked up Nash and drinks at the Marina Supply Store,” I said.

Billy Ray jingled keys inside his pocket. “We were over at Jackson’s. Must’ve just missed y’all.”

Patsy leaned against a corner. “Where is Jackson?”

Billy Ray pressed two fingers to his lips and sucked wind. “Went back to fetch his pipe.”

A panic, like when you have a pop quiz you’re completely unprepared for, jolted my nerve endings. I hoped Storm had gotten the search warrant and finished up. If the FBI lingered, Jackson would see them and bolt.

An oversize Roman numeral clock ticked above the river stone fireplace. We’d been at the McGee’s for nearly an hour, and I hadn’t started my search. I needed to find that painting.

Handing Billy Ray my pool cue, I told a teeny, tiny lie. “I left my purse at the main house. Will you cover for me?”

NOTE TO SELF

Billy Ray hides an aura of creep under sunny clothing.

42

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The
McGee’s home hid on a clearing between two large plots of wooded land. Cicadas hummed from the trees, and a crisp draft blew in from the river. Outside the main house, a beach ball drifted above the pool, and I heard shouts and water play. Before I moved inside, I listened for Katie Lee and Nash. I figured I’d find them when I finished my search.

There wasn’t anyone I recognized in the kitchen. Since I’d already seen it, I moved on. I guessed a pricy Clementine Hunter would give dinner guests plenty of conversation and went looking for the dining room. Silk-ballooned drapes with beaded trim flanked floor to ceiling windows. Turning on lights would’ve drawn attention. Sparingly I swept my travel flashlight across the walls. A family portrait reflected from a brushed-gold decorative mirror above a sideboard, and a cluster of inked flower botanicals hung over the matte and shine wide stripe painted walls. I heard the jingle of car keys beyond the arched doorway. Switching the flashlight off, I hovered in a corner and froze. I was freaking myself out. The dining room was a bust.

The front foyer was a McGee time-capsule with a decade of family vacation photo-ops.

“Hey Raz,” Meredith said, from behind. “Where is everyone?”

“Mostly in the boathouse.” I pointed to an adjourning office wall with a series of bird-dog charcoal sketches. “The artwork in your home is amazing.”

“My mama doesn’t like empty walls.”

“Which is her favorite?”

“Hard to tell. She buys it like shoes.” Meredith wrapped an arm around my neck. “I was looking for Katie Lee.” Lowering her voice to a talk-whisper, she craned her head to see who was around. “You know she’s forbidden to see Nash. He’s not quality. He’ll never amount to anything.”

Alcohol had uncensored Meredith’s tongue, although I guessed she’d say the same things about Nash if she were sober.

I needed an excuse to keep searching and glanced up the stairs.

“You don’t think she and Nash are up there?”

Shouting erupted over music that blared in the family room and someone called for Meredith. “Why don’t I check? If I find Katie Lee, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”

“You’re a dear,” she said and disappeared around the corner. I jogged up the staircase.

Car doors slammed and from the picture window above the front door I saw more of New Bern arrive. I decided to start at the far end of the second floor and work my way backwards. In the master bedroom, two carved Italian marble-top bedside tables flanked a mahogany four-poster bed with a silk-canopy. A desk with French legs and a chaise lounge softened the room. Mrs. McGee had dressed her bedroom with needlepoint pillows of mangoes and pineapples. A series of tropical watercolors: A Cuban Palm, a Bismark Palm, and a Date Palm, anchored a sitting area with a two-seater sofa, cushioned rattan armchairs and a TV console.

My chest heaved as though my heart wanted to escape. What if Mrs. McGee bought the painting for a client or had it stored? Hell they probably owned a vacation home or two. I couldn’t clear Dad’s name until I found the Clementine. I needed to calm down and focus. I opened the balcony door for oxygen, and listened to the party noise below drown the night. The pool was empty now, except for a beach ball. The lion fountains spouted water that spun the ball in a whirlpool it couldn’t escape. I heard a door latch and slipped behind the open balcony door. My eye moved down the slope where the boathouse rested. The cloudy night had broken, and streaks of the moon now glistened on the surface of the glassy black Trent. I guessed that Katie Lee and Nash’s relationship floated by a frayed thread. The relief I expected to feel with him out of her life didn’t surface. I’d become accustomed to his screwups.

Pushing my paranoia aside, I devised a plan. If I hustled, I figured I could scour the entire house in fifteen minutes. Meredith didn’t lie. Mrs. McGee hoarded shoes. A noisy trickle of water drew me into the master bath. I eyed the faucet and ran a hand in the porcelain sink.. It was dry. Thumbing the eye of Horus I moved toward the water closet and gasped. The
Baptism
rested in a chunky wooden frame of elder wood on a wall above the bidet.

So we meet again.
Turning the lights on high I emptied my pockets onto the vanity. My pockets were filled to capacity. I removed gloves, lip-gloss, the used Fuji camera, a pack of gum, and at the bottom of the crumpled bag, the underwater camera. My mind surged as if I’d swallowed an entire box of dry powder, cherry, Jell-O. Steadying my hand, I snapped four pictures of the painting and tucked the underwater camera inside my jacket pocket.

Was this the painting Dad had refurbished or was it an original Billy Ray? Centering myself, I picked up the magnifying glass and took a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I retrieved an image of the painting in Dad’s shop. The colors, the scale, the monogram signature.

“Funny place to find your purse.”

My neck muscles stiffened, shifting my senses into a hypersensitive mode. In the tight space, stale beer breath permeated my nostrils.

Turning my head, I stared into cavernous black eyes rimmed in red. “Billy Ray.”

He took the magnifying glass from my hand and used it to poke the items I’d scattered around the sink. “Disposable camera. Ain’t that curious. What pictures have you been taking?”

“You know, making memories.”

Picking up the camera, he moved toward me. I stepped back. The master bath had one exit and Billy Ray blocked it. The McCoys and Macy were in the boathouse and Katie Lee and Nash had disappeared. The bedroom wing hung in a corner of the house, far removed from the party downstairs. Dread dripped down my throat. If I screamed my lungs out, no one would hear.

Billy Ray touched the end of the camera to my chest cavity, and dragged it down stopping at the bottom band of my bra. “I’m going to help you make a memory.”

I hiccupped. “Quit goofing around and give a girl some privacy.”

Snapping the camera in two, he threw it at me. His voice came from a dark place. His throaty growl made think he was possessed. “You fucking bitch,” he said and gripped my neck with his sausage fingers. A towel rack pressed a welt into my back. “You’ve been snoopin’ around Jackson’s and now the McGee’s. You think your shit don’t stink.”

My rebuttal was a hiccup.

He squeezed tighter. “I saw you and Patsy at the back of the Marina.”

The hiccups and his grip constricted my ability to gather oxygen. He pressed his girth into mine, and I squirmed trying to push his bulk off me. My stomach turned when I realized I felt his bulge pressing against me. Billy Ray worked himself into a fury. Keeping his vice-like grip on me, he lowered his voice and whispered into my ear, “You think I’m so sweet on you that I wouldn’t notice all your questions? It’s because of you that this is my last night in town, and I’m gonna enjoy it.”

He’d squeezed my neck tight sending my brains on a journey toward my ears, like a snail in need of a new shell. The toxic combination of his sickly-sweet aftershave and alcohol-laden breath made my eyes roll backward. I guessed I was blacking-out when I felt the rancid rasp of his tongue drag across my face. I thought I heard a southern man’s voice say, “That’s enough, Billy Ray.”