Adelaide Confused Read online

  With my heart drumming furiously inside my chest, I stepped inside the house... and kissed Lucas. He was so tall I had to lean upward, missing his mouth at first and then abruptly clicking our teeth together. I had little experience, but even so I knew the whole thing was a mess. I pulled away, turning to avoid his gaze.

  I swear five minutes must have passed while neither one of us moved nor spoke.

  Finally I cleared my throat. “You should probably move into a different room while I clean.” I began to organize my supplies, unloading them onto the counter.

  “Why?” he asked.

  I purposely misunderstood. “Because you’ll be in the way.”

  “You kissed me.”

  “NO,” and then less defensively, “I tripped.”

  I heard the back door close and prayed he was leaving the kitchen. The whisper of his bare feet padding across the linoleum made my stomach feel queasy. The sound disappeared down the hallway. He’d gone.

  I’d never cleaned anything so fast in my entire life. In less than an hour I was driving a mop across the floor, finishing the home stretch. I gathered my supplies and bolted for the door, nearly sprinting for the fence.

  Shit... I’d just have to kill myself.

  * * *

  I was a bit hostile at work, growling my way through the day shift. Stephen and Ben steered clear, but the customers weren’t smart enough to follow suit.

  A woman of late years, not quite old but past the middle age mark, came in needing a room. I tried to go through the check-in process quiet but civil. She made it difficult.

  Her hair, that strange combination of light brown and gray, was worn in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her clothes were conservative, and maybe a bit prim. Prim if you considered a turtleneck worn in the Georgia heat prim. I did. But all and all I thought she would act like she looked—a school teacher. If only.

  Her entrance was strange, setting off red flags and warning bells. She strode in, a large purse hanging from the crook of her elbow, and stopped at the counter to stare at me in silence.

  I waited for her to speak, but all she did was look at me from head to toe, memorizing my outline. Her feelings were edged with a cruel detachment that worried me. Finally I said, “Can I help you?”

  As if the spell was broken she looked away, taking in the office decor. “Unfortunately you can,” she muttered. Turning her attention back to me, she said more loudly, “I need a room.”

  “Just one night?”

  “Three nights.” She began to click her nails on the countertop, a passive-aggressive pace. “I assume the rooms are cleaned daily?”

  I nodded.

  “Thank god for small miracles,” she mumbled to herself.

  “There’s no need to thank anyone. Cleaning the rooms daily is a standard practice for even motels.” I slid a paper across the counter. “Sign there.”

  She scribbled her signature with a furious flourish. “I doubt management would be pleased to hear of your attitude.”

  I handed her the key. “The owner’s outside under the big oak, feel free to make your complaints.”

  “I think I will.” She grabbed her receipt, took up her bag, and left, striding through the door just as stiff and bitchy as she’d entered it.

  I sincerely hoped she would speak with Ben. He’d tell her where to shove it.

  A few hours later Arnie pushed through the door, Renee skipping in on his arm. They used to be subtle, meeting at the room. But now there wasn’t anyone left to care because everyone already knew.

  They nuzzled at each other, Renee giggling while I inwardly gagged. I slid the room key across the counter hoping Renee would take it. She did, giving Arnie a flirtatious smile filled with silent promise before flouncing off to prepare for their tryst. Thank goodness she’d gone. I would have done anything to separate them. Their emotions were wonky.

  Arnie scowled. “Why you always gotta be such a bitch about things, Adelaide?”

  “What? You’re mad I gave her the room key?”

  “No, it’s not the key.” He struggled to figure out what was wrong with me. “You could be nicer’s all.”

  “So you’re saying it wasn’t nice of me to offer Renee the room key?”

  “No, it’s not the key!” He threw up his arms in frustration. “You’re doing in now, being... difficult. You’re always difficult!”

  I ignored him. “Sign there.” Scrawling like a second-grader, I watched him finish his chicken-scratch signature. “Be out on time or I’m charging you for a second night. No more warnings.” I flicked the receipt at him.

  His hairy knuckles snatched it up. “You know, Adelaide,” he said, lifting the receipt to get my attention. “Maybe you wouldn’t be so uptight if you got laid once in a while.”

  Reed Wallace chose that moment to turn up, stepping inside the office just in time to hear Arnie’s parting shot.

  Chapter 19

  I hated to let Arnie have the last word, but it felt wrong to shout an insult at his back.

  “An adoring fan?” Reed asked in that judgy, sarcastic voice only the rich could carry.

  My ire found a new target. “What do you want?” I snarled.

  “I’d assumed it was the stressful circumstances that made you testy—”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “—when we parted. So I’ll disregard your hasty comments.”

  “I meant the part about not speaking to me again.”

  He made his way to the counter, strolling slowly. I hardly noticed how good-looking he was—progress. “Impossible that. You see, you haven’t finished the job I hired you for.”

  “Blackmailed,” I corrected. “And I went to your stupid party.”

  “Stupid? You seemed to enjoy the food well enough.”

  I turned the conversation, charting the course I was interested in. “What did you ever do about that guy that tried to kill me?”

  “I’ve taken care of it.”

  “So you killed him then?” I asked hopefully.

  He was honestly surprised by the suggestion. “Of course not!” He looked at me askance. “You’re a blood thirsty one, aren’t you?”

  “No. I don’t want him to die. I’d just feel better if he was dead.”

  “Why are you worrying? I said I took care of it.” He twirled a pen and waited for me to answer. He found me curiouser and curiouser, or whatever.

  “I don’t trust you, so your word means nothing to me. And why should I help you? You almost got me killed!”

  “You’re going to help me because I’m blackmailing you. Any payment you receive is just an act of goodwill, an exercise in building trust. And don’t be dramatic. It was torture, not death.” He smiled, feeling playful.

  I was not. “You can’t buy trust, and you can’t blackmail me into helping you either. That man would have killed me. I’m totally clueless and in way over my head. I’d rather confront my family at this point than get any more tangled in your web of... whatever it is that you’re into.”

  He was frustrated, or maybe it was me.

  Reed took a step back as if accepting defeat. “If I tell you what’s going on will you acquiesce?”

  “I don’t know about that. But maybe I’ll help you. Maybe.”

  He gestured at the space around him. “This isn’t the place for such a conversation. Come to my home when your shift ends tomorrow.”

  I didn’t mean to, but I made a face. “Can’t we meet somewhere neutral? Like McDonalds?”

  He was offended. “I can assure you that I’ll be the perfect host. And there is someone I’d like you to meet.”

  “Fine.”

  He handed me a Wallace Enterprise business card, his home address penned on the back. Reed had known all along how the conversation would end. The thought made my teeth grind.

  * * *

  I pulled my Chevette up to the curb and stared at Singh’s
Dry Cleaning. It was a dinky white box with big glass windows. I must have driven past it a thousand times and never noticed. The place was closed, though the neon lighting and the abundance of streetlamps had the place glowing.

  It was the perfect spot for loitering, and that was exactly what the group of three out front was doing. They’d watched me pull up. I wasn’t really surprised. I knew it wasn’t my stunning good looks that had their attention, but my car.

  The Chevette made funny noises while it was running, and sometimes when it was not. The passenger door was a vibrant lime color, the back panels hunter green, and the rest was done in a startling shade of turquoise. Did I mention it was from the eighties? Oh, and I mustn’t forget that the hood and trunk were held shut by hooked bungee cords. The car had cost less than my perfume bottle collection.

  The punks out front shifted from foot to foot, waiting to see what I’d do. I turned to the ghost in my passenger seat, waiting to see what he’d do.

  I’d tracked him down earlier. He’d been drifting around the cleaning cart like a gloomy smog. But he’d cheered considerably when I told him to meet me later, admitting that I would be sleuthing on his behalf. So there I was, parked at Singh’s with no idea why.

  The ghost wafted apart, rising to the roof and drifting through it. I watched as he swirled across the road like a puff of car exhaust, disappearing into the dark. I cursed a seamless stream of obscenities as I hauled myself out of the bucket seat. Damn ghost had gone the wrong way.

  The loitering group of misfits slunk in close while I was preoccupied. I recognized the thrill. I always felt it before talking to Lucas, so I knew what was coming even before the little weasel thought up his idea of a sexy line.

  The skinny one said, “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out in the dark. There’s a murderer on the loose, didn’t you hear?”

  I eyed the entourage in disapproval. When I was a teen, groups like this had something that bound them together, a hobby, like skateboarding or Hacky sack. The only thing this bunch had in common was baggy clothes they used to mask their lack of masculinity.

  “Yeah, I know him.”

  They guffawed, thinking I’d made a great joke.

  “You’re funny Red,” said skinny.

  “Friends with a murderer? You don’t look like the stabbing type,” the tallest one pointed out.

  I stuffed my hand into my purse, lifting it so it was poised horizontally at arm’s-length. “You’re right. I’m more into guns than knives. Do you know why they always cover the muzzle with a pillow in the movies?” I asked with inapt steadiness. Their laughter died off. They wanted to assume I was joking, but their smiles were forced, betraying their discomfort. “It muffles the sound.” They shared uneasy glances. “What’s across the street?” I asked them, waving my hairbrush in that direction.

  They stared at the bottom of my purse, waiting for a hole to pop open and a bullet to come out. They were hoping it was a joke, which was an embarrassment to their pride.

  I waved my hairbrush more aggressively, the purse wagging under the closest one’s nose. “What’s across the street?” I pressed. “Is it a business, a home, what?” I could see lights, but they were somewhat covered by a barrage of shadows I took to be trees. Sleuth be damned, I wasn’t about to go ghost hunting in the dark to find out.

  The talkative skinny kid began to mumble, nervous excitement making his voice rise two octaves. “It’s an apartment complex. They have a sign, but it doesn’t light up at night. The place is cheap and run-down.”

  “The name?”

  “Wildwood Apartments.”

  Since I knew it was illogical for me to be nervous, I was assured of their feelings, and they were pretty sure that I had a gun. I lowered my pretend weapon, the purse sliding down my arm. They never saw the brush handle that was poking out, too busy running away. I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh. I shouldn’t enjoy fucking with people so much.

  * * *

  My sleuthing detour brought me home a bit later than usual. Divot Drive was pitch black, hardly any neighbors to blink out the stars with ambient light. Frogs croaked, competing with the hum of numerous bugs. The temperature had cooled, taking the edge off the warming climate. It was perfect.

  I walked slowly to my door, trying to erase the tension left by the buildup of emotions. Some days were worse than others. Today had been terrible, but not just because of the empathy, but because of Lucas. I’d really ruined things. Maybe if I hadn’t pushed, if I’d just let things happen naturally...

  I continued to doubt myself right up to the front door, right up to the door and my present. The rectangular cardboard box was left leaning on the stoop. The cover was a picture, bright and colorful even in the dim porch light. It was a puzzle, and when it was finished it would be a flower garden.

  Lucas had left me a puzzle.

  Lucas had given me flowers.

  Chapter 20

  I stared at the words on the page. I must have read them three times already, but they still didn’t make any sense. I couldn’t focus. I was distracted, distracted in a good way.

  Giving up, I tossed my dog-eared novel onto the picnic table. Ben had long since gone, probably off playing bridge somewhere. I was soaking in the mild and pleasant weather while it lasted.

  My mind drifted to thoughts of Lucas like a moth to the flame. I’d wanted to see him after finding the puzzle, and almost walked over. But something had stopped me... probably the memory of my previous humiliation. So I’d stayed away, though I wasn’t playing it cool or anything. I didn’t even know how to do that.

  But the puzzle had left me feeling hopeful. That morning I woke up with a smile. Of course that may have had something to do with the little ghost waiting at the end of my bed, wiggling its wispy butt back and forth. I hadn’t seen it since Lucas pulled up the bone. I’d made the assumption that I’d finished its unfinished business and Fido was halfway back through the veil or whatever. Obviously I was wrong.

  Surprisingly I didn’t mind the dog being around. It was kind of the perfect pet. I didn’t have to worry about feeding it, or taking it out. It never got under foot to trip me. And it was always happy, but subtly, so as not to get annoying. I swear the thing worked better than Prozac.

  Earlier, before work, I had gone shopping in Brunswick for groceries and such. I’d passed the pet aisle and backtracked. I honestly don’t know what possessed me to buy the dog bed... or the chew toy. I was in danger of becoming one of those obsessed pet owners, but for a dead dog that had belonged to someone else.

  I also went searching for a Ouija board while shopping, which was why I’d made the trip to Brunswick. I didn’t think they’d sell spirit boards at the local supermarket.

  After I had unloaded my groceries I’d gone back out. An errand left unfinished, I drove to Wildwood Apartments intending to speak with a super. That had been the extent of my plan.

  The place was old, as old as Sterling’s but not nearly as maintained. The ramshackle hunk sat off the street, a dirt path the illustrious entrance.

  The apartment’s façade had the misfortune of resembling a butt. An indentation in the grimy flesh-toned siding split the building in half, with the door nestled between. I grimaced and went in.

  I ignored the stairwell that dominated the front entrance, skirting around to walk the dim hallway behind it. I looked for any indication of management, some marked mailboxes, something, anything? Nothing.

  Two doors faced off at the end of the hallway. I glanced between them before choosing the one on the left. My knocking roused a tousled looking twenty-something, and from the laughter and joking I heard through the paper-thin walls, he had roommates. “Yeah,” he asked expectantly.

  “Does a superintendent live in the building?”

  “Superintendent? Like someone that fixes things?” He shook his head. “No, we don’t have one of those. But Heather ma
nages things. She takes our rent and stuff.”

  “Which apartment does Heather live in?”

  He gestured to the door behind me.

  “Thanks,” I said, turning to knock. I glanced back. “You can shut your door now, we’re finished talking.”

  He did, though I was sure he could hear the entire conversation that ensued.

  Heather answered. A tear-stained toddler waddled up before I got a word out and started bawling. Heather hauled the little girl up, propping her on a cocked hip. “Can I help you?”

  I was in the middle of an anxiety attack, and so was the emotional grenade staring at me with watery eyes. I tried to be normal. “You’re the manager,” I stated like a moron. Shaking off the distress, I tried again. ”Have you lived here long?”

  She began to shift from foot to foot, trying to jiggle the squalling child into silence. “A couple years, why? You lookin’ for an apartment?”

  “No...” I couldn’t think of a polished way to say it, so I didn’t try. “Did someone ever die here? A man, thirtyish and alright looking... that ring any bells?”

  “No,” she said with certainty. “No tenant ever passed on while I was living here.” The child was calming, not calm, but calming.

  Able to think more clearly, I asked, “Are there any tenants who’ve lived here for a while?”

  “No, it’s a high turnover kind of place. Most of the tenants stay here temporarily just before moving to a new house or during a divorce,” she explained. “I’ve been around longest.”

  I thanked Heather and left. The trip had been useless, a dead end. What had I expected? Just because the ghost had floated off in the apartment’s general direction didn’t mean anything. He’d been excited about Singh’s too, and that hadn’t panned out either.

  I knew for certain he was trying to tell me something, but that something remained unclear. Not for long, we had a date with the Ouija board. I’d tell him as soon as he wafted out of hiding. He was just like Ben, or like Ben used to be a week ago, wandering around feeling sorry for himself.

  Stephen broke my reverie. “Hey, Adelaide,” he said, dropping his backpack next to the table before folding his lanky frame onto the picnic bench.