Adelaide Confused (28 page)

“
I can guess why you’re
here,” she said, leading me to the living room. “Fannie told me all
about it,” she confided, fluffing the throw pillows. She ushered me
to sit. “Would you like some sweet tea, a lemonade?”

“
Lemonade would be great,”
I said. I hated lemonade, but talking over drinks was the perfect
setting for the conversation I had planned, comfortable, casual. So
I waited while she threw some refreshments together.

I’d never actually visited
Tammy without Francesca, but we were well enough acquainted that it
wasn’t totally weird.

“
Fannie told me about Reed
too,” Tammy called from the kitchen. Francesca abhorred the
nickname Fannie as it undermined the sexy effect she’d been going
for by changing her name in the first place. Originally her mother
had agreed to call her Francesca. But Fannie sounded a lot like
Katie, simple, sweet. And so it stuck.

As Tammy bustled in with a
tray, I asked, “What do you think of Reed?” She settled into the
recliner while I inspected the proffered tray. It included not only
a pitcher of lemonade, but a small plate of Fig Newtons.

“
I warned her she’d get her
heart broken carrying on the way she does.” It was a criticism, but
I felt the concern beneath it.

“
He certainly did a number
on her. I’ve never seen her lose her head for a man before.”
Francesca would not only despise the fact that I’d dropped by to
visit her mother, but this conversation, if repeated, would drive
her over the edge.

“She’s convinced that you stole him away. You
should have heard her going on about it, ranting in tears.” Her
demeanor hadn’t changed, but I felt the small suspicion. Tammy
liked me, wanted to keep liking me, but her daughter would always
come first.

“
I have no interest in Reed
Wallace,” I said honestly. “And I’ve made that clear to Francesca
on multiple occasions.”

She believed me.

Tammy sipped her drink,
leaning back in her chair. “She must have lost her head then, like
you said. When she came over crying I thought something seriously
bad had happened. Nearly gave me a heart attack! And then she
started babbling about how he talked about you, looked at you, as
if you’d put a spell on him.” A quiet moment passed before Tammy
murmured, “Nonsense.” She quickly looked at me, feeling
embarrassed. “I don’t mean to say it’s nonsense that he could be
attracted to you, you are a pretty girl, in your own way. I just
meant that you aren’t like Francesca. You don’t play games with
men. If you wanted him, you would have told her.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “I only wish I knew
how to convince Francesca.”

Tammy didn’t bother hiding
her sympathy, it was there, swimming in her eyes as she leaned
forward to pat my hand. “She thinks she’s in love, and that’s
enough to make any woman crazy. Be patient, she’ll come
‘round.”

I nodded, feeling strange.

Another quiet moment
passed. I couldn’t stand it so I segued to the point. “How’s your
job?” I asked.

“
It’s good,” she assured
me. I didn’t really care, could hardly even remember what she did.
I was just waiting for the polite rebuttal. And sure enough she
asked, “And you? How’s your job doing?”

“
It’s entertaining. There
always seems to be a strange new character checking in.”

“I bet,” she agreed.

“
In fact, we just had a
group of women visiting the island, and I overheard the most
interesting conversation.”

“Oh?”

I suppressed a
smile.
Oh
indeed, she was hooked, hoping for a sordid story, preferring
it be about someone she knew. My story was going to fall flat of
her expectations. I almost felt bad.

Shrugging it off, I said,
“They were talking about a man that used to live on the island. I
only caught the last half of the story, so I’m not sure how long
ago this was, but I got the impression it was some years
before.

“
Apparently he mysteriously
disappeared one day, leaving behind a woman. I don’t recall if it
was his mother or a girlfriend, but they said she cried a lot,
mourned him.” I watched her for some sign of recognition, but there
was none. I persisted, “Did you ever hear of a man from St. Simons
disappearing?”

“
A man that went missing,
disappeared off the island? No, I’ve never heard of that. And I
would have, too, if it’d ever happened, would have seen it in the
news.” She smiled, but it held no real pleasure. “Plenty of men run
off. They go for greener pastures and leave a tide of tears behind.
How sure are you that he went missing? Maybe he just abandoned
ship.”

“
No,” I replied firmly. “He
didn’t run off.” And though my voice sounded certain, I couldn’t
help but wonder if it was the truth.

I’d assumed that Smith was
a victim. That he went out one day and never returned, having met
his tragic and sinister end. But what if Tammy was right? What if
he ran off, left some poor woman behind, and then had an accident.
Or maybe he never went anywhere, he simply drowned while swimming
in the ocean and his body was rotting away somewhere in its depths.
This simpler explanation made sense. Likely he was just an unlucky
fool with a wrong place, wrong time, kind of deal.

I tested out this theory
while examining his emotions in retrospect. They gave me no
insight. He was often sad, dejected. But those feelings might have
stemmed from guilt and regret, not the injustice of his situation.
I’d painted Smith at best a hero in my mind, at worst a victim.
Chances were he was victim to a blameless accident, and perhaps not
as pristine as I liked to think. His lack of help supported this
theory.

Having led me to the dry
cleaner, that may or may not have led me to Wildwood Apartments,
which most certainly didn’t pan out, he’d proven useless. And when
I’d asked him about the weeping woman, did he communicate? No, he
exploded ectoplasm all over my kitchen. And in case you were
wondering, ectoplasm was what ghosts were made of according to the
internet.

But I owed Smith. It was
that simple, and I hated it, hated owing anyone, even a dead man.
He’d helped me out, saved me from Beagban on more than one
occasion, and I was bungling up his reward. Something he probably
didn’t deserve in the first place. How Percival had ever managed to
help anyone complete their unfinished business, I would never know.
And I was expected to do better being an empath and all.

The rest of my visit with
Tammy didn’t go well. I was hardly social at the best of times, but
with this newest disappointment I was completely out of
sorts.

My mind was churning,
frustrated, and chaotic, not the temperament necessary for
socializing. And after we’d said goodbye and I was left standing
alone on her doorstep, I couldn’t remember half of what we’d been
talking about. I knew I ate all the Fig Newtons, and I had a vague
recollection of being questioned about Reed—Tammy looking for the
inside scoop no doubt. And no doubt she found my one word
rejoinders completely inadequate.

I sighed in defeat,
discouraged by yet another lead that went nowhere. Maybe it was the
frustration, the lack of control in my life that made me do it. I
could hardly offer an excuse for my next actions, just a weak
explanation. I was sure the ring played its part, lulling me into a
false sense of security so that when I saw the black truck,
recognized the telltale blue tarp that covered the back, I didn’t
hesitate to run across the street and hide inside.

Beagban’s truck was parked
between the hair salon and a corner store I knew to be Handyman’s
Hardware. I could easily guess his likely location. Lucky for me
the store’s front window faced the crossroad, his truck tucked just
out of sight.

I was imagining all the
ways that this could go wrong, thinking that I should probably turn
around and run away. But it made me feel safe to be the hunter and
not the hunted, so I was stubborn and stayed.

With shaky, nervous fingers
I tugged at the tarp trying to push it aside. But it wouldn’t
budge, held in place by twine cords. I spared a nervous glance to
the corner, making sure I hadn’t yet been discovered, before
setting to work on the nearest knot.

I considered peeking into
Handyman’s, stealthily of course, just to make sure Beagban was
distracted. But any plans I might have been considering were
instantly forgotten as the tarp slipped free.

I was consumed by grotesque
fascination. I’ll admit, for a second there I thought I might find
a slew of dead bodies heaped in the back. I was relieved, and maybe
a little disappointed, to find only innocent items.

Pushing aside a duffle bag
of clothes to make space, I spared one last look over my shoulder,
checking for Beagban, before I hopped over the lip of his truck and
slithered down inside.

I was instantly assailed by
fear, and a panic attack ensued. I could do nothing, not even pull
the tarp back in place to cover myself. My body shook with spasms
while I did my best to lie still, imagining that any movement on my
part would attract his attention. I pictured Beagban walking
forward, finding me. I held my breath and strained my ears, waiting
to hear the telltale footsteps of my impending doom. A few moments
passed, and then a few moments more, and still nothing
happened.

A person could only hold
their breath for so long. Eventually I gave up and relaxed, even
managed to pull the tarp closed, hiding myself beneath. The light
shining through bathed everything in blue; it felt like being
underwater. I was no longer preoccupied with fear, and it was only
then that I noticed the uncomfortable position I was in.

My legs were scrunched up
at an awkward angle and something was digging into my lower back. I
rolled over slowly, extending my legs as I went. My feet came to
rest against a smooth surface. It was a plastic container,
transparent, so the ramen noodles and canned food inside were
easily visible. Shifting around I was further surprised, finding a
sleeping bag, blankets, and a supply of water. Beagban, the obvious
villain, was going green, living like a hermit out of the back of
his truck. Or maybe he was just a minimalist at heart. Who the hell
knew?
I did know
that this lifestyle meant he could squat on St. Simons for as
long as he liked, a most distasteful notion.

I settled myself down,
sinking into the plastic grooves that lined the truck’s bed. My
fingers brushed against something soft and when I saw what it was
my terror returned.

The leather bundle sat
harmlessly enough, but I knew what hid inside. I shuffled away, my
heart pumping. Had I triggered Beagban’s gift? Was touching his
weapons enough to alert him? Did he know I was hiding
here?

I stayed as far from the
leather wrapping as I could get, chanting in my mind that I had
come in peace, that I wouldn’t lift a finger against him. But was
it enough?

I waited to find out,
tempted to run, but refusing to go. It wasn’t bravery. I was afraid
that the moment I stood to leave Beagban would round the corner and
see me violating his... house, and turn berserker. So I stayed
where I was, terrified, petrified, every second seeming like hours,
waiting, anticipating, and dreading the moment when he would
come.

In reality, outside my
paranoid perceptions, five minutes had passed, then five minutes
more, and again my anxiety waned, my mind drifting to less dire
thoughts. And though I don’t like to admit it, I might have fallen
asleep.

The driver’s door slamming
shut woke me, rattling the car with its force. There was no
disorientation. I woke with a sour feeling in my gut, filled to the
brim with trepidation. It had happened, was happening. Beagban was
driving somewhere and I was stowed away, hoping for... what? What
did I think was going to happen?

I suppose I was hoping to find something that
would incriminate him. Dead bodies in the back would have been
convenient, well not for the people he’d been killing, but at least
then I would have some proof he was a murderer.

Proof. I needed
proof.

I was swamped with fear
throughout the entire ride. My mind circled around the things I
should have thought much sooner. Things like: what happened if he
needed something from the back? I berated myself over my own
stupidity for a while. I was going to die. Beagban was going to
stop at an isolated location, find me, and then chop off my
arms.

The truck slowed, then
rolled to a stop.

The front door opened and
shut.

My muscles tensed, waiting
for the worst. I could hear the gravel crunch under his heavy tread
as he moved away. I could hardly believe it. Well, actually, I
didn’t believe it. I waited for a while, unmoving, thinking it was
a trap.

A few minutes passed, and
as usual, I grew bored. But I was still too afraid to move. It
wasn’t until another car pulled up nearby that I dared to peek out.
I heard them; it was a family and they sounded happy. I army
crawled to where I’d left the tarp untied, lifting my head just
enough to see out. To my astonishment I recognized the
locale.