Tea Leafing: A Novel (15 page)

“Same here.”

“Ok, then what? I want
revenge and I’ll be havin’ it with or without you lot.”

“I’m down with revenge,
but I’m not murdering anyone to get it!” Sam’s voice went up in pitch. “Don’t
try to bully me, Bird. I’m firm on this.”

Birdie lit her
cigarette and lay back on the bed, letting streams of smoke escape her lips and
drift lazily toward the ceiling. Grace picked up one of her feet and started
kneading her sore arches.

The foursome sat in
silence as the clock marked the passing time.

“What if we take away
the love of his life the same way he’s taken Lena from us?” Sam offered.

“I thought we agreed no
killing.”

“I’m not talking about
killing. I’m talking about money.”

CHAPTER 26

The key turned easily
in the lock, freeing the deadbolt from its sleeve in the doorframe. Sam glanced
at Birdie as she twisted the knob and gently pushed the door inward. The police
tape had been removed from her door a few days earlier, reducing their illegal
snooping from tampering with a crime scene to unlawful entry. The two slipped
through the back door and quietly pressed it shut behind them.

Lena’s distinctive
scent lingered in the room, although her lemongrass, baby powder, and honey mingled
with a slightly metallic, clinical smell that must have been from the solutions
the police used when searching the house for evidence. Dust particles floated
through streaks of sunlight. If it weren’t for the feel of empty abandonment
and the unusually cool air, the house could have been waiting patiently for its
owner to return home. The rooms had taken on a dull gray cast that neither girl
could remember when Lena’s life infused the space.

Sam wondered what would
happen to the remnants of Lena’s life. Had her parents paid a service to
collect her belongings and put the property on the market? How long until the
memories were cleared for the next set of inhabitants? Sam and Birdie both
dreaded the trip, but they needed answers.

Birdie exhaled her tension
into the room, making the dust in the air scatter, and clearing the path for
exploration. Sam moved through the undisturbed kitchen into the living room.
The still air amplified the sound of her breathing and she could hear her own
heartbeat thud in her ears.

“Pull the curtains,
Bird. We don’t need the neighbors to know we’re nosing around.”

And so, the task began.

Pulling on a pair of
latex gloves just in case the police returned, Sam handed an extra pair to
Birdie. “I never thought I’d be using these bad boys for anything other than
coloring my hair.”

Birdie harrumphed
agreement.

Sam felt lost. “Where
do we begin?”

Birdie pulled the heavy
damask drapes in the front room with a slow deliberation. Sam wondered what
memories were crowding Birdie’s thoughts. Walking across the room, she helped
Birdie close out the world, shrouding the room in darkness. Birdie stood, dazed
as she stared into the growing dusk inside the room. Sam clicked on lamps to
fight the gloom.

Birdie nodded and
shifted her gaze to the hallway leading to Lena’s bedroom.

Sam was unnerved by
Birdie’s silence. It was so unlike her to be quiet. Walking across the Persian
rug that anchored Lena’s overstuffed, shabby chic living room furniture, Sam
took Birdie’s hand.

Leading the way, Sam turned
left out of the living room, and left again down the short hallway leading back
to Lena’s bedroom. Passing a collection of photos of family and friends on the
plaster wall in the hallway, Birdie whimpered. Sam could only look at a few of
the pictures before she turned her attention to the wood floor. Stay composed.

Stepping into the
bedroom stopped the two in their tracks. The whitewashed iron frame of Lena’s
king-size bed rested against the far wall. A tangle of faded tea rose sheets
were crumpled back, making not one, but two angled wedges — one on either
side of the bed.

Their mouths dropped.

“Was she shagging
someone we didn’t know about? How’s that possible?” Birdie’s voice sounded
hurt.

Sam shook her head in
disbelief. “I dunno,” she said. Looking at Birdie she saw the glassy-eyed look
of pain.

“Maybe she had a
one-night-stand, Bird. I can’t imagine her not telling us if there was someone
special.”

Big, round tears rolled
down Birdie’s pale cheeks. “’Ow could she?” she breathed.

“Same way anyone does.
Same way you do, for that matter. It does seem out of character for her, but
why is it such a big deal?”

Birdie dropped her
head. “Because I
loved
her, Sam.”

Thoughts connected in
Sam’s head. It hadn’t been the love she thought. Not the way Sam loved her
friends. Birdie had been
in
love with
Lena. All the times she heard Birdie repeat it, it hadn’t registered what she
was really saying.

Sam pulled Birdie into
a hug. “I’m sorry Bird. I didn’t realize. I don’t know how I could have missed
it.” She paused, “Did she know?”

Sam felt Birdie nod
against her shoulder. “She knew. She was always very kind ’bout it, but she
didn’t want to live that life.”

They had joked about
Birdie being try-sexual, but Sam had always chalked it up to Birdie’s wild
nature. She figured Bird didn’t want to be categorized, as ‘straight’ or ‘gay’
and she seemed to like both sexes equally. Feeling a little foolish that she
hadn’t picked up on the obvious signs, Sam blushed. Everyone played bi-sexual
at a strip club since it was such a common fantasy, but only a few really were.
Sam could only think of one girl at work who was lesbian. She assumed it was
because the job of feeding male libidos was distasteful to women who were
exclusively into women. Whatever Birdie’s orientation, Sam had a new
understanding of her feelings toward Lena. She squeezed Birdie tighter. “I’m so
sorry.” She whispered.

“S’all right.” Birdie
sniffled. “I know she loved me too. Just not in the same way. Stings a bit to
think she couldn’t tell me . . . or us . . . if she found love.”

Pushing her back gently
by the shoulders, Sam stared at Birdie, unsure of what to say.

Birdie brushed her face
with the back of her hand. “Right-e-o then.” She stepped past Sam into the room
and looked around as if getting her bearings.

“Um, are you okay? Do
you want to do this another day?”

“That’s bollocks Sam.
We’re here, the clock is ticking so lets do this.” Birdie dropped to her knees
and peered under the bed.

Sam stood for a moment,
watching Birdie shuffle unseen items in the dark recesses. Pulling the curtains
and switching on lamps, she started searching the bureau next to the bed.
Feeling through the soft piles of fabric, Sam checked anything out of the
ordinary. She removed the drawers and felt along the wooden frame of the dresser,
finding nothing but several scraps of paper, a few receipts and some loose
change.

The
hairbrush
on her dresser had been cleaned, presumably by the police
, but other
than that things looked undisturbed since the last morning Lena rose to start
her day. Sam crossed the room and opened the bedside table drawers while Birdie
collected herself and pulled the curtains shut.

“No birth control pills
or prescription bottles. In fact, they pretty much took anything of interest. A
few pens, hair ties, a lighter and dental floss but other than that, this is
empty.”

Sam turned to Birdie
who was studying the rumpled sheets.

“Fackin’ell.”

Birdie opened the
closet door and flipped the switch on the outside wall. For a startled moment
they could have sworn there was an outline of Lena rummaging happily through
the rack of clothes as if searching for the perfect ensemble. Sam’s blood
cooled as the strong scent of her wafted out through the open door. Birdie
released the glass knob and let her hand drop to her side.

After a moment, Sam
placed her hands on Birdie’s shoulders and moved past her into the walk-in
closet. She reached
upward,
grasping the legs of the
well-dressed Barbie Lena had jokingly tied to the cord that was the pull for
the attic trap door. The hatch swung down easily, revealing steps leading up
into the darkened space. Sam unfolded the remainder of the hinged ladder and
looked at Birdie.

“You first, Sam.”

Birdie was pale. Sam
was pretty sure she had been plopped into the middle of a horror movie. She
could feel her heart thudding against her ribs. If ever there was a time she
wanted to turn and run it was now. She took a deep breath to galvanize
herself
and muster the courage to climb the ladder. Praying
for a light, she ascended
slowly,
thankful she’d worn
flats. A small vent high at the apex of the roofline allowed a trickle of
sunlight in, making it easier for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She stood
still at the top of the ladder while Birdie took her time making her way up.
After a few moments a bare bulb with an old pull chain came into view. Sam drew
a breath and pulled the chain. The fixture gave a low popping sound, as the
chain broke free from its mooring.

“Shit. Bird, go down
and see if she’s got a flashlight under her sink or bed or whatever.”

“Are you staying up
here?”

Sam nodded, “Go ahead,
I’ll be OK.”

Birdie carefully
climbed back down and gave Sam a long look from the bottom before she headed
off to find light.

The air in the attic
was much warmer than in the house; the smell of raw wood, paper, and rat
droppings was strong. There were several boxes stacked on top of a plywood
plank a few feet from the opening. The attic was a sea of old, shredded
newspapers used as insulation. Sam guessed the paper would be yellowed from
age. She leaned against a support beam and listened to the sound of Birdie
opening and closing cabinets in the rooms below. Her eyes had adjusted enough
for her to make out labels written with a Sharpie on the sides of the cardboard
boxes. She squinted through the darkness at the scrawled words: “Kitchen/Pots,”
“Donate,” “Blankets,” “Financials/Taxes” and several labeled “Books.” She
scooted herself across the rough plywood floor toward the boxes, careful to
lift herself enough to avoid slivers. The darkness moved around her and she
forced herself to stay focused on the boxes rather than search the shadows.

Birdie’s head popped
through the opening, “No ‘eh damn thing. What’d she do when the bloody power
failed?”

“I saw candles on her
dresser and I think there was a lighter in one of the bedside tables.”

“Roight boss.”

Birdie disappeared
again as Sam pulled one of the boxes of books across the dirty floor toward
her. Peeling two of the neatly folded flaps back, the box top opened like a
portal on a spaceship because of the over-under fold configuration.

“Thanks for not taping
these Lena.”

“What?” Birdie had
reappeared with candle in hand.

“Nothing. Just talking
to myself.”

Birdie set the candle
down, sparked the lighter to life and held it to the wick. The blackened braid
slowly accepted life from the flame. The light it cast was dim but for a few
feet around the candle it was possible to see. Sam gestured to one of the other
boxes of books and turned back to her own pile. The two worked diligently
sorting through the stacks of books.

“FLW,” Sam said, wiping
the grit from her brow with her shirtsleeve, “What the hell is FLW? Are there
any books with the first letters FLW, or maybe an author?”

Birdie ripped a glove
off and scratched the crown of her head. “Nope. Nothin’ even close.”

Sam mumbled under her
breath, “Far Left Wood, Floor Level Waste, First Layer Wadding . . .” She began
eyeing the shredded paper with unwelcome visions of having to root through
sections of the stuff.

“Facking Lousy Wankers.”
Birdie chimed in “That’s what I think it stands for.”

Sam pushed one of the
Kitchen boxes out of the way so she could make her way to the left of the
plywood plank and begin fishing through the crinkled paper. “See if there’s
anything in these boxes and I’ll check under . . .” her words trailed off as
she glimpsed a large hardcover book nestled in a small space behind the boxes.
Reaching back into the darkness, Sam slid the glossy hardcover toward her with
her fingertips. A picture of a tree-shrouded house with the word Fallingwater
appeared on the cover. Birdie sat with her gloves in hand, seemingly
unimpressed.

Frank Lloyd Wright
.

Birdie’s eyebrows
jumped as shock registered on her face, “Is that it?”

The cover creaked as
Sam opened the book. Every few pages, Lena had tucked pieces of paper into the
volume. Some were letter size and some ledger size, folded neatly and tucked
into the crease of the spine to keep them from falling out. Sam looked up at
Birdie in the candle light, “You’re not gonna believe this shit.”

Turning her attention
back to the book, she heard Birdie shift to her knees to crawl closer.
Page after page of photocopied ledger sheets with erratic scribbles
in the margins
,
Sam couldn’t believe her eyes
. Beads
of sweat started forming on her brow.

“God Birdie, this changes
everything! This is incredible!”

Sam began to wonder if
the excitement was becoming too much for her. Her adrenaline was pumping and
the room seemed brighter.
And hotter.
She could hear
Birdie scuttling around behind her, scraping along the plywood planks. The
burning smell of the candle seemed to be growing stronger, Sam thought as she
coughed.

“Did you hear me,
Bird?”

Sam stared up at the
sloping roofline in front of her, her back turned to the room. The light was
definitely brighter and danced in an irregular pattern. Birdie tapped her
shoulder. Turning her head slowly, afraid of confirming the news her mind had
delivered in an urgent cry, she looked out across the attic into a raging wall
of flames.