The Tea Series
Sheila Horgan
Copyright © 2010 by Sheila Horgan
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Table of Contents
Hot Tea
Sheila Horgan
ONE
I should know better than to start off any conversation with a question like, “Just how stupid am I?” Of course, that realization hit me right after I’d blurted it out, so I had to correct myself, which left me in the weaker position from the get go, an ongoing problem. I rephrased, “Better question, how stupid is this idea?”
My beautiful sister, bless her wee little heart, is nothing if not honest. She shrugged and said, “Pretty stupid.”
“But I need the money.”
“Everybody needs money, Cara. Sane people don’t decide to solve a murder to collect the hundred thousand reward. I thought you were going to win the lottery.” She gifted me with her first eye roll of the day. “Even I will admit that the lottery thing is a better plan than becoming a murder huntress, and I’ve been making fun of the lottery plan since we were the same height. Before the big growth spurt of the fourth grade. Dear God, Cara, it’s hard to believe, but putting all your eggs in the lottery basket might be the more sensible plan. Do you see how insane that is?”
She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, through her perfect little nose, a not-so-subtle reminder to me of her status as the long-suffering sister. “Cara, I may have to reconsider my belief that you are, at the very least, semi-sane.”
I wish I could do the one eyebrow thing, kind of like a female version of that painfully handsome wrestler who has the perfectly arched brows. I just know he waxes those puppies. Anyway, he can raise one independent of the other and half way up his skull. I can’t do that. I lift both and lower my chin, not the same effect at all, more of a wannabe ‘mother look’ than what I was hoping for, but you have to go with what you’ve got.
What I lack in facial expression, I can always make up for in the tone of my voice. I don’t have much eyebrow control, but the vocal cords rarely fail me, which is good, because more than one person has accused me of talking too much.
In perfect pitch, only slightly valley girl, I responded with, “Semi-sane? Excuse you?”
“Come on, Cara, didn’t someone once say that the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over and expect a different result? I give you credit for being semi-sane only because we’re from the same gene pool so there must be some sanity hiding in that brain of yours. Somewhere. Maybe.” She pulled a face. “What about sticking to your lottery plan? Why not just buy a lottery ticket and call it done?”
“I did buy a lottery ticket. That’s my sure thing. This is my backup.”
“If the lottery ticket’s a sure thing, by definition, you don’t need a backup.”
I jutted my head forward, like a chicken on steroids, not an attractive pose. “I am certain that I’ll win, Teagan. I’m just not sure when I’ll win. On the off chance that it isn’t this week, I have to have an alternative source of income. That doesn’t mean that I’m not going to win the lottery someday, it just means I may not win it today.”
“That makes perfect sense.”
“That’s what I’m sayin’. Also proves I’m sane, because I’m never sure that the lottery ticket I buy this time is the winner, I just know that one of the lottery tickets I buy will win. You have to pay attention to the subtleties in life, Teagan.”
“So, tell me, how do you intend to find a killer without getting yourself killed? As much as I’d love the I-told-you-so moment, getting yourself killed would be very inconvenient. Mom would then have more time to focus on me. We can’t have that.”
My look was somewhere between confused and offended. I’m good at that look. I used to practice it in the mirror. Got me out of getting grounded once. It’s even been known to work on a harried nun, which came in handy, since we went to Catholic school, but it seldom, if ever, works on Teagan. Still, it was worth a shot. I huffed, “Your love and concern for my safety is underwhelming. I intend to find the murderer without putting myself at risk. That simple.”
Eye roll. “Sure it is, that’s why they’re offering a hundred thousand dollars. Because they think it’s so easy.”
I tried not to sound exasperated, but really, I’m pretty sure she was being annoying intentionally. Annoy the crap out of Cara is an old ploy. Piss me off and she wouldn’t have to be involved. Worked when we were kids. I try to pretend I’ve matured.
I said, quite calmly, “I didn’t say it was easy, I said it was simple. If it were easy, they wouldn’t offer the money.” I took a breath to calm myself, and started my latest sales pitch; after all, that is what a conversation is when you are trying to get your little sister to do your bidding. “All we have to do is find the killer.”
“I get that part. What I don’t get is how we find the killer. And can I just say—we?” My sister rolled her beautiful blue eyes again, “What is we? How did I become a part of this?”
“One question at a time is all I can handle. The Internet is the way we find the killer.”
“What?”
“Teagan, why are you making me repeat myself? We find the killer on the Internet.”
“What the hell is the killer doing on the Internet? How do you intend to find him? Log on to find a bad guy dot com and ask him to stand at the corner of Fifth and Bouchard with a red rose between his teeth? For the love of all that’s holy Cara, what are you thinking? Your only plan to support yourself is to catch a murderer or win the lottery? Those are the two best options available to you? Why can’t you just admit that you have no plan? Your plan is not to have a plan.”
“Don’t be like that. It’s a great plan. Listen. I was watching TV last night when it all became very clear. Some talking head said you could find anything on the Internet. It’s true. Think of one thing that you can’t find on the Internet.”
“Other than your sanity?” She took a breath and counted off on her fingers. “Um, let’s see. A comfortable bra, the name of the killer, a reason I shouldn’t tell Mom what you’re up to, a straight, well-adjusted, good-looking male, whose only goal is to fulfill my every fantasy. Should I go on?”
“Could we stick to the subject? Please? And if there’s only one female on this planet that does not have the right to complain about her lack of male companionship, it would be you. Teagan they line up outside your damn door. You’re such a little ingrate.”
She had the good grace not to comment. I went on, “We can track down the murderer. All we need is information. It’s on the World Wide Web, we just have to feed the computer the right stuff, and it will tell us everything we need to know. I know it will.”
I didn’t really like her tone when she continued, “We type in the right stuff, and the computer gives us the name of the murderer. Gee, I wonder why no one else thought of that.”
I smiled, never a good sign in the middle of what my mother describes as a discussion, but what I call a potential fight. “Wow, I’d say you’re being a perfect ass, but that would be a compliment, and you are being really annoying, so the last thing you’re getting from me is a damn compliment.”
Deep breath. Pulled back from the edge, I said, “I’m not saying his name will magically appear on the monitor. What I’m saying is that the information we can find online will definitely tell us how and where to find him. All we need is the right information to feed into that puppy.”
“That’s great. Where do we find the right information?”
I gave her my most angelic smile. “That’s where you come in.”
“Excuse me?”
She hadn’t even rolled her eyes. I had her attention. Before I lost it, I rushed on. “I was thinking about it, and I think the best shot we have at tracking our murderer is your boobs.”
She took half a step back, looked down and said, “Again, excuse me? What happened to the Internet? My boobs are good, but they don’t type!”
“I don’t need them to type. I can type. The closest thing I have to boobs is the fact that I can put my right foot behind my head, so I need to borrow your boobs. Come on Teagan, isn’t that what a good sister’s for?”
“You can put your right foot behind your head? When did this happen?”
“I’ve been stretching out every night. My goal is to get both my feet behind my head, but so far, I can only get the right one back there. Kinda. Sometimes I look very Madonna-like, the singer not the Virgin, and sometimes I just flip over on my back and look like a distressed turtle.”
She looked like she’d just emptied a whole Pixie Stick into her mouth. “Thanks for the visual.” A bit of a shudder and she was back to her normal self. She’s really quick with that whole transition thing. It’s a gift. One I don’t possess.
She said calmly, “And this foot behind your head thing is your version of boobs? How does that work?”
“Ok, close your eyes.”
Dutifully, she closed her eyes and said, “Done.”
“Picture the look on any guy’s face when he sees your boobs.”
She smiled and said, “Done.”
“That is the very same look I get when I just happen to mention that I can put my foot behind my head.”
Her eyes sprang open and she blurted, “The two aren’t even close.”
“I understand that, but it’s as close as I get, besides, some day your boobs are going to be down around your ankles, and my ankles are still gonna be up around my ears. At that moment, I will have the last laugh. All those years of flat chest jokes, and for once I will be the laugh-er and not the laugh-ee.”
“You really think so?”
“Why can’t you let me have this?” I whined at her. “You were wearing lace when I was wearing a t-shirt. You went through the alphabet like a teacher in a bad mood. I think an A, no wait, a B, will you look at that, a C, no, we’d better go with a D. It’s so unfair! You’re still wearing lace, and I’m still wearing a damn t-shirt. Why can’t you let me have this? You have the boobs. You have lace. You even have thong underwear! Why can’t I have this?”
“Wait a minute, what do you mean I have thong underwear?”
I started to pace while I explained, “Thong underwear goes with lacy big-boobed bras. Thong underwear does not go with a t-shirt. Cotton bikini underwear goes with a t-shirt, and if I’m going for really sexy, maybe I’ll get some at Victoria’s Secret, so that the little elastic band says their name, so Mr. Right, should I ever actually find him, will know that at least I know there is sexy underwear out there, even if it’s not for me. Let’s be honest, my womanly figure more closely resembles a ten-year-old boy than Marilyn or Raquel. I’m many things in life, exotic goddess isn’t on the list, Teagan.”
She rolled her huge blue eyes. “You can wear a thong if you want to.”
“No I can’t. It wouldn’t look right, and now that I can put one foot behind my head, and I’m working on the other, it could cause some damage.” The look on my sister’s face was priceless. I love that look. Deer in the headlights meets prom queen. I continued my thought. “Anyway, I’m thinking about going commando.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“No it isn’t.” I argued, “You only wear clothes once before you wash them so what’s the difference?”
“The eeewwww factor!”
“Can we get back to the issue at hand?”
Her turn to be exasperated. “Fine, guys drool when you say you can put your foot behind your head, how does that solve a murder?”
“My foot isn’t going to solve it, your boobs are.”
“Right. Run that past me again?”
I tried to sound really confident in my new plan, “You’re going to put on a nice tight top and go apply for a job at the police station. When they hire you part-time, you’ll have access to the information we need to type in the computer and have the Internet tell us who killed the woman, then we’re going to collect my hundred thousand dollar reward.”
“That’s your plan?”
“That’s it.”
She muttered, “Oh Lord, here we go!”
The look on her face said it all. It was the same look she had on her face when she was ten and I suggested that we climb the fence down at the corner swimming pool. Things didn’t really work out that night, but I’m sure they’ll be better this time.
Besides, I’m a little old to be grounded.
Nothing to worry about here.
Moving on.
TWO
Teagan swept into the room without a word. No hello, how are you? How’s life? Hate it when you pull your hair back. None of her normal comments. Nothing.
My own fault really. When I’d gotten out of the car, I’d decided on ‘a lazy man’s load,’ as my mother calls it. You know what I mean, when you try to carry more than you really should instead of making multiple trips back and forth.
I was carrying my dry cleaning and my groceries, my purse, and my mail, which included a check to cover expenses for collecting the lottery monies I’d just won in some unknown part of the world, again. Which means there’s really no need to check it out online, again, which can be a trauma for me.
It’s a long story, how someone my age is so inept at all things computer. Suffice it to say that I’m a late bloomer. Not only on the computer, but that’s another long story.
I was thinking about all of that, which is why I left my door unlocked for the four point three seconds it took for Teagan to show up and shove her way in.
Without precursor she said, “You were right.”
“Excuse me?”
“You were right.”
“What?”
“I said you were right Cara, what the hell is wrong with you?”
I smiled. “It’s just so rare for you to say anything like that to me, I wanted to hear it again. What was I right about?”
She started putting away groceries as she talked. “That you can find just about anything on the Internet. I went online last night when I got home, and lo and behold, there was information about the reward and a little bit of information about the murder you happen to be so obsessed with. They think the amount offered will probably go up. Whoever the murderer is, he isn’t too smart. You should never murder a person that has friends with deep pockets. Everyone knows that. Either side, murderer or murdered, big pockets puts you on a whole other playing field.”
“So what did you find out?”
She helped herself to an apple, “What do I know, or what do I think?”
“First, what do you know?”
She grabbed a dishtowel off the handle on the oven door and started to polish her apple, “Ok. I know that there is a reward of a hundred grand for information that leads to the arrest and conviction of the person that committed the crime.”
“We knew that.”
“Yes, but when you stop and think about it, that means that the money isn’t going to be available to you for years.” She bit down on a perfect granny smith. The look on her face was somewhere between bliss and ecstasy. My sister likes her food.
I ignored her obvious relish and said, “How do you figure that?”
“They specifically say conviction.” Apple juice was going everywhere. How come she always grabs the best one? She slurped and went on, “That means that the trial has to take place, and the bad guy has to actually be found guilty. That means if some legal technicality gets in the way, even if you find the right guy, you aren’t going to get the money.”
“That isn’t going to happen.”
“Excuse me? How do you know that? I can think of at least one high profile case where everyone thought the guy did it. Seemed pretty cut and dried, excuse a very distasteful pun, and he wasn’t convicted.”
I stood there trying to decide between a banana and an orange. Teagan chose an orange for me. It, of course, would be perfect. I started to peel it saying, “You know my theory on that one.”
She shook her head, “Yes, but you’re the only one on the planet who has that theory.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t make my theory any less valid. Has it dawned on you that I could be right? Maybe that same brilliance is just what is needed to solve this case. Just because I’m the only one with a theory, Teagan Shannon, does not make that theory any less valid. Besides, my theory makes perfect sense.”
“You think the son actually did it.”
“Yep.”
She rolled her eyes, “And that’s why the blood evidence was just a little off.”
“Yep.”
Her rendition was a little sing-songy. She’s used it more than once to make me feel a little foolish. It never works because I’m committed to my theory, so her lack of enthusiasm about it, does me no harm. She couldn’t help herself, she couldn’t let it drop, she had to say it all one more time.
She was just trying for a reaction. “The father had no real concern about going to jail because he was actually innocent and if push came to shove it would come out that his crazy kid did it. The DA couldn’t do much, since he’d already put all his eggs in one basket. Worst case it all comes out in a last second court drama. Great for TV ratings. The kid goes into treatment for a few years, dad might even be a hero by the time the PR people are done spinning it, and everybody gets rich on the book and movie rights. If the father is actually found innocent, the kid never suffers any consequences for his actions, God knows what happens to the kid’s brain at that point; the father gets even more smug, he’s pulled off the perfect crime, then he waits a few years, writes a book, and gets rich anyway. It’s a win-win.”
“Yep.”
“Cara, only you could come up with something that twisted.”
“No, lots of people think of twisted stuff.” I threw a napkin in her direction and continued with my very valid points. “I simply don’t act on twisted stuff. The only difference between a good guy and a bad guy is that the bad guy allows himself to do what the good guy would do if morals weren’t an issue.”
She huffed, “So you have to be crazy to be a bad guy? Not know the difference between right and wrong?”
“Oh, hell no. Unless you’re profoundly damaged, you know the difference between right and wrong. Just because you know the difference doesn’t mean you choose to act on it. It’s like everything else; it’s all on a bell curve. Some people are at either extreme, most of us in the middle.”
“So there’s extreme good and extreme bad, and then the rest of us.”
“Pretty much. I think God threw evil in the mix just to keep us on our toes.”
How does she seemingly scrub her face clean, and not disturb her makeup or lipstick? She got apple juice everywhere, wiped all of it off, without much care, and still, she looks perfect. And, she did all that while talking. I’m really beginning to think I missed out on some essential DNA.
She continued, “So tell me, oh wise ass, I mean wise one, where do you and I fall?”
Teagan doesn’t have all that many buttons to push, but I love pushing them when I can. I said, “Depends on the circumstance.”
She started the bobblehead neck thing with one finger about to skewer me, “Don’t start with that whole situational ethics thing. You and I both know there’s no such thing. Either you have ethics or you do not. Period. It’s just like couples saying we’re pregnant. No, we are not. She is. We are having a baby, but she is pregnant. It’s the blurring of boundaries that has led our society to where we are. It’s like the whole equality thing. ‘Equal’ does not mean ‘same.’ You can have equal treatment without having things treated the same. We had that argument at work again the other day. Makes me so mad. People have lost the plot! They are so focused on the idea, they’ve lost sight of the vision.
I interrupted her rant. “Why are you making this so complicated?” I whined. I’m not usually such a whiner. It isn’t attractive on any level, and I acknowledge that, but lately I’ve been whiny anyway. I tried to suck it up and continued, “For people like you and me, really wrong is always wrong and really right is always right and the squishy stuff in the middle is negotiable.”
“What do you mean?”
“Murder is always wrong. Handing a bottle of water to that homeless guy that hangs out talking to the stop sign on Burtle is always right. The squishy stuff, like telling Mom and Dad that Jessie Rubacava was gay, so that they wouldn’t question you spending every waking moment with him when you were but a lass, is negotiable.”
That brought on one of her famous smiles, “Oh shit, I forgot about Jessie. Wonder how he is.”
“My guess is if he was good before, he’s great now. Mom was right; the whole sex thing gets better as you get older. I didn’t believe her at the time. Figured who the hell would want to have sex with someone really old, like thirty, but being within arm’s reach of thirty, I can tell you, it does get better. She was right about shaving my legs too. Thought that would be fun forever. What a schmuck I was.”
Teagan’s brain seemed to be off reliving some ancient, but very intriguing memory. “For the love of Mike, if Jessie is actually better now than he was then, I should look him up.”
“Is that a confession? Are you finally admitting that Jessie was more than a friend? Maybe a friend with benefits?”
“No, that is not a confession. You are not my priest. I haven’t been to confession since eighth grade. Why would I start now? And with you?”
I asked, “Does Mom know you haven’t been since eighth grade?”
Teagan smiled. “I’m here aren’t I? Not dead or living in a nunnery.”
“Right, she doesn’t know. Back to the subject at hand. What did you find out surfing around on the net?”
She was all business again. “Oh, right. The reward will probably get bigger. The cops haven’t given up, but they have trimmed the number of people actually looking for the murderer. It remains an open case. They didn’t give any real specifics about that part, at least not in the stuff I was reading. They have had private detectives and psychics contacting them, but no one has anything new. That begs the question, if cops and private detectives can’t find this guy, what makes you think you can?”
“Preconceived notions.”
“Huh?” Her perfectly arched brows almost met in the middle.
I’m kind of proud I thought of an analogy right away. “Think about hinges.”
She seemed genuinely confused. “Again, huh?”
“For God knows how long, hinges were on one side of the door. They held the door in place. Been doing it forever. No one really thought about it any other way. One day a guy is looking at the door and decides if a hinge holds the door in place on one side, then it should hold the door in place on the other side, and voila, a new lock is born. People had been looking at those hinges forever, but no one saw the obvious.”
I continued, “Teagan, the professionals have preconceived notions. They know enough that they might be blind to what they actually see. I know nothing. Everything I see is brand new, so it will talk to me in ways it won’t talk to them.”
She said, in that snobby little voice she reserves for comments meant to piss me off, “Or it won’t talk to you at all.”
“Possible, but not likely. I love this stuff. Remember, I planned your murder when I was twelve. Still know how I could do it. Still haven’t found a single flaw in my plan. It’s the perfect crime.”
“Really? Then why am I still here?”
“That whole morals thing. Besides, Mom’s intuition kicked in and she told me if I actually killed you, she was going to break both my legs off and beat me over the head with the bloody stumps. I don’t think she was kidding.”
“Well, that explains it then. Good to know we’re past that.” There was a moment when she looked deep into my eyes, trying to divine all my future plans. “We are past that, right?”
“So far.” I paused just long enough to make her uncomfortable. “Can we get back to making me some money please?”
She was back into business mode immediately. “Ok, I didn’t find a lot of information about the murder, thought I would leave that little project to you, seeing as you’re the one that’s basically obsessed. I decided since I was already online I’d look around and see what else there was to see. I went to the sheriff’s website. There isn’t a single job, part-time or otherwise, that I’m qualified for.”
“Not even meter maid?”
“If they exist anymore, they aren’t listed. I don’t even qualify for janitorial staff.”
“Well crap!”
“That’s what I thought. But then it dawned on me. We have options. We could either find a different reward out there, one that we actually have a shot at being awarded, or, we could cozy up to someone who has a shot at this one.”
“So you’re going to cozy up to a cop just so he will share his hundred thousand dollars with me?” I had to laugh. “You know they have a name for that. Starts with a ‘P.’ Oldest profession and all that.”
Teagan was pissed. “Well, that was insulting, thank-you-very-much. I’m not the one trying to BS her way to fame and fortune. I have a job. You’re the one who started this, but if you’re gonna be like that, Cara, I’m going to take my information, and myself, and go home. Then I’m going to enjoy the rest of my well deserved vacation, and forget you ever brought this up.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean that to be as harsh as it came out. I was kidding.” I did my best to look pitiful, not a huge stretch at the moment.
She rolled her eyes, shook her head, and finished off with her patented, “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Her catch phrase from our youth, meaning she didn’t agree, was certain she could prove she was right, but couldn’t be bothered.
It broke the tension. We both laughed. Always a good thing.
Teagan continued, “What I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, is that we have two options you may have overlooked. The first is to find another moneymaking opportunity on the Internet. There seems to be a plethora of people willing to pay huge amounts of money for just the type of thing you’re talking about. Or, we could cozy up to, as in get to know on a purely platonic basis, the officers who already work for the department and already have information. We do have at least one person who could help, your very own brother. Granted, he doesn’t work in that division, but maybe he could point us in the direction of someone with knowledge. Then perhaps we could persuade them to share the information with two lovely sisters. Cops have a thing about being helpful, they’re all about being of service.”
“You’re brilliant, you know.”
“I know.” She smiled. “Some say that the size of the brain and the size of the boobs are directly correlated. I agree, but I think that the stereotype is backwards. It isn’t really a case of — the bigger the boobs the dumber the blonde — actually, quite the opposite. The amount of breast tissue is an indicator of the system’s ability to generate cells, meaning I have far more gray matter bouncing around in my noggin than you.”
“Yes, Teagan, I openly admit it’s true, you’ve always had far more bounce than I. It would seem that you have this all figured out. Tell me the rest.”
She started to regale me with the information she’d acquired on her sojourn through cyberspace. “Ok, there are rewards out there for everything you can imagine. The National Speleological Society, the NSS to those in the know, offers a reward to anyone providing information leading to the legal conviction of vandalism directly related to caves. Like breaking off speleothems or speleogens.”
“Jeez, what’s a speleothem?”
“I haven’t a clue. That would be part of the learning process. Cara, if you pick this little project you’re on your own. I’m not a cave dweller. There are creepy crawlies down there. Bat guano in my hair is not an option.”
“I concur.”
She continued to count off the possibilities on her fingers. “We can earn a quarter of a million dollars if we can figure out who is hacking into a major computer program.”
“How long do you think it would take us to learn the skills to do that one?”
“A while. It took me for flippin’ ever to teach you how to do email and IM.”
Sometimes I wanted to thwack her! Instead, I said, “Shut-up, your gray cells are showing. You’re going to ruin your image. You use the whole dumb blonde with big boobs thing to your advantage and we both know it. Next.”
“Church fires?”
I shook my head no.
She continued, “I found a place that’s willing to pay ten thousand dollars for a conviction in a false accusation in a divorce. I’m thinking that one is probably some spouse that spewed venom on the person they once thought could do no wrong, but are now convinced is evil incarnate. Domestic disputes might just be more dangerous than murders.
I shook my head. “Pass.”
“Another quarter million for voter fraud.”
“No politics. That could be more dangerous than domestic disputes.”
Her eyes softened. Always a bad sign. It means that she has bad news to break to me. True to form, she said, “Well, what I also found out is that it really does take forever to get your reward. Remember the sniper up north? Took two years. The guy that spotted him and blocked his escape got only thirty percent of the reward. There were over sixty-seven thousand people who wanted a piece of that money. Chasing reward money probably isn’t an efficient way to make a living, Cara. More like cashing in on being in the right place at the right time.”
“Shit.”
“So what’s your plan B?”
“Teagan, I don’t have one.”
“That’s not good.”
THREE
I walked in the little sandwich shop to meet my sister. It’s a mom and pop type place that Teagan loves. They always get your order right the first try. Their servings are generous. They have little white tables made of wrought iron, complete with lots of curlicues. They have blue and white checked tablecloths and half curtains at the windows. It’s cute but not in that staged way that so many franchises have. This is cute because it is right from the owner’s personality.
My sister looked like she was born there. She was sitting at one of the tables looking girly enough to enjoy last century and empowered enough to rule this one.
I sat across from her. “Ok, Teagan, so yesterday, after you were so mean to me, I had a stroke of genius.”
She rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t mean to you.”
“Yes you were. You made fun of my plan.”
“You don’t have a plan. How could I make fun of something that doesn’t exist?”
I snapped, “See, you’re doing it again.”
“I’m beginning to worry about you.”
“If you’re just beginning to worry, you’re way behind the rest of the world. Do you want to hear this or not?”
She grinned. “Sure. You stroked a genius.”
“Only in my dreams. Don’t be a smartass. I had a stroke of genius. I sat down at the computer last night and I typed the word ‘murder’ into the search engine.”
Eye roll. “Yeah, that was brilliant.”
“Do you want to hear this?”
“Yeah, go.”
I said, “Turns out that when you type in the word murder, you get somewhere around eighty-eight million hits. Isn’t that sad?”
“Yeah, real sad. Where does the genius part come in?”
“Well, obviously, I don’t have time to read about eighty-eight million murders, plus there’s the whole eewww factor, so I added ‘Florida’.”
Eye roll. “I give, how many hits came up for Florida?”
“Something like two point two million.”
“That seems high. If there are eighty-eight million murders and there are fifty states, how come Florida has two point two million murders? Wonder what the population in each state is like. You really shouldn’t have as many murders in, say, Montana, since there aren’t as many people there, but you would think that a place like New York where there are easily a gazillion more people than Montana would have a much higher number of murders.”
I shook my head and said, “Slow down there my little bean counter. Remember, it really isn’t the number of actual murders; it is articles about murders and news coverage about murders and pretty much any time the computer sees the word ‘murder,’ anywhere in the whole universe I think.” I wiggled my eyebrows and looked right at her. “And you were making fun of my computer skills. Listen to me, I almost sound like I know what I’m talking about. I’m getting good at this computer thing, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Ok, so you do a search for Florida murders and you get back two point two million hits. Then what?”
I continued to explain, getting more excited with each layer of the telling. I’m Irish, that’s what we do. “Well, that’s still way too many for me to deal with, so I typed in unsolved Florida murders. Now we’re getting somewhere, down to just over a quarter of a million.”
Her eyebrows met in the middle, “Please tell me you’re not going to try to read a quarter of a million articles in hopes that you will get enough information to solve a murder, any murder, that might not even be in that group, to earn a hundred grand, or some other reward, before they turn your lights off. What am I missing here?”
“Ya didn’t let me finish. You might just be the most impatient person I’ve ever met.”
“No Cara, you’re the most patient person on the planet, which just makes us normal people look rushed.”
I puffed, “Fine, you want to hear this or what?”
“Go.”
I took a deep breath and pulled myself back to the subject at hand, “So I’m looking at the first article. It’s about a child. Oh, my God, I cried. I can’t be reading about murdered kids or I’m going to lose my mind. Especially murdered children whose case hasn’t been solved yet. Can you imagine what that would do to your soul? Think about how it would feel to work on a case like that, or worse, know a child that had been murdered. I thank God I can’t even imagine how hard that would be.”
I forced myself not to cry for all the lost children and their families and said, “So I’m reading like every third line, hoping to skip the really heartbreaking stuff, and I get to the bottom of the story, and it has related stories. I click to a related story, and at the bottom, there are stories related to that one.”
Triumphant, I said, “One of the related stories is about the cops profiling crimes on MySpace hoping someone will come forward with information that could help. Another related story is about how cops are using other computer stuff. They’re using computers. Just like us.”
She rolled her huge blue eyes, yet again, it really seems to annoy me these days, but she couldn’t stop if her life depended on it, so why make a big deal out of it? Besides which, although few people seem to understand the concept these days, I was raised to believe that my right to not be annoyed does not supersede her right to be annoying.
She said, “Great, so the cops already have this figured out. You have no idea what you’re doing. They are trained professionals. If computers can be used to figure this out, then they have it covered. I really think it’s time for you to look for a real job.”
“Fine, ya know what, Teagan? You’re a jerk. I don’t need your help. I can do this myself. All I really needed was your boobs, and I don’t really need them if I’m going to be doing this all on the computer. Besides, if I need boobs, I’ll just buy myself a pair.”
“How are you going to pay for surgery if you can’t afford your light bill?”
“I’m not going to have surgery. I’m talking about stuffing my bra, you dink. If I bought permanent ones, they would get in the way when I reach down to grab my foot when I’m trying to put my foot behind my head. You gotta think about these things.”
She spoke to me as if I were a dimwitted child. “Not if you lay down to put your foot behind your head, then your boobs would be under your arms, and they wouldn’t be in the way.”
“That isn’t the way it works with fabricated boobage. They stand proud no matter what the circumstance.”
“I would just like to point out, that if you bought yourself a pair of boobs, you would no longer need to figure out how to get your foot behind your head, so it would be a moot point, but I stand corrected.”
I was able to keep my tone level, miracles do happen. “As well you should.”
“I’m going to go grab a sandwich, what do you want?”
“Nothing. I’ve lost my appetite. I’m going to go work on the computer for a while.” Out I flounced. Usually, it’s Teagan who flounces, she has a gift for it really, but even in capris and flip flops, I pulled it off, and didn’t trip or knock myself out with the door, which, I might add, is heavy and moves really fast, and has been known to be a challenge for me.
Very impressive. My life is improving. It’s a sign.
FOUR
The one thing I hate most about Florida is the humidity. It’s always humid. They say you get used to it. They lie. Your hair always frizzes, or in my case, lays flat on your head. Your skin doesn’t have a dewy glow like they claim; it’s a greasy mess ten minutes after you get your makeup perfect, having used all the latest greatest tricks from a mattifier, whatever the hell that really is, to a primer to a mineral powder, nothing can keep your skin from looking shiny. Could be the reason I don’t bother with much.
Everything is limp. Well, not every thing, but I can’t remember the last time I had a non-limp thing at hand, or should that be in hand? Why did I go there? Whenever I get stressed I am reminded of the fact that I have been a very good girl for a very long time.
I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t living a chaste life.
God knows I would rather be living a chased life. Preferably being chased by some tall, dark and handsome male with a very high level of skill when it comes to all things sexual and a very, very understanding spirit when it comes to extended family and t-shirts instead of lacy bras, but, what can ya do?
Mr. Right is out there somewhere, getting the tar beat out of his wee little heart by Ms. what-the-hell-was-I-thinking, she-is-such-a-bitch, right this very minute so that he can learn to appreciate a woman such as myself. That would be me, Ms. Dear-Lord-where-has-she-been-all-my-life, she-is-perfect-for-me.
One of the things I love about Florida is most days of the year I can drive with my top down. The top of my car, not my t-shirt, not that anyone would notice, but if anyone did, and they were to point and laugh, it would ruin my whole day, so I’ve never tried it.
But really, if you stop and think about it, the door comes up high enough that the only people who would really be able to see in the car to notice I wasn’t just wearing a tube top would be truckers. Aren’t truckers often long haul drivers? Long haul drivers have been away from home for a really long time, so they’re probably a little desperate, so really, they might not mind the view.
Or they might think that I’m a drag queen without benefit of my faux bosom, and run me off the damn road.
See, this is how my brain works. I know it’s scary, but I think that if I can harness it, just a bit, that my splendiferous little brain will be the reason for my success. While all those other people are running around being all logical and making sense, I have the advantage of what I like to think of as choreographed random thought. Sounds good, doesn’t it?
What it means to me is that I am able to follow a train of thought, but I’m not stuck on the tracks. I don’t completely lose the plot, but I’m able to see things just a bit to the left of center. I notice things other people don’t usually notice, or at least would never admit in polite company that they notice.
I would love to tell you it is a well-developed skill that I’ve worked hard on for decades, but the ugly little truth is — it’s the way I was born. I’ve tried all my life to unlearn it. Since I can’t, I choose to look at it as a gift, not a burden. I’m bound and determined to have it work for me, not against me.
Oprah did it and she’s experienced a bit of a success. She took those things that others saw as a disability and molded them into her greatest strengths.
It’s a theory.
I could be wrong.
But it’s working for me so I see no reason to adjust.
I drove all the way home finding further justification for my way of looking at the world. By the time I parked, I’d almost convinced myself that I’m not only sane, I’m pretty blessed.
FIVE
Teagan appeared at my door a short time later and shoved a ham sandwich at me as she pushed her way into the apartment. I stepped back and said, “Thanks.”
“I figured if we did a bit of computer research together, we could figure out if we should move forward, or maybe I could talk you into getting a real job.”
I had to say it, “Mom?”
“Yeah. She called while I was in line. She said if you don’t have a job in a week she’s going to worry. She said if you don’t have a job in two weeks she’s going to talk to Dad.”
“Oh, God.”
“Yep. A heavy heart.”
Frustrated, I said, “So, now I’m not only going to be responsible for my own demise, but worse, for causing Daddy to have a heavy heart? Mom hasn’t pulled out those big guns since high school.”
“Seriously, how are you going to survive without a job? What happened? How did you get fired?”
I took a deep breath. As we headed for the kitchen, I explained, “Last question first. I didn’t get fired. I quit. I couldn’t do that job, not for one more minute. And before I tell you how I’m going to survive, you have to swear on everything you hold dear, that you aren’t going to tell Mom. Or hint. Or draw a picture. Or in any other way disclose to your mother what is going on. She will kill me.”
“Is there a stripper pole involved?”
I pulled a face, “Me on a dancer’s pole? That was hurtful.”
“Ok. I, Teagan Shannon O’Flynn, do solemnly swear, upon all that is holy, that I will not share any of the information you are about to give me, with any other human being, upon threat of death. Yours not mine.”
Even though I knew we were alone, I leaned in and lowered my voice. “Remember when my roommate moved in? Mom hated her. Didn’t trust her. Said I needed to be damn sure I got her half of the rent every month before the first. Said she would screw me over for sure.”
“How could I forget that? We all heard about it for weeks. Then it all started up again when she decided to move out before the lease was up, just as Mom predicted she would, leaving our poor little Cara in such a terrible situation. What about it?”
“I kind of didn’t take Mom’s advice.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that Suzi was having some minor financial problems. She couldn’t pay rent. She swore to me that she had money coming. That her grandpa had died and that it was going to take a little while for the whole probate thing to work itself out, but that she would pay me back, so for the first six months of the lease, I paid all the rent and a few of the expenses. For the last six months of the lease she was gonna return the favor.”
“But she already moved out.”
“Yep, but she paid me back before she left, which means I have the money for six months of rent plus a bit more.”
“But what about food and utilities?”
“I have a new roommate moving in, the money that he gives me for rent, will pay for the food and utilities. Teagan, this might be the only time in my whole life that I’ll have the luxury of having a bit of a buffer. I can try a couple of things. Maybe start my own business. This is all such a huge blessing. Not taking advantage of it would be sinful.”
“Dear God in heaven above, please tell me you said she, not he. You don’t really have a male moving in with you do you? I know, we’re grown women, and the whole chaperone thing ended a long time ago, but Mom didn’t get the memo. Are you dumb enough to move a guy in here?”
“Kind of.”
“He is kind of male or he’s kind of moving in.”
“Oh, he’s all male, but he’s only kind of moving in.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that he travels for a living. He’s on the road more than he’s home. That’s why he can’t be bothered with a house or an apartment of his own. He wouldn’t be in it enough to justify the expense or to keep his stuff safe. You know, being gone all the time is just asking for some kid to burglarize your place.”
“So, spill.”
I lifted my right hand, as if to take an oath, fully expecting her to copy my move, “You swear you can keep your mouth shut?”
She huffed, “Yes. I didn’t tell Mom about that trip you took with that guy. What the heck was his name?”
“His name doesn’t matter, and you would think at our age, we wouldn’t be sneaking around behind Mom’s back.”
“True. Knowing Mom, she already knows anyway.”
We both let out a very uncomfortable laugh.
I decided to chance it, and filled her in. “Ok, his name is A.J. and he’s Suzi’s brother.”
“Suzi, as in your recently departed roommate?”
“Recently departed makes it sound like she died, not like she did the unthinkable, ran off and got married. You would think that would prove to Mom that she was wrong about her.”
“It’s going to take some time to change Mom’s mind about her. You know damn well that for the better part of a year Suzi was referred to only as you-mean-that-girl-that-has-the-morals-of-an-alley-cat. Then you decide to get an apartment with her, and when Mom goes slightly insane, you came to Suzi’s defense by throwing me in front of the cart. You stuck up for your roommate by telling Mom that Suzi has higher standards than I do. That helped a great deal.”
I shrugged. “It’s true.”
“Lots of things are true, but that doesn’t mean we have to share those truths with our parents. Think about it, Dingleberry. You just made me promise not to tell Mom about your financial arrangements with Suzi and this A.J. person who will be sharing your home and hearth. God knows what else you’ll be sharing.”
“Nothing else. I have no interest in him. He isn’t my type.”
She rolled her eyes, “What does that mean?”
“It means he is so good looking he could pass for gay. He has blond hair and these really intense green eyes. He is about two inches taller than me, which makes him way taller than you. He has this near god-like body, looks good in a suit, and looks great in board shorts. He is nice, polite, neat, and good to his mom. He has a steady job, makes a very good living, loves kids, and he remembered Suzi’s birthday. He sent her flowers and surprised her when he showed up the following weekend. The man took his sister out for a night on the town. They did dinner and a play and then went out and had ice cream from the same place they went as kids.”
“He’s gay.”
“Nope.”
“He’s just still in the closet. Cara, I’m telling you he’s gay!”
“Nope. He’s just a really good guy, and you know how that goes. Girls are looking for that whole bad guy thing, so when they run across a really good guy, they don’t know what to do with him. Even after that stage runs its course they save the nice guy to be their best friend. They tell anyone who will listen that he is everything they want in a guy, but they don’t think of him that way. Then they go about trying to change every guy they meet into the guy that they already have as a best friend.”
I stopped my little sermon for a moment of reflection. Do I do that? Why don’t I have a guy? I decided that self-reflection would be better done another day, and continued, “Maybe that’s just me. Anyway, that’s what A.J. is, he’s a perfect guy.”
“And you aren’t interested in him, why?”
“He’s not nearly screwed up enough for me. I only go for the guys who not only have an issue or two, but they have a long-term subscription. Know what I mean? I wouldn’t know what to do with a great looking functional guy.
“I know what I’d do with him.” She smiled and let her eyebrows dance.
“You can’t do anything with him. You can’t even meet him. He’ll take one look at you, and that’ll be it. You’re Barbie. He’s Ken. This can never happen.”
“If we would be so perfect together, and I am your sister, and you supposedly love me, and you aren’t keeping this guy for yourself, just why can’t I have him?”
“Because if you go out with him once, you’re gonna want to go out with him again. You’ll probably fall madly in love with him and at some point, before the second or third kid, Mom is gonna find out that he was my roommate, and I simply can’t let that happen.”
“So you’re willing to bypass my eternal happiness, and the birth of your beloved nieces and nephews, just so Mom won’t give you a hard time.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
Eye roll. “You only said that ‘cause you figured I’d get all pissed off and jet on out of here, and he’s in town and will be home in a little while and you don’t want me here when he gets here.”
“Teagan, this is why you’re gonna get your dumb blond membership card revoked. You’re too smart for your own good.”
“Do I have time to run to my apartment and change?”
“Sure.”
“Liar.”
I threw my hands up. “See, too smart for your own good.”
“That’s ok, I’ll just raid your closet.”
I jumped up ready to defend what was mine. “The hell you will. Anything you put on will be ruined to me forever. You’ll make bumps that I can’t fill.”
“Then I guess I’ll not only have Ken, but I’ll have a new outfit.”
I sighed, knowing I’d already lost the battle. “You really are a bitch.”
She smiled. “Learned from the best!”
With that she winked, swiveled around, did a butt shimmy and headed for my closet.
SIX
Sometimes you just can’t ignore the compare and contrast parts of life. I fully recognize and acknowledge that it is unhealthy and just plain stupid to compare yourself to anyone, most especially your own sister, but what can ya do? Sometimes you just have to go there.
I’m tall, skinny and have no curves. I have an athlete’s appearance without any athletic talent or interest. My hair is usually pulled back, my face is usually close to bare, and my clothes are politely described as utilitarian.
To look at me on the street, you would never know that I have a fetish. No, not that kind of fetish. A fetish for beautiful nightgowns. Think 1940s movies. Think Skinner satin. Fitted gowns that shimmy when you walk. Feel better than chocolate against your skin. Come with dressing gowns that fall to the floor in a pool of light.
Ok, maybe that was a little too 1940s movie, but you know what I mean.
Gowns like that are hard to find these days, especially if you’re tall. You can order them custom made from Europe, and when the exchange rate was in our favor, they were only insanely expensive, now, the cost is prohibitive.
When I win the lottery, cost will no longer be a consideration. My closet will consist of several good pairs of jeans. My new favorites are from Victoria’s Secret. Who knew that the underwear institution of the universe would actually make great jeans in a thirty-six-inch inseam no less? Granted, if I want to wear any kind of heel, I need a better selection of longer inseams, but really, they are reasonably priced and they fit exactly like you would expect them to. They look great on everybody.
Truth be told, Victoria’s Secret jeans are slightly more than a minor miracle. Could explain the whole angel wings thing.
Anyway, post lottery winning, my closet will be filled with several pairs of great jeans, several basic, but very well cut white blouses, some workout clothes, and beautiful nightgowns. Peignoirs. Negligees. Night dresses. Dressing gowns. Bed jackets. Lace and satin and silk and lovely sachets, not in a stereotypical flowery smell, but something crisp and citrusy, which may not be as traditionally romantic, but is sexy as hell, at least for me.
As it is, every evening when my day is done, I take a bath or shower with wonderfully scented soaps and gels. I shave and buff and primp. I put on a spectacular nightgown and lounge before retiring for the evening, scootching into bed between crisp sheets wearing only a smile and perfume. It’s more than a ritual for me. It is a state of being.
One of the biggest advantages of my new roommate is that he will be gone most of the time, so I can continue my tradition. Suzi was always gone in the evening, now A.J. will just be gone. It couldn’t have worked out better.
Back to the compare and contrast thing.