Dead Dreams (8 page)

Big-mouth Pete even if he meant well. “Some, but not enough to get a full-ride scholarship.” Truth was, as long as I stayed home at my parents’, schools would never consider giving me a full ride, as they’d look at my parent’s income, and I couldn’t qualify for a student scholarship based on needs. Colleges forgot I’d become my own person now and need to fend for myself. That’s the thing with turning eighteen, you’re tried as an adult if you commit a crime, but in some things the law treated you like a minor and still hitched you with your parents. It also didn’t help that my parents didn’t approve of acting as a choice career and would never willingly support me. My dad had actually hoped I’d go into medicine as I was always good with chemistry.

“Seriously,” I said, “how much did it cost to get all that information?”

“Seriously, consider it a treat, okay?”

I never liked to be beholden to others, even if he was kind and meant to be civic-minded, and especially since I wanted to keep this digging from Sarah.

As if he read my mind, Jim said, “I won’t breathe a word to Sarah. Just wanted to be sure you girls stay safe. I didn’t see anything strange last night. Maybe it was a common robber trying to get rich quick with that Patek Philippe. Although he must have stalked Sarah for a few days. She got that new watch a few days back.”

“Appreciate it, Jim.”

“One more thing. I put a file together for the info I dug up on Mr. Anderson. I can drop it off at your place later, if you want.”

Sarah would want to know if she saw Jim pass me anything, especially since she was footing the bill. “What if you passed it to Peter, instead? We see each other practically every day.”

“Sure thing, kiddo.”

That was the last I spoke with Jim.

It was hard, concentrating on my ten-dollar-per-hour job that afternoon. Why had Jackson tried to contact me? Was he keeping this from Sarah?

That evening, while Sarah and I wolfed down takeout at the round breakfast table, I braced myself for excuses from her. I had to get it off my chest. “Why’d you lie about Jackson? He’s not missing. He called me.”

She looked up from the Panda Express box, honey walnut shrimp dangling from the end of her chopsticks, and gaped as if I’d broken some eternal promise. “How could you?” Her puppy-brown eyes seemed larger than normal.

“Could I what? Jackson called my mom. Kindly explain that? How’d he get my parents’ number? It’s
unlisted
.”

“When? When’d Jackson call you?”

“Yesterday. And stop skirting. If we are roommates, we have to trust one another. Why’d you lie?” I hoped she was not a serial killer.

“I didn’t lie.” She genuinely sounded hurt. “Jackson went missing for a few days. But he came back. Maybe Martha didn’t know where he went or something, but he always told me, and this time, no word, nada.” She narrowed her eyes at me until they became slits in her face. “Why’d he call?”

I shrugged. “So, you have no clue why?”

“Maybe he wanted to check you out. Confirm your references. Make sure you’re a safe bet. He’s protective that way. Since my dad died, he’s like a father to me. And, he’s pissed with Todd.”

“And where
is
Todd now?”

She shrugged. “Nobody knows exactly. I have my informants, but they’re not sure. Maybe off the coast of Majorca? Todd’s secretive. The curse of the McIntyre clan. We always have to be suspicious, always cautious, always looking behind our backs.”

It didn’t sound like something I could live with. But as it turned out, it was something I’d ended up doing, too.

At least her story of Todd corroborated with what Jim had said. “Well, most brothers are very private. Like mine. Keith. I never know what he’s up to. Never shares anything. Not even a girlfriend’s name. Drives my parents nuts.” I picked up a piece of Kung Pao chicken with my chopstick and dropped it into my mouth. “So, Jackson knows about the break-in?”

“He’d chain me to a bodyguard if he found out.” She left me specifics on what to say and what to avoid when I spoke with Jackson. “Best call him at ten. That’s when he’s in a relaxed mood, right after his first round of golf. Less likely to grill you like the Spanish Inquisition.”

I chewed on the Kung Pao and considered prodding about her uncle, then changed my mind. She tended to clam up when backed to a wall. I’d noticed that when I’d asked about a boyfriend when she first moved in. I needed her to open up more. It was one thing to keep things private, but trust was a different issue. I couldn’t share my space with someone with whom I couldn’t relax.

That night, I was plagued by worse dreams: intruders with ski masks breaking in, whispers of murderers plotting to do away both me and Sarah. My mind tended to take over when I was stressed. Nights were the worst. Things I couldn’t process in the day came crashing down, and re-arranged themselves into illogical plots.

I awoke with sweat clinging to the back of my T-shirt, and when I glanced at my bedside clock, I saw that it was about to buzz. Why bother sleeping with only a sliver of time left? I hadn’t even checked if Jim was down on the street before I’d slipped between the covers the night before—I was that tired. So, I hopped off the bed, shoved my feet into my bunny-eared slippers and, almost tripping over the area rug in front of my bed, shuffled to the window. I drew back the curtain and squinted out into Emerson Street. It was still dark outside. The street lamp, its florescent light a dull gray, flickered, probably due to a bad connection.

Jim’s blue Crown Victoria wasn’t where it had been parked the first night. In its place stood a dark red truck. Maybe a Ford, from what I could see with the dim street lights. It could have belonged to anyone living in the apartment building—although most residents parked in the unsecured underground car lots. Then I noticed something else. Someone wearing a white terry robe leaned against the driver’s side door, speaking with the truck’s occupant.

Sarah!

What was she up to? She usually slept in till nine or ten—woes of the rich and, at the time, not-so-famous. I quickly drew the curtains closed and peeked out. I hadn’t turned the lights in my bedroom on, and dawn hadn’t approached that April morning. Had she seen me? I doubted it. She’d poked her head almost all the way into the cab of the truck. Was this Jim’s replacement for the morning shift? Alias? Sarah sure was acting friendly. She’d leaned all the way in, possibly to kiss the driver. I felt bad spying on her but I was drawn to watch. I wanted to find out more, but the clock was ticking, so I left it at that and took my shower. Maybe this was the secret lover she was jealously guarding from me. I guessed she was honoring our contract of no boyfriends allowed in the apartment. Or maybe she thought I would steal him from her for I always felt she saw me as a loser where guys were concerned.

By the time I’d showered and poured granola into my bowl Sarah must have returned to sleep, for I heard her soft breathing when I placed my ear to her bedroom door. And, the red truck wasn’t there when I drove past the front of the apartment building on my way to Stay Fit. Jim must have thought it was safe for us to be left alone. Or, maybe Sarah didn’t like having another person know of our break-in…or spying on her secret boyfriend. Maybe she’d talked the truck driver out of guarding us by being extra-friendly. I didn’t exactly require sainthood as a criterion for a roommate, although in hindsight, perhaps I should have.

It was a bustling morning at Stay Fit. Office workers rushed to sneak in an hour’s workout before showering and shooting off to work. Pete called in sick, and I had to cover for him. I was surprised that I actually missed having him there at the front desk with me. In some ways we worked well as a team. A good friend would have been nice to have that morning. Later, though, he called my cell.

“Did Jim go by your place last night?” No chit chat, simply straight to the point, which was unlike Pete.

“No. But he might have been parking outside. Why?”

“My nephew, Trevor—that’s Jim’s son I told you about—called me and said Jim didn’t come back this morning to take him to school. I had to drive Trevor, since he’d already missed the school bus.”

“Maybe Jim has another job.” But, the tiny prickles on my back started to make me feel cold. Jim had found all that information about Jackson and the McIntyre family. Who had he asked? Had he gotten into trouble on my account
? Stop dramatizing, Brie Cheese
, I told myself.

“If Jim calls,” Pete said, “tell him to contact me, okay? I feel lousy with this head cold as it is, and I need to rest.”

“Sure.”

“Oh. There’s a brown envelope for you in your cubby. Jim passed it to me last night before I left.”

The info on Jackson Anderson. Had something serious happened to Jim? It was too obvious to look through the brown envelop, so I left that for later.
I’d better call Mr. Jackson Anderson and get some answers. Maybe I should tell my dad, just in case.
And this was where I made a judgment error. Call it youth’s folly, but I didn’t want my parents butting in, and besides, I wanted to prove to them, and myself, that I could make it on my own. Make ends meet. Be a full-grown adult. But, some lessons can only be learned the hard way.

When I called Jackson’s cell right after ten, as Sarah had advised earlier, he picked up almost immediately. I’d used my own cell phone this time.

“Jackson,” he said. His voice was scratchy, as if he’d smoked too much. And he had a touch of a Tennessee drawl.

“Mr. Anderson? This is Brie O’Mara, returning your call.”

“Yes, of course. Glad to hear from you.”

After the usual pleasantries he said, “I am concerned about Sarah sharing the apartment with you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know how much she’s told you, but her uncle is out to get her, and the security, or lack thereof in your place, just doesn’t measure up with protocol I am used to for my client.”

Protocol? “We put in an alarm system two days ago. And we even have some security.” I hoped I didn’t sound defensive.

“I didn’t see a guard at the entrance.”

It’s not the Ritz Carlton
. “What do you suggest, Mr. Anderson?”

“Maybe you can coax Sarah to move out. I can get her a more secure setup. And, just for good faith, I’ll pay her share of the rent till the end of the year. That way, you’re covered.”

That sounded dandy. But, was I truly “covered,” whatever that meant? Jackson must have caught wind of the break-in. I didn’t dare to bring it up, just in case he didn’t. But who’d told him?