For The Least Of These (24 page)

Jack arrives right after Dad drives away.
Mom must still be in the house – probably scattering tea leaves on the floor to ward away the hurricane. With Mom, you could never be sure. Before she shows her face and tells me I need to fill my bathtub with water or something, Jack and I drive away. Jack fills me in on what he’s learned since the night before. What he tells me scares me more than any hurricane could: one of the deputies found Brandy’s purse in a garbage bin. Fortunately, Brandy’s body was not in the bin with her purse, but this still seems like bad news. I say a silent prayer that Brandy is alive and well and that this whole thing is just a stunt on her part. And if my prayer is answered, I’ll kill her myself for making everyone worry so much. As her best friend, I’m entitled.

I’m really not hungry, but Jack insists that we get some breakfast.
I’m beginning to think that he likes food as much as I do. He pulls into Denny’s. Before we get out, I grab his arm. “Jack, do you think Brandy is just hiding from you? You don’t really think someone has kidnapped her or something?”

“I’m sure she’s just fine.
If I had any fear that she was in danger, you’d be back at your house and I’d be heading up a team to find her. I don’t know what she’s up to, but I do believe she’s carrying out some plan. I don’t see anything that points to foul play.”

“I hope you’re right.
I don’t know what I would do if I lost Brandy.”

Jack smiles.
“Come on. Let’s get something to eat, and then I’ll check in with my friend. I’m sure we’ll be finding her soon.”

After we have our breakfast, Jack calls his friend on his cell phone.
I’m unable to hear the conversation because Jack walks away from me. I think he’s trying to protect me in case there is bad news. I’m still not convinced that Brandy has implemented this whole charade by herself. I’m not even sure it is a charade. She might actually be in trouble.

I get into Jack’s car to further ponder the situation.
I worry that I’ve been too wrapped up in my attraction to Jack and that I’ve not spent the proper effort on finding Brandy. Jack is still on his cell phone. He looks serious and I hope he isn’t getting bad news. I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to Brandy.

Finally, Jack is coming to the car.
He’s moving pretty fast and my fears increase tenfold. I feel like my breakfast is going to come back on me. Jack slides into the car and says, “I’ve got to take you home. Something has come up.”

“It’s Brandy, isn’t it? They’ve found her body…,” I sob loudly.

Jack looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind. “Where did you get that idea? I told you that I’m sure Brandy is fine. This is about a lead on Adam Considine. My partner, Tom Fitch, found out that he’s been hiding out in a motel in Raleigh, NC. We had already checked with his parents who live in neighboring Cary, but they told us they hadn’t seen him in months. This didn’t ring true, so Tom stayed in Cary this week while I came down here. It paid off. Tom was watching the Considine’s house, and he got a glimpse of Adam’s sports car in the garage this morning – the same sports car that was sitting in long term parking at the Raleigh-Durham airport on the day Perry was killed. After questioning Adam’s mother again, she finally admitted that Adam had been staying at a motel a few miles away. Unfortunately, he’d checked out early last Friday morning…”

“So now you’re going to run off after Adam? What about Brandy? She’s still missing…I was right about you all along.
You weren’t concerned about Brandy – you just want to solve your case…”

“Yes, I want to solve this case
– that’s my job. But I’m not leaving. Don’t you see the timeline here? Considine left Friday morning – Brandy goes missing Friday night. It can’t be a coincidence.”

Before I can respond, Jack backs out of the parking spot and then drives out into traffic on Mobile Highway.
He heads towards Myrtle Grove. We’ll be at my house in just a few short minutes. I try to take in everything he’s just said, but I’m way too angry with him to concentrate. “So, if your partner…”

“Tom,” Jack says.

“Yes, Tom. I got that before. So, if Tom had told you Adam was still in North Carolina, would you be headed back up there?”

“No, of course not.” I allow myself to relax.
Maybe Jack is the man I’ve come to believe he is. But then he adds, “I’d head back to Gulfport. Tom can get all the help he needs from the local police to apprehend Adam. In the time it would take me to drive back home, Tom and Adam would almost be back to the sheriff’s office…”

I can’t believe how angry this makes me.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my life. Mostly because Jack has just admitted that he would leave without locating Brandy, but also because I have been stupid enough to believe that Jack is a good man. Stupid enough to think I might be falling in love with him.

“You, jerk!” I yell.
“You don’t give two shakes about Brandy unless she can lead you to Adam. And you think even less of me… You’ve just been using me these last few days – hoping I will somehow luck out and find Brandy at a place you would never think to look. I guess you think you’re smart, making me think you were concerned about Brandy and that you cared about me. You must think I’m an easy mark. And I guess you are right.”

I expect him to try and convince me that he is a good guy.
He could easily say that the local authorities would continue the search for Brandy if he left. Instead, he laughs! “Alicia, you are an easy mark – but that’s not what I’ve been doing. Yes, I did think that you were my best hope at finding Brandy, and I would have been a fool to not take advantage of that. And you are sort of batty, in a malapropistic sort of way. But I really wasn’t just using you. You’re a really fun person to be with, and it was easy to be with you while I tried to locate Brandy. I’d kind of hoped that we might keep in touch once I went back home…”

I am deeply wrinkled
– wait, that should be rankled – by what he is saying. I am speechless – afraid to speak in case I say something stupid. How was I ever attracted to this fluff? Fuzz, I mean fuzz. Whatever malapropistic means, I’m sure I’d exhibit tons of it if I had to speak right now.

Jack pulls into my driveway.
“No hard feelings?” he asks sheepishly. Oh my gosh, is that the right word or not? I’ll never be able to speak correctly again.

I practically jump out of the car before it has come to a complete stop and I slam the door in Mr. Gigantic Mel Gibson’s face.
I should have known I could never trust anyone that looks like Mel Gibson. I’m sure he has women chasing him all over Mississippi, and I never stood a chance. I should have stuck with Rick Hartwood. At least he was a real star. And he never tried to hide the fact that he was a jerk. Not that he was ever a jerk to me. Oh crap! What am I doing? If Brandy or someone else could hear my thoughts, they’d really believe I was hung up on Rick. I finally reach the door to my apartment. Just before entering, I take one last look in Jack’s direction. He’s out of the car looking at me, but he isn’t moving in my direction. He waves pitifully, but I just turn and go inside, eager to put my front door between him and me.

I plop down on my sofa and proceed with my pity party.
I still don’t know where Brandy is, but she isn’t on my mind at the moment. I’ve settled down enough that I’m no longer mangling the English language, but I’m still very keyed up. I can’t stop kicking myself for letting Jack get to me. Most of all, I’m angry that I trusted him based solely on his good looks. Yes, he started being persuasively polite after that first night, but I had already decided to trust him before that happened. Worse still, if he had tried to charm the pants off of me and get me into bed, I would have been more than willing. What an idiot I am.

Again, my thoughts turn to Rick, but I don’t know why.
Sure, Rick is funny and cute, and he understands me in a way no one else ever has. But he is also conceited and a womanizer. He probably doesn’t even know how many hundreds of women he’s slept with in his life. He can’t be trusted. And yet, I believe I trust him more that I trust Jack DeVries. In spite of everything, Rick has never lied to me, as far as I know.

I wrestle with all of this for a long while, until sleep overtakes me.
The couch isn’t as cozy as my bed, so my sleep is fitful and uncomfortable. The ringing phone pulls me out of a dreadful dream which I thankfully can’t remember. I get up so I can look at the caller ID. The call is from Jack’s phone number, so I refuse to answer. After five rings, my machine picks up, “You’ve reached my voicemail! Leave me a message! BEEP.”

Jack says, “Alicia, I know you are there.
Come on, pick up the phone.” He pauses to give me an opportunity to answer, but I let the opportunity pass me by. “Damn, Alicia. I just want to apologize. Call me when you’ve calmed down and thought about this rationally.” He hangs up. I hope he doesn’t hold his breath while he waits for me to call him back. Oh wait – yes I do.

As I start to go back to the couch, I notice that the red light is flashing “2”.
Apparently, someone else has left me a message. I press the play button and Brandy’s voice comes out of the machine. “Crap! I hate these things. Alicia, I really need to talk to you. Can you call me back on my cell phone? You have the number, remember?”

Brandy hangs up, and all I can do is stand over the answering machine in a stupor.
Brandy has a cell phone. How in the world did I forget that? Sure she’s only had it a few weeks, and I’ve never had occasion to call her on it. But I know she has it. I have just forgotten about it. She got it after what happened in Biloxi, in case we ever got stranded and didn’t have an Adam to help us out. I could have called her on that phone days ago. Maybe I am as dumb as she and Jack think I am.

Once I’m finished beating myself up over my latest bit of stupidity, I begin searching for the number.
I know I wrote it down somewhere, but I can’t remember where. After searching my entire house from top to bottom, I decide the number must be in my purse. But it’s not. I can’t find it anywhere. All I can hope for is that Brandy will call back. At least she sounded okay – not like some crazy person had her at gunpoint or anything.

I spend the rest of Tuesday watching a Brady Bunch marathon and waiting for Brandy to call back.
At a little past five, I’m sick to death of seventies clothes, bad story lines, and whiney Jan. Even a die-hard fan like me has a breaking point. I switch the station to the Weather Channel. Hurricane Ivan does seem to be heading in our direction. Jim Cantore looks as tired as I feel. He’s broadcasting from Destin, I think, but I’m not really paying attention. I switch off the tube and stand up. No sense in wallowing in all the bad news since I can’t hold back the winds or rain. I step outside to stretch my legs. The wind is brisk and the sky is black. What does tomorrow hold? I wonder.

I head back inside to prepare dinner.
After that, I plan to turn it. It doesn’t look like Brandy is going to call me back.

I wake up early
the next morning without the help of an alarm or Mrs. Bojangles. After I look outside I realize that Mrs. Bojangles is probably snuggled up on my parents’ couch. The weather outside is not conducive to kitty visits. Rain is now falling at a steady pace and the wind is really whipping the trees around. I flip on the TV long enough to hear that Ivan should make landfall late tonight or in the wee hours of tomorrow. I wish Brandy would call back.

A short while later, I decide that maybe I should run over and check on Mom and Dad.
I cross my fingers that Brandy won’t call before I get back. Mom is not outside, but Dad is still looking for ways to prepare for the hurricane. He’s filled about twenty gallon-sized jugs with water, and he’s putting them into the trunk of an old Ford that he rarely drives. When he sees me, he calls me over and says, “If we need any water for bathing or flushing the toilet, here it is.” He points proudly towards the jugs. Only now do I notice that the backseat of the old car also contains oodles of filled water jugs. He must have sixty or more altogether. I am also aware that he now has over 20 gallons of extra gasoline stored up in one of the sheds. I wonder if this is all necessary. The hurricane is coming, but Dad seems to be overdoing it a bit.

“Dad, do we really need that much water and all that gas?”

“You’ve got to learn to be prepared, Alicia. When I was a boy, we had a hurricane that left us without fresh water for over three months. And no electricity either…”

Dad has told me this story at least one hundred times.
With each telling, the amount of time increases. The first time he told the story, they were only without water for two days. “Okay, Dad. I’ll try to remember that when you aren’t around anymore. Hopefully that won’t be for another fifty years or so.” After I say this, I plant a big kiss on Daddy’s cheek. He smiles like a teenager who just had his first kiss.

“You’re a good girl, Alicia.
No matter what your mother says.”

“Ha-ha, Daddy.
You are very funny. I’m going to go check on Mom now.”

“You do that.
She’s been acting plenty weird about this storm. And plenty weird for your mother is catastrophically weird for everyone else.”

I can hear Mom inside the kitchen singing.
I recognize the tune; it’s her favorite: “Barbara Allen.” Her mother used to sing it to her when she was a little girl, and she thinks it is both the saddest and the loveliest song she’s ever heard. I open the backdoor and stop to listen to her for a moment.