Adelaide Upset (18 page)

I pried it free, an old device of some sort.
It fit in my palm, the silver plastic surprisingly heavy. I saw
buttons along the top, mistaking it for a radio. But when I pressed
play, hearing men’s voices, I realized it was a recording device,
an old one, from when Smith was still alive.

I would have listened to
it then, on the floor of Amy’s bathroom. I was
that
curious. But
Smith abruptly twisted, turning to face the front door.

I swore, fully grasping
his action. Shoving the tape recorder into my purse, I hurried to
press the baseboard back in place, making sure it hugged the wall.
Then I followed Smith out of the bedroom and down the hall, but it
was too late.Stephen was walking through the door, frowning down at
the knob, no doubt from finding it unlocked. I brushed my bangs
into place and stepped out to meet him, brash as ever.

“
Stephen, I’m glad you’re
finally home. I wasn’t going to wait much longer. I need that penny
and your mom couldn’t find it.”

“Adelaide?” He was incredulous at first,
then suspicious. “What are you doing in my house?”

“
Get over yourself, I’m
not here to rob you,” I said, hitching my purse over one shoulder.
“I would have avoided your mother if that was the case.”

“You met my mother?” Now he was worried.

“
A lovely woman,” I lied.
“Now I need that penny. Francesca has been asking after it. She
specifically sent me to pick it up.”

“The penny?” It was information overload, he
could barely keep up.

“
Just bring it to work
with you,” I said, brushing past him on my way to the door. I
didn’t hurry to my car, knowing full well that Stephen would be
gaping through the window. I took my time, acting as if nothing was
out of the ordinary. Smith didn’t follow, but then, he always
preferred to stay near Stephen. I didn’t blame him. I would have
picked Stephen too, unfortunately I couldn’t escape
myself.

All I wanted to do was
listen to the tape. All I
got
to listen to was
Team
. He used the
office as his stage while I took part, an unwilling audience,
hostage to his performance. It was Friday and people streamed into
Sterling’s, booking up rooms for the entire weekend. Most stopped
to compliment Tim’s music, so I could hardly tell him to
leave.

It was getting harder to
be mean to him. At one point in the night a pair of guys walked in.
They were barely old enough to rent a room, and although they said
it was just the two of them, I could feel a few more chums waiting
outside, impatient and bored. I knew they would leave the room a
mess. The shower curtain would be missing, pee splashed behind the
toilet, vomit puddles on the carpet (the sink if we were lucky) and
always they left empty beer cans, but despite their grand
ambitions, never a used condom. I’d seen it all before, and Stephen
had cleaned it.

We kept a small box of
flyers in the office, and throughout the night these guys came in,
one by one, pretending to leaf through the advertisements,
searching the local attractions, before they tried their luck,
strolling over to hit on me. Tim would jump in, casually putting
them off, but eventually he got tired of their persistence and
claimed to be my boyfriend Lucas. How he’d learned Luke’s name, I
didn’t know. But he was relentless in my defense (as if I needed
the help) and sent them on their way. I wanted to send
him
on his way.
But like I said, being mean was getting harder. Tim was entirely
agreeable, his white teeth chiming, an audible smile, glinting out
loud. I might have been softening, but I still wanted him gone. I
just needed five minutes of quiet so I could hear what was on that
damn tape.

But of course the second
he was gone Francesca called. She roped me into a double date,
though I hadn’t put up much of a resistance. With Conner starting
to look semi-permanent, I figured I should get to know him. So I
agreed. It was on for the next day, a Saturday afternoon. All I had
to do was get Stephen to cover for me again. He was always a team
player, except for on days that I broke into his house.

I tracked him down, gloved
up and scrubbing toilets. Smith was there, hovering in the shower.
I spared the ghost a glance before venturing, “Cover for me
tomorrow?”

He looked up, eyes narrow
and thin. I didn’t think it was a show of attitude, the cleaning
chemicals were just potent. “What for?”

“Francesca wants to do a double. She’s
seriously considering Conner, marriage and all that.”

“
Really?” I thought he’d
be miffed, but he was only uncertain. “You think she’ll go through
with it?”

I shrugged. “I don’t think they’re a match
made in heaven, but that won’t stop her. Will you do it?”

He looked down, focusing
on his work. “What were you doing in my house?”

“Are you really going there?”

He looked back up, almost in accusation.
“You’ve been weird. About me. I deserve to know how I figure into
your...”

“My what?”

I won. He shrugged, defeat
in the gesture. “Fine,” he sighed. “What time?”

I sped home after work,
racing to finish the mystery. I expected answers, illumination. The
full story behind Smith’s death.

Blasting through the door,
I tossed my keys, kicked off my shoes, and ran to the kitchen. I
pulled out the tape recorder, set it on my kitchen table, took a
seat and pushed play. Voices wobbled forth, two men talking. I
pulled the recorder close, turning up the volume as I pressed my
ear to the speaker.

“—saying nothing until I see the money,”
said one.

“It’s been deposited into an account,” came
the second man, his voice more refined and quiet, barely audible.
“The access information is all yours, provided you can keep your
end of the deal.”

“Here,” said the first man gruffly.

The sound of crinkling paper, then a
pause.

“
You’re certain?” asked
the quiet man. Repeating, “You’re certain this is the land SL&S
is interested in?”

“
It’s under contract just
like I told you,” the first replied defensively. “Southeastern’s
got lawyers and agents all over it. Don’t know how you plan to
steal it away, what with it being a done deal and all.”

“
I’ll worry about that,”
was the gentle reply, confident and sure. “Here.”

Another crinkle, followed by a satisfied
grunt.

“If you learn anything else, contact me. And
you know,” said the soft voice, coming in clear as he stepped
toward the recorder. “There’s always a job waiting for you at
Petersons.”

“
Too far,” the first man
grumbled.

And that was it. I rewound the tape,
listening before and after the conversation. There was a gentle
rocking, rhythmic almost, and I figured it for driving.

So the guy, Marks maybe,
made a deal, selling privileged information about his logging
company, the same one Smith used to work for, SL&S, to another
company. Petersons.

“Smith!” I barked, hoping to find him
lurking nearby.

He came from the hall,
misting into the kitchen, an agitated blur of white. He was
submissive, accepting the fact that I was going to drill him with
questions, but equally apprehensive.

As long as I posed only
questions with a yes or no answer then I wouldn’t need the Ouija
board, which incidentally, I never brought home from
Sterling’s.

“Was that Marks?” I asked first, pulling out
another kitchen chair. He didn’t want to sit, but I didn’t like him
looming over me. Smith was tall.

Wisping onto the seat, he
firmed up a bit, nodding reluctantly, as if not wanting to
encourage another question.

“It makes sense,” I observed, testing out my
theory. “He was your friend, you found out what he was up to. He
killed you to protect himself.”

He was upset, sad and aggressive as he shook
his head no.

“
No?” I asked. “What do
you mean
no
.”

Smith’s body shifted in
the chair, coming in solid. Then he shook his head again, firmly,
so as not to be misinterpreted.

“
You mean he didn’t kill
you?”

Smith pointed at me, nodding.

“
So these are the facts:
According to Amy, you and Marks argued. According to you, Marks was
the one selling information on the tape. A tape which you stole to
protect... I don’t know who. But despite all that, you claim
Marks
didn’t
kill you,” I said, slumping into my chair. “It doesn’t make
sense. And neither does the fact that Marks taped himself at
all.”

I was interrupted by a
knock at the backdoor. Smith escaped, disappearing before I could
call, “Come in.”

It was Lucas. He looked at
the chair already pulled out, angled to face me. “Did you have
someone over? I heard you talking.”

I wanted a phone for just these moments.

“
Must have been thinking
out loud,” I said, and hurried to change the subject. “Want to have
sex?”

“
You wore jeans to the
Sleeping Oaks Country Club?” Francesca observed. She sounded
exasperated, but was secretly amused.

I was wearing jeans, yes,
and my pair of Chuck Taylors, but had made a concession, donning a
very preppy sweater that had buttons down the front. Even Lucas had
made a bit of effort, wearing clothes with neither stain nor tear.
But we appeared rough around the edges when compared with Francesca
and Conner, who stood hand and hand, smiling together.

Lucas was bored. I mean, I
didn’t feel it or anything, but his eyes were restless, shifting
around before they’d settle back on me, as if he had to continually
remind himself of why he couldn’t leave. I could relate.

Conner had wanted lunch at
the club for our date. Despite the fact that he didn’t live on the
island, he was the only one among us with a membership, so we were
his guests for the afternoon.

The club was a blot of
white against the lush green grass, Roman with its pillars and
dome. Inside everything was shinning marble or rich wood, with
delicate chandeliers that seemed to drip glass. Here Sir Prosperous
rubbed shoulders with Mister Wealthy, which was why Francesca was
addicted to the place. She used it as her hunting ground, lining up
potential partners in her string of never-ending men, of which
Conner was just the latest.

“
I love that he’s so
considerate,” Francesca gushed, whispering in my ear as we waited
in the restaurant’s foyer. “Conner’s been so gracious about
bringing us.”

After insisting we eat here, he’d better
be.

But I didn’t share my
mutinous thoughts as I was trying to get along with her
maybe-future husband. “Finally,” I muttered instead, as the hostess
led us to our seats. I wasn’t sure why fancy restaurants preferred
stiff tables to comfy booths, but it always bothered me. But again,
wishing to appear pleasant for Francesca’s sake, I refused to be
petty and complain, even though complaining sometimes felt
nice.

We ordered drinks casually
enough, but things got dicey as we tried to settle on a topic of
conversation. Finally I said, “So Conner, did you ever tell a
lie?”

“
Adelaide,” Francesca
said, warning intoned in her voice.

“
What? It’s a good get to
know you question,” I replied. “Here, I’ll go first. I once told my
sister that she’d become dehydrated if she peed more than three
times a day, so she went around holding it.” I looked at Conner,
daring him to do better.

“Um, well,” he said, shifting in his chair.
“Once I broke a kitchen window, and when my father asked, I tried
to blame it on the dog.”

I wasn’t impressed, but
Francesca laughed, chafing his arm. “I’ll go,” she chimed, feeling
giddy as she sucked down her breakfast beverage. “I tell people I
weigh 120, but really it’s... 115!”

I didn’t approve of the gesture as a rule,
but just then, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “How about that
time you told that guy—”

Feeling slightly panicked, Francesca rushed
to interrupt me. “It’s your turn, Lucas, go on and say
something.”

He shrugged. “It’s been too long. I can’t
remember.”

With the spotlight
shinning another way, Conner’s good mood was restored. “Oh come
on,” he wheedled. “At some point every teenager lies to their
parents.”

Luke thought about it. “I
told my parents that I got my girlfriend pregnant once for April
Fools’ Day.”

Conner’s eyes bugged wide
while Francesca coughed, some Bloody Mary spewing out between her
fingers. It was never good to hear your boyfriend talk about his
ex, or impregnating her, but I was deeply fascinated, unable to
picture the solid, silent Lucas doing something so outrageous. I
thought then, for the first time, that maybe it was
love.

If only things could have
continued that way, upbeat and entertaining, but instead our date
became, well, something of a cockup. It started gradually, at the
table next to ours. There sat a couple, the wife with smooth hair
and tennis bracelet, the husband having an overbite and chunky gut.
They began to argue in earnest, but not loud, just sincere-like. I
felt it building and it wasn’t the mild misunderstanding that can
sometimes turn ugly, but raw hate. They were flinging it at each
other, words biting like knives.