Mayhem Takes a Dare: The Second Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 2) (9 page)

“I think you are a better fundraiser than a pool player. You can only run the table if—” Tina shook her head and stiffened her spine. “Mr. Forsythe. After I left home, I put myself through college by working full-time at a gas station. I found a great job in Louisville, and I purchased a tiny house with a microscopic yard on the outskirts of the city. Every month, I sent several hundred dollars home to my parents. Even though I knew they would most likely spend the money on booze, it made me feel better to do this for them.”

Harry opened his mouth to interrupt her low, furious tirade.

Tina held up a shaking hand to stop him. “They used the money to make the payments on Martin’s fancy monster truck. I found out when he contacted me to tell me I needed to increase the monthly amount to cover his new tires and chrome rims.”

Patting her shoulder in a professional manner, Harry pursed his thin lips. “Given the time you fell out of Martin’s truck and broke your arm—”

“I didn’t fall. Don’t you remember? I was walking along the highway. Martin saw me and pulled his old truck over onto the shoulder. You and Chris were in the cab with him. He yelled for me to jump in the back so he could give me a ride home. Since my brother never did anything nice for anyone, I hesitated. You added your voice to his, Mr. Forsythe, so I reluctantly pulled myself up on the back of the truck. When I had my leg swung up to jump in the back, Martin laughed like a maniac and floored it. I hit the pavement. My arm was broken, and it still aches when it rains.” Tina shook off the funeral director’s arm. “Thank goodness, Chris made Martin stop. He was the only one to run back along that road to help me.”

Chris took Tina’s hand. “Oh, no, here come your parents.”

“They’re probably hoping to make a profit off this fundraising travesty!” Tina’s body shook as her father, his gray hair slicked down on his skull and his eyes glittering with malice, and her mother, her wrinkled face slack and passive above the flowered housedress, bore down on them.

Tina’s chin shot up. “The white billiard ball just fell into my father’s pocket. Put me down for a scratch.”

 “My brother, Mosely, drank himself into the intensive care unit of the hospital a few weeks ago.” To keep her head from drooping in misery, Marisa stared at the framed licensed social worker certificate.

“Oh, no, Marisa, what happened?” Macon Keller, her “talk therapist,” was in his habitual pose in his chair. His tall figure lounged back in the chair. His arms were open, his hands resting on his knees. The brown hair, although thinning on top, was free of gray. With his unlined, slightly round face, dark brown eyes, and fit body, Macon did not look his fifty-plus years.

“Or I suppose I should say Lee, since he doesn’t like his birth name. He lives with our mother, allowing her to take care of him and pay his truck insurance. She also gives him the money she earns at the sewing factory for his drinking and his carousing. Our mom went to go visit her sister. She left my brother some money to buy groceries and pay the light and water bills. She came home to no electricity, no water, and Mosely lying unconscious in the intensive care unit of the hospital.”

“Oh, no, Marisa.”

“He had used the money she gave him to go on the binge to end all binges. He literally drank himself into a coma. I guess it’s a good thing he gave his on-the-side ‘girlfriend’”— Marisa formed quotation marks with her fingers— “a key our mother didn’t know he’d given her. If Sandra hadn’t found him, he could have died on the floor.”

Macon cocked his head. “Why the air quotes?”

To avoid Macon’s quizzical gaze, Marisa focused on the pictures of his wife and children, displayed on the wooden bookshelf between hardcover books on addiction. “Sandra is some ten years older than our mother. She has one leg and a prosthetic device. When Mosely introduced her to me, Sandra informed me she’d lost her leg due to intravenous drug use.”

“I thought Mosely was dating a young woman from the battered women’s shelter? Fiona? She left her abusive husband and has I think two small children?”

“Fern.” Marisa frowned. “How did you know? I don’t remember mentioning it before.”

Macon grimaced. “I do volunteer work at the shelter, remember? I’ve seen you there before, when you were helping the women with their resumes and online job searches.”

Marisa couldn’t believe she’d forgotten. “That’s right. Anyway, he carouses the bars with his young women, but always goes back to Sandra.”

“Do you think she’s a mother figure for him, Marisa? Given her age?”

“Always looking for the hidden psychological agendas, aren’t you, Macon?” Marisa’s laugh was devoid of humor. “No, her big attraction is she works in a liquor store. Mosely starts every day and ends every day with hard liquor. I suspect she steals it from the store and gives it to him.”

One corner of Macon’s mouth moved. “A symbiotic relationship?”

“Oh, yes, a win/win for them both.”

“And Mosely went to the hospital?”

“He was in the intensive care unit for a few days. Once he made it through the delirium tremors, commonly known as DTs, he was moved to a regular room. I took off work to help my mother sit with him in the hospital. He was so rude and mean to both my mother and me, even though I tried to reason with him.”

“It’s difficult to reason with someone who doesn’t want to hear what you have to say, Marisa.”

“Only a couple of days in the regular room passed before he was begging the doctor for more and more pain medication, claiming he was in extreme pain. He blamed his legs.”

“Mosely was born club footed, I think you told me?”

“Yes, after many surgeries and years of crutches and braces, the children’s charity hospital fixed his legs. He uses his medical history to get out of working, although he stands on his feet for hours in redneck bars.” Marisa’s eyes filled. “I am such an idiot. I really thought Mosely would use the opportunity to get sober. He’d already gone through the DTs and by the time he was discharged, he’d been without anything to drink for ten days.”

“What happened when he was released?”

Marisa turned away to gaze out the window. “On the way to my mother’s mobile home from the hospital, my brother asked me to stop at the liquor store. I said, ‘Hell, no.’ My mother ordered me to stop at the package store. She said if she didn’t buy it, he’d leave the house in his weakened state to get it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was the turning point for me, Macon. I decided I was done with all of them. I cried the entire way home. I made up my mind to stay away from them both, at least for the short term. I was too angry and disappointed and disillusioned to spend any more time with them.”

“And you still make the rent payments for your mother’s mobile home?”

Marisa sniffed. “Yes, it soothes my conscience to do so.”

“Why should you feel guilty, Marisa?”

She shrugged.

“You’re the oldest child of an alcoholic father and an apathetic mother. You had to be the responsible one.”

“You’re right. When we were small, my mother and father did not want to get up early. I had a little wind up alarm clock we’d found at the dump, and I had to wake up my three brothers and make sure everyone got ready to catch the school bus. God forbid we had to wake up our parents to sign a note or to answer a question for us.” Marisa shuddered at the memory.

“You give back way more than you got as a child, Marisa.”

Marisa forced herself not to squirm in her chair. “Thank you.” Since the beginning of her therapy, Marisa had wondered at times if Macon was too conservative to understand her struggles with her various addictions, too vanilla white to understand the swirled colors and flavors of her life. Today, however, she appreciated her counselor’s unflappable amiability and low-key approach.

“Anything else for today, Marisa? We still have some time.” His face was sympathetic and his eyes reminded Marisa of soothing warm chocolate.

Marisa took a deep breath. “You remember Heidi? We were in the rehabilitation program together, and we’ve stayed close. We go to many of the same support groups. I think of Heidi as the sister I never had. She is so beautiful and so intelligent! With her blonde hair and her sparkling blue eyes and her cute little body always dressed in blue and white, and her white cowboy boots, she reminds me of a cheerleader.”

“Of course I remember Heidi.”

“She’s always there for everyone else. So many times, she puts others’ needs ahead of her own.” Huddled in her chair next to the big oak desk, Marisa covered her face with her hands and sobbed, the grief shaking her slumped body.

“What’s wrong?” Macon’s calm voice penetrated Marisa’s thoughts of her vivacious friend.

“She can’t seem to get control of the alcoholism. She was married to a good man. He is a successful chemical engineer. He dealt with formulas and statistics and ratios. He had never dealt with alcoholism. He was completely out of his depth. Elliot just couldn’t understand why she didn’t simply stop drinking. He finally got tired of dealing with the lies and the deceit. He divorced her. She was devastated...she always said Elliot was her best friend. Now, she seems to be trying to control the alcoholism, but she is in a downward spiral.”

“You feel a sense of guilt, Marisa?”

“Yes, Macon, I feel guilty. I should stop her, but I can’t even be around her, outside the group.”

Macon waved his hands. “Marisa, she is a grown woman. You can’t stop her. No one can. She is the only one who can do it. There are some people who never get control of their addiction, no matter how many times they go through rehab or how many twelve-step programs they attend.” He handed her a fresh tissue.

Macon stood up, uncoiling his lithe, runner’s body. “I’m sorry, Marisa.”

Marisa pulled herself shakily to her feet. She looked at Macon, tall and thin in his khaki pants and polo shirt. The morning light shining on the thinning brown hair tugged at her memory. She’d been in this office many times. What the hell was pulling at her mind?

“What is it, Marisa?” An emotion skittered across Macon’s smooth face. Marisa thought it looked like wary watchfulness, but it was gone too quickly for her to decide.

She shook herself to clear her head of the clinging tendril of memory. “Nothing. See you next time, Macon.”

At the desk, Marisa handed Barbara, the terrifyingly efficient receptionist, her debit card.

The powerfully built woman in her sixties deftly swiped the card in the small machine on the counter. Tears slid down her cheeks as she handed Marisa back her card and slip to sign.

“Barbara! What on earth is wrong?”

“Macon doesn’t want me to talk about his personal business.” Furtively, Barbara glanced down the deserted hallway. Macon’s door was firmly shut.

Barbara was a fiercely conservative woman. When her only daughter had chosen to live a lesbian lifestyle with her partner, Barbara was devastated. One evening, when Marisa had come out after her session, she’d found Barbara in tears. Perhaps as a function of circumstance, the gruff receptionist had confided in Marisa.

Marisa had gently tried to help Barbara understand that her child was still the same person, and deserved her chance at happiness.

In time, Barbara had shyly shared pictures of the gorgeous baby girl, born to the two women through artificial insemination. Marisa had cooed over the beautiful child, and found herself in an unexpected friendship.

Now, Marisa waited patiently. She knew the other woman would not be able to resist confiding in her.

The older woman leaned over the counter, the silver chains looped around her thick neck rattling. “Macon’s wife left him a few days ago. It staggered him. He had no idea there were any issues. She packed up the children and vanished.”

“Vanished? Macon doesn’t know where she and the children are?”

Barbara’s eyes glistened with tears. “She disappeared with the little boy and girl, and no one knows where they are. He’s been a mess ever since they left.”

Marisa’s back door rattled with agitated knocking.

Her cat Laithe was lying in a patch of morning sunlight slanting across the gray granite kitchen floor. He blinked his large green eyes at her.

“OK, Laithe, guess I’ll get that.”

When she unlocked the door, a muscular figure practically fell into her bright, roomy kitchen. “Alex! What the hell?”

His sneaker screeched to a halt a scant inch from Laithe’s triangular head.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get away from her!” Alex’s eyes were rolling like a spooked horse.

“Who?”

“That witch who lives next door to you!”

“Oh, you mean Verna?” Marisa couldn’t help laughing. “She’s just a bored old lady who takes great interest in her neighbors…and their visitors. You met her several months ago. She’s harmless.”

“Harmless!” Alex squeaked. “Any self-respecting terrorist organization would give their eyeteeth to have her in their ranks. Her interrogation technique is a frightening cross between a crazed hypnotist and an elderly bulldozer! It’s like she had me pinned in the glare of her evil eye and I just couldn’t get away. She reminds me a lot of my mother.”

Alex looked down at the head lolling near his shoe. Squatting down, his shorts riding up his richly tanned bare legs, Alex held out his hand. “Hi, kitty cat!”

“Um, be careful, Alex. Laithe does not like strangers. Well, at least not on an emotional level. He does like them for snacks. He loves to chew on unsuspecting fingers…and bare legs.”

“The night Parvis and I stayed here, Laithe visited me in the guest room. I don’t think he visited Parvis on the couch.” His hoarse purr audible in the quiet kitchen, Laithe happily rubbed his head against Alex’s outstretched fingers.

Marisa sat down abruptly at the table. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Laithe gracefully rolled to his feet to rub against Alex’s leg. “What kind of cat is he? With those long, pointy ears and his elongated back legs, he looks like he’s half cat, half jack rabbit.”

“He’s an Abyssinian, an Egyptian breed of cat.” She walked over and stared at the two of them.

“Come here, kitty,” Alex crooned as he reached for the cat.

“Alex! Don’t pick him up!”

Alex scooped the russet cat into his arms.

“He really doesn’t like for strangers to pick him up! He’ll use his back legs to try to disembowel you!”

Laithe settled into Alex’s arms and rubbed his head against the white t-shirt, leaving orange fur in his wake.

Laithe and Alex, rubbing and fawning. The perfect couple.
“My cat actually likes you! He doesn’t like anybody! What are you, some sort of immortal Egyptian priest? Did you enter into some sort of pact with an ancient feline god thousands of years ago, allowing you to walk with impunity among the creatures?”

Alex laughed, his perfect white teeth flashing in his thin, tanned face. “Hey, he probably senses I’m here to sign a peace treaty with you.”

“What do you mean, Alex?” Marisa snagged her mug off the table, and filled it with coffee. “Want some coffee?”

“Thanks, that would be great. I came by to ask you nicely to follow through on the racquetball game today.”

Marisa accidentally splashed hot coffee on her hand. She swore softly as she grabbed the kitchen towel. “No, Alex. The last thing I want to do is encourage this...thing...between Brandon and Sarah. I told you last night, she’s a stripper passing herself off as a teacher!”

He took the steaming cup from her, and sipped it. “Brandon really has feelings for this woman. We need to give her a chance to tell him the truth. What better place than an innocent, non-threatening gym, along with two of his friends?”

Marisa watched him through narrowed eyes. “What, she won’t meet Brandon without chaperones? I guarantee she doesn’t rely on a proper escort at the strip club when she leads guys to the back for lap dances!”

Alex looked pained.

Marisa threw up her hands. “Why does it have to be me? Can’t you find someone else to help you chaperone?” She realized her voice was rising when Laithe leaped from Alex’s arms and planted his sturdy body between them.

As the seconds ticked by on the kitchen clock, Alex was still. “Marisa. Four months ago, I thought I was about to be murdered. When I realized how close I’d come to death, my life flashed before my eyes.”

Swatting at floating orange cat hair, Alex slid into a seat at the rectangular pine table. His handsome face was bitter. “The special showing of my own theater extravaganza, the Life of Alex, started when I was a little boy. I saw myself as a puny, underdeveloped runt. I was always on the outside, looking in.”

Marisa slid into the seat opposite him.

Alex took a deep breath. “Since I was small and unobtrusive, I found I could pretty much fly under everybody’s radar.”

Marisa sipped her coffee, remembering the handsome, vibrant man as a vulnerable young boy.

“A few months ago, Marisa, we were riding the bus with Fred at the wheel. We talked about how miserable things were for you as a child. Now I realize I had the opportunity to take up for you all those years ago...and I didn’t. After Alisa, the worst bully in our school, broke my arm, I stopped standing up to her. I was afraid of her.”

Marisa wondered if she was still in her bed, sound asleep. The recent burn on her hand tingled.
Nope, I am definitely awake.
“Alex, everyone was afraid of Alisa and her followers. My brothers and I were the targets of her and her minions when we were young. We were vulnerable because we were so poor. Our clothes were ragged and dirty, and we only bathed once a week. We were easy marks for those kids.”

He finally looked up. “I feel a sense of guilt because I stayed quiet and under the radar. I’ve seen your brother Mosely, remember, right here in this kitchen. He was the easiest target of all. He had braces on his legs and walked with crutches. Now, he obviously has issues with alcoholism and a problem keeping a job.”

Marisa’s fingers tightened on her coffee mug. “Alisa was so pretty with her long, naturally curly red hair and translucent skin. With her beautiful dresses, she looked like a porcelain doll. It’s hard to believe she was the meanest and most persistent bully in school.”

Alex shivered. “She was a horrible little girl.”

The sudden ferocity startled Marisa. “What could you do, Alex? You were a victim, too. Back then, you were small and fragile. Alisa was tall for a girl, and athletic. She broke your arm the time you tried to intervene when she called my brother Mosely ‘Brace Boy.’ You told her he couldn’t help it if he was born club footed, and for her to leave him alone.”

“Is Alisa the reason for Tyme? Did she develop as a coping mechanism for bullying?”

Marisa blinked at the conversational change. She shook her head at herself.
Perhaps it’s not really a change of subject. Aren’t all of those events interrelated?
“Tyme is the ten-year-old me who lives inside my head. When I realized it’s not normal to share brain space with a younger version of myself, I did some research. I believe Tyme helped me cope with the terrible abuse at home and the constant bullying at school.

Alex cocked his head. “I’ve thought about Tyme since you told me about her. Is your situation like the movie
Sybil
?”

“I don’t have multiple personality disorder. Rather, Tyme is a reflection of my childhood who hangs around to help me.” Marisa met Alex’s eyes. “I am not crazy.”

“You’re a lot of things, Marisa, but you’re not insane. Is it like having a roommate? Rather than sharing living space, you’re sharing brain space?”

Marisa shrugged. “Tyme feels real. In a sense, she’s like a snapshot, with the flash capturing her at ten years old. The difference is she doesn’t represent a single moment in time, but rather the first ten years of my life. In fact, that’s the man reason I call her Tyme. Ten-year-old me.”

Alex frowned. “It’s difficult for me to imagine. What happens when the two of you don’t agree? It’s not like a roommate. You can’t go to your own room or go for a walk.”

“It’s difficult to explain. Try this. Think of a huge sheet of glass flying through the air. The glass crashes to earth, splintering into millions of bright, sharp shards. When I don’t agree with Tyme, she feels like a shining, insistent point, driving relentlessly into my brain.”

“And when you’re in agreement?”

“Remember that terrible tornado that destroyed the town near where we grew up thirty years ago? After it was over, the sun flooded the devastated landscape. Above the disaster, the prisms of a rainbow filled the blue sky. When we’re in agreement, Tyme is as bright as the sun, and her smile is the rainbow.”

Alex put his hand over hers. “Does Tyme remember Alisa and her tyranny?”

“Of course. It’s carved into our souls. Tyme hates Alisa with every fiber of her being.” Marisa gently pulled her hand away and rose to her feet. She refilled both their mugs with steaming coffee. “If Tyme ever came face to face with Alisa again, she’d probably kill her.”

“I’d love to help Tyme kill Alisa!” Alex’s mouth tightened. “Do you think Tyme will ever fade away?” 

Marisa shook her head. “Tyme thinks she fulfills a guardian role. Based on our childhood, Tyme believes people will hurt us if we give them the chance. She thinks we should never offer them the opportunity. Rather, we should take what we want without ever giving anything of ourselves. She loved our hedonistic lifestyle of drinking and spending time in the strip club, because it kept us numb and insulated from life.”

“I’m surprised you were able to quit drinking.” Alex raised his brows.

Marisa’s mouth twisted. “Tyme didn’t want to stop. It took a crisis to change her mind. I had spent a weekend drinking. When I woke up on Sunday evening, I realized I could not remember very much.” She shrugged. “I’d had blackouts before, when I couldn’t remember sections of events, but not big chunks of missing time. Then Althea called. She had fallen, and she was seriously hurt. I was still so drunk from the previous days of drinking, I couldn’t get to her. Tyme was livid. She adores Althea. Our former teacher opened her home and her heart. She offered us sanctuary from our father’s drunken rages. She is the only person in the world Tyme fully trusts and loves.

“I called an ambulance for Althea. I wanted to go to the hospital, but I was so sick I threw up when I moved. Tyme was curled up in a fetal position in my head, and she refused to even open her eyes. The thought of going through life without Tyme, along with my failure to help Althea, scared me into rehab.”

Alex’s face twisted in compassion.

“You’re the only person I ever told about Tyme. Not even my therapist. If he knew, he would have me committed to an institution.”

“He might have a hard time deciding which one of you to commit.” Alex’s mouth gently quirked, and tiny crinkles appeared at the edges of his eyes.

Marisa smiled back at him.

“Such pain and suffering, Marisa. I am so sorry. Not just you, but also your brothers. When I saw Mosely at your house a few months ago, I looked beyond the man and saw the little boy with the braces on his skinny legs.”

              “Poor Mosely. I believe the constant tormenting at school plus our father’s treatment of him resulted in Mosely’s inability to stop drinking. When anything went wrong, my father blamed Mosely. My brother was the scapegoat for anything that did not go my father’s way, which was nearly everything. And now, my mother enables Mosely’s drinking. I believe she thinks she’s making up for not getting him away from our father and his daily abuse.” Marisa bent over and absently rubbed her fingers in Laithe’s soft orange fur. “I don’t know if I’m being unfair to my mother. Of course, Mosely has control over his own destiny.”

“You’re right. You took control of your life.”

“Damn right I did. I went to college full-time and worked full-time. Mosely could have done that. It’s as if Mom and my brother have some sort of dysfunctional relationship, in which each one gets something they need from the other.” Marisa met Alex’s eyes. “And the irony? My brother is now a mirror image of my father, with the drinking, the laziness, and the destructive relationships with women. It’s come full circle.”

Alex gazed out the kitchen window. “Speaking of full circle, I wonder where Alisa is now. Is she setting up her legacy by bullying her children, if she has any? They would make easy targets for her. She always preferred victims who couldn’t stand up to her. I was a puny runt and definitely the weakest of the herd.” He turned back to Marisa. “Do you remember, she made fun of my huge ears?”

Marisa smiled. “They look fine now.”

Alex laughed. “That’s because I had them cropped.”

“No way!” she gasped.

“Way. But I didn’t get my tail bobbed.”

Marisa laughed with Alex until her sides hurt.

“I’d better go. I don’t want to be late. I promised Brandon I’d be on time. He’s counting on me to chaperone him on his date.” He gave Laithe a final pat and rose from his chair.

When his hand was on the doorknob, Marisa said, “Wait. What does our trip down memory lane have to do with Brandon and Sarah?”

Alex turned back to her, his eyebrows raised. “I want to help Brandon. In some ways, he’s vulnerable. While he works so hard to help others, he overlooks his own needs and wants.”