Cleats in Clay (11 page)

his Prius. He drove over to the Lawn Gnome Landscaping office. They might still be out at lunch, but he could hang around and wait since he didn’t meet with the Realtor until four thirty.

Stepping inside the kitschy A-frame building, he looked around for Gerald, the general manager, as he walked to young and perky Ivette’s desk. Technically she was just the secretary, but everybody knew she was the grease that kept the office running. Bobby almost laughed when he saw her. She’d shorn off her hair on the left side, leaving a strange hanging bang on the right. At least it wasn’t electric purple anymore. The lemonade yellow looked more like a potentially legitimate hair color.

“Hello, Mr. Lane,” she said with a warm smile. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”
“Hi, Ivette. Where’s Gerald?”
“Out looking at some new tillers. Heard about a deal on some.” She sort of stood up from her desk. “Anything I can help you with?”
He looked at the map of greater New England displayed on the wall behind her and had a sudden inspiration. “We wouldn’t happen to have any contacts in New York, would we?”
Ivette’s face sort of closed in, as if maybe she had something to hide. “New York? Why would you be asking about that?”
Bobby looked her in the eye. “Postcards.”
“Oh.” Ivette sat down quickly.
“Know anything about them?”
She nodded slightly, swallowing hard. “Nate asked me to.”
Bobby went around the side and sat in the “interrogation” chair flanking the metal desk. They’d nicknamed it that years ago when Nathan said it looked like how they set up the police stations in the cop TV shows. “When was that?”
“Last September.” Ivette studied Bobby up and down as she hesitated. “You know he was psychic. Said none of his paths made it to Thanksgiving. So he set up the cards with me, for after.”
Bobby flinched.
Psychic? What the fuck?
Psychic
?
What the hell else had Nathan kept secret?
“You didn’t know….” Ivette watched him process the new information. Then she leaned over toward him. “I have dreams sometimes,” she admitted to him. “That’s how we started talking about the whole paranormal thing.”
Bobby still had that stunned look on his face. “Psychic?” he finally managed to voice aloud.
Ivette nodded again. “Yes, Mr. Lane.”
“Did
you
know about the aneurism?”
“Not exactly. I knew there was something, but he never gave me any details.”
“Well, shit.
Psychic
?”
“Yes….” She reached out and patted his hand. “He tried to explain it to me once, what it was like.”
Bobby looked over at her. “What did he say?”
“He said it was like the world was a spiderweb, and he could see the threads. The threads between people and the paths they could lead to.”
Bobby just shook his head.
“He said it was mostly a confusing mess he tried to ignore, but every once in a while, he’d see something really clearly.”
“Well… shit.” Bobby frowned. “I don’t even know how to wrap my head around this. Why didn’t he ever tell
me
about any of it?”
“You know I can’t answer that,” she said. “Maybe it was too frustrating for him to try and explain it. I
do
know it took a while for him to talk about it with me.”

Bobby shook his head and brought his thoughts back to the task at hand. “I just left Mrs. Price. She wants the postcards to stop.”
“Oh.” She looked earnestly at him. “Are you sure? There’s only two left, and they seem kinda important.” Her hand wandered to the handle of the second desk drawer.

“Just two? How many are left for me?”
“Just one. I’m supposed to mail it June 15.”
Bobby exhaled. “You
sure
they’re important? They’re really

wigging her out.”
“Yes.”
“What about mine?”

Bobby looked down at the card. He saw the sketch of a skinny dog and one phrase:
Unlock your cupid’s heart.
Ivette looked at him and saw his confusion. “I was hoping it made sense to you… I have no idea.”
“No fuckin’ clue.” Bobby groaned. “He’s really pissing me off with all this.”
“Maybe that’s what he wanted. Or part of it.”
“
What
?”
“You know, if you got pissed, maybe you wouldn’t wallow so much.”
“I’m not wallowing.”
“Really?” She gave him a stabbing look. “And when was the last time you even stepped foot in here? How long did you hide in that house without
anybody
seeing you?”
Bobby hung his head. “All right. Maybe a little.”
“A little.” Ivette smiled tightly. “Right.”
Bobby thought about the earlier conversation. “What was that about Thanksgiving?”
“Nate said none of his paths would make it to Thanksgiving. He said he had only about a month, month and a half left, depending on the
exactity
of how things rolled out. That was the word he used.”
“Why didn’t he tell
me
that?”
“He was so excited about you guys getting into the Series. Said it was only a one-in-three-hundred chance from what he could see, but you guys made it. He said it was about 90 percent certain you’d win it too.
If
you didn’t get distracted.” She sighed supportively. “So he was doing his best not to distract you.”
This seemed so much like the conversation he’d had with Odis almost forty-eight hours before that he nearly chuckled aloud. Then he remembered the time zone difference. It
was
exactly forty-eight hours.
Well, shit on a shingle
.
Ivette smiled at him. “Nate could be so noble sometimes.”
Oh, fuck me
.
She dropped her smile when she saw his pained expression. “You don’t think?”
“Maybe. Just reminded me of something somebody else said.”
“Oh.” Ivette looked back down at the drawer. “What about the other postcards?”
Bobby wobbled his head. “If you think they’re important, then just keep with the plan. Don’t suppose it could do the woman any worse. Maybe it
will
help her.”
She closed the drawer sharply as someone walked in. “Okay, then.”
They both looked up to see Gerald walking through the door.
Gerald nodded as he walked up. “Hello, Mr. Lane. Turned into a nice day out there.”
“That it did.” Bobby stood and shook his hand.
“What brings you out here? Everything okay?”
“Well, I was just out at Mrs. Price’s. We have a proposition for you.”
B
OBBY
left the Lawn Gnome Landscaping office with just enough time to grab a burger on his way back to meet with the Realtor. Gerald was more than thrilled with the idea of buying out the business, and they spent the early afternoon hashing out details.
Waiting in line at the drive-through, Bobby let his thoughts wander back to the postcard still resting on the passenger seat where he’d tossed it.
Unlock your cupid’s heart.
He pondered the phrase, but it just seemed so vague and meaningless. He glanced down at the sketch of the dog.
A skinny dog. A… greyhound? A greyhound! Cupid!
His face broke out in a huge grin as he solved the puzzle.
Of course. Two years ago on Valentine’s Day, we went to the dog races and won a few bucks. Afterwards, down at the pier for lunch, we ended up spending the winnings on that silly crystal decanter. Where is that decanter now?
Ah, shit!
Bobby squinted as other little bits and pieces started clicking into place. Details of Nathan and his trips to the racetrack. How he
always
wanted to wander the pens first, see the dogs or horses in person and pet them when he could get away with it. How
Nate
always picked the bets. And now that Bobby thought about it, he could not remember a single time they lost.
How did I not see that then? God, it’s so obvious. It’s like Nate had inside information.
Nate had never been greedy about it, though. They shared just a few small winnings, making an occasional happy afternoon of it.
Other details started falling in, clicking into the mosaic in such a blur Bobby was fighting a headache. He kept remembering strange little things Nate had said here and there throughout their relationship. Nate’s offhand suggestions now felt like little prenudges before something came up.
He yanked up his head and focused on the world again when the car behind him honked. Bobby moved the car forward, taking his place at the window. His food was already waiting; he merely had to pay and then collect his bags. He drove back to the house, his mind an agitated jumble.

O
NCE
the Realtor had been dealt with, Bobby looked once again at the postcard. The
unlock
and
heart
were still a little confusing since the crystal decanter was oval shaped. The
heart
word could just belong to the cupid phrase, merely another part of the reference to Valentine’s Day.

As for the
unlock
part, the decanter just had a simple lid that rested atop the jar.
What could the unlock be referring to?
he pondered as he went upstairs, recalling that the decanter was in the master suite.

Bobby froze in the doorway of the bedroom, scolding himself for being so silly. This room was
not
haunted. He spotted the decanter on the dressing bureau.
Just walk in and open it.

He started across the room, his walk turning into a jog. Instead of just opening it, which seemed like a long waste of time to spend in the bedroom, he grabbed the decanter and hurried back out the door. He exhaled finally as he looked down at the container he clutched in his hands. Bobby took it downstairs to the kitchen before he opened it.

Inside, he found only one item. He removed the dully glinting brass key and examined it closely. It was a smaller skeleton-key sort of shape, with a fancy scroll design at the head of it. The unfamiliar image looked like the blending of a fleur-de-lis and a Celtic knot. Definitely unusual and distinctive. Bobby would remember if he’d ever seen it or saw it again. Maybe that was the point.
So now the unlock part makes sense. But
what
do you unlock?

His cell phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. A call from Sharon.
“Hey, Shar, s’up?”
“You still in Texas?”
“Nope, darlin’, moseyed on back hereabouts yestee-day.”
“Gawd, Bobby, you were only there two days. They hickafied you that fast?”
Bobby laughed. “What are you up to?”
“Just got home from work, checking to see if you need a buttkicking.”
“Don’t think so. Had a busy day. Saw Lorainne.”
“Ah, shit, is she doing better?”
“I didn’t see her before, so can’t judge if it’s better or worse, but she’s pretty bad.”
“I know, poor woman. Husband and son in less than five years. That’s gotta suck a big green donkey one.”
“I know.” Bobby looked down at the key. “Hey, I got another postcard too. This one led to a brass key.”
“
Brass
key? What kind of key?”
“One of the smaller old-fashioned ones, like maybe for a jewelry box or something. Has a weird Celtic-knot thing on it.”
Sharon paused. “Looks sorta like a French fleur-de-lis?”
“Yes, sorta looks like it.”
“I have the box. I’m off work tomorrow. How about I bring it by then?”
“Sharon, what’re
you
doing with it? And
really
? You wanna wait until tomorrow?”
Sharon laughed. “Of course not, bitch, just wanted to freak on you a bit. I’m dying to know what’s in it too. I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Okay, see ya.”
“Later.”

W
HEN
Sharon arrived, they ended up sitting on the barstools at the kitchen bar. She set the brass heart-shaped box on the counter. On the top lid, Bobby saw a larger version of the unusual fleur-Celtic knot. “Nate gave this box to me, like, ten years ago. Wanted me to hold on to it. He said I’d know when to give it back.”

“Ten years ago….” He looked Sharon in the face. “So, did you know anything about him being psychic and all?”
She didn’t seem surprised by the question. “What did you hear?” Bobby studied her. “I talked to Ivette today. She mentioned a few

things about it.”
“Like what?”

“God, Shar, why are you still covering for him?” He sighed exasperatedly. “Just tell me….”
Sharon looked down at the box. “Let’s open it first. Then we can talk about it.”
Bobby sighed again and picked up the key. “Okay. But you better spill.”
He inserted the key and unlocked the box. The lid stuttered open on stiff hinges as they both leaned down to peek inside. Only a folded sheet of paper took up the space.
Bobby took out the page and unfolded it. He and Sharon puzzled over the strange computer printout they saw.

A+C= typical :( B+A= rich?
B+C= intense? B+A+C= jackpot

Bobby glanced at Sharon, who stared back. “What the fuck?” they both asked at once. Then they laughed nervously.
Sharon looked down at the note again. “That fuckin’ shithead. I was hoping the box might explain some things.
This
is just nuts.”

“Well.” He frowned over the message. “Maybe it just doesn’t make sense
yet
. Ivette was the one sending the postcards. I wasn’t supposed to get this last one until the end of June.”