Hot Tea (36 page)

Long story short, I don’t have a revolving bedroom door.
 
I don’t even have one with an automatic opener thingy like they have at the grocery store.
 

How did I get from being slaked to the grocery store?
 
I worry about the way my mind works sometimes.
 
My mind wanders a bit.
 
I keep telling myself that it’s a case of choreographed random thought, which I remind myself is a good thing.
 
I’m able to follow a train of thought, mostly, I just don’t always stay on the tracks.
 
I don’t completely lose the plot, but I can go off on a bit of a tangent.
 

My sister never does that.
 
She has a talent for organization and staying on task.
 
Teagan, well, Teagan can grab onto a thought and hold on to that puppy like a pit bull with a plan.
 
I admire her ability, but I wouldn’t trade it for mine.

Until recently, like last night, I might have traded Teagan’s life for mine.
 
She’s beautiful.
 
Curvy.
 
She can eat like a ravenous truck driver, and does so on a regular basis, and she doesn’t gain an ounce.
 
You don’t want to get between my sister and a good buffet.
 
She’s smart.
 
She’s capable.
 
And what really sucks, she’s actually a very nice person.
 

If I were pushed to list a personality flaw, I think the only thing I could come up with is that Teagan rolls her eyes.
 
A lot.
 
All the damn time.
 
It’s really very annoying, but she’s been doing it as long as I can remember.
 
I don’t think she’s going to stop.

The other reason I might have switched places with her before last night is that she’s reunited with a guy she was friends with as a young and wanton teen.
 
She’s walking around with a very satisfied look in her eye these days.
 

I haven’t been in a relationship in forever.
 
To even use the word relationship to describe my past participation with the male of the species might be a bit generous.
 
I was really starting to think I was going to have to go out and buy cats.
 
Cats really aren’t my thing, but you can’t be the crazy cat lady with rats.
 
Rats would be my first choice of pet.
 
Rats can laugh.
 
Have you ever heard a cat laugh?
 
Didn’t think so.
 
That in and of itself is reason enough to have a rat.

Anyway, the guy that Teagan is again involved with is a great guy, handsome, really nice, body that could make a girl go weak at the knees, even girls that aren’t prone to that kind of thing.
 
The problem is that back when she was but a wanton lass, and didn’t want my parent’s prying eyes on her all the time, she used her brilliant teenage mind and came up with a flawless plan.
 

Teagan convinced my parents that Jessie was gay, and therefore harmless, in a sexually active teen sort of way.

Cosmic hiccup, since now they’re back together.
 
Should the relationship develop much further, Teagan’s going to have to figure out a way to explain how Jessie went from gay teen to straight man, and I don’t think Mom will accept “Gee Mom, it must have been an awkward teen phase” as an excuse.
 
The fallout from this confession could be cataclysmic.
  

All I can say is, better her than me.

While I’m the first to admit that I’m the sister with the Gift of Gab and can talk my way in or out of just about anything, truth be told, and I would never admit this to Teagan, Mom probably likes her better, so even if she confesses to teen assignations, my mom probably won’t kill her.
 
At the very most, Mom will hang her by her thumbs from the front porch railing so the neighbors can bear witness.
 
In all the years I have been an O’Flynn, Mom has never actually done that, but she has threatened it more than once, and I can’t say with certainty that she wouldn’t do it.
 

That’s how you keep eight kids in line.
 
You give them the proper balance of fear of God and fear of Mom.
 
Not in a
Hell and brimstone
kind of way, more of an
I love you and I’m always watching
, kind of way.
 

What it comes down to is that if my mother had to track your happy little butt down and humiliate you in front of God and the rest of the world, to curb your own stupidity, she’d do it.
 

Fortunately, none of us screwed up enough to warrant that kind of treatment, but still, you never know, we aren’t dead yet.

Teagan not only showed up this morning unannounced and uninvited, which is pretty normal, but this time, she showed up without food.
 
Seems like she’s been over here two dozen times every day since she’s been on vacation, which is a lot even for us, and every time she’s come over, she’s brought at least 10,000 calories.

She let her presence be known.
 
Again.
 
Loudly.
 
“Cara, pay attention!
 
I have a problem.”

One of these days I’m gonna get whiplash the way I’m constantly flung from one subject to the next.
 
I need to get a handle on that, but for now, better just to answer, “Really?
 
That’s unusual.
 
It’s usually me that has the problem and you that has the solution.
 
I’m kinda liking this day.
 
What’s going on?”

“First you tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Cara Siobhan O’Flynn…”
 
Teagan sounded a lot like Mom, using my middle name and everything.
 
Thank God I don’t do stuff like that.
 
Very often.
 

Teagan carried on.
 
She didn’t even seem to notice the whole mom thing, “Tell me what happened last night.
 
There is no way we’re talking about anything else, or that I’m leaving this apartment for that matter, without first getting a detailed accounting.”

I countered, “Teagan, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
 
When my heart isn’t in it, my cover stories leave something to be desired.

Her eyes rolled back so far in her head, I would swear she could see her own thoughts, “You lie like a cheap rug.
 
You had sex last night.
 
Great sex.
 
You know it.
 
I know it.
 
And if Mom sees you in the next 24 hours, she’s going to know it too.”

“Why did you have to go there?
 
Why did you have to bring Mom into this?”

“Sorry.”

“When you hooked up with Jessie, after not seeing him for the better part of a decade; and let’s not forget that if I hadn’t mentioned his name you probably never would have looked him up on MySpace, did I throw it in your face?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, maybe I threw it in your face, but did I bring Mom into it?”

“No, but that was more because of all the confusion surrounding the whole situation.”
 
She started counting off events on her perfectly manicured fingers.
 
“If you will recall, Jessie and I got back together just when Mom’s friend Bernie woke up dead.
 
You were, and still are, between jobs.
 
Your roommate Suzi moved out, her brother, evidently your new boyfriend, moved in. You still haven’t shared that fact with any of the family, other than me.
 
Actually, to be more precise, you haven’t told anyone that AJ moved in, nor have you told anybody that he is your boyfriend.”
 
Her perfectly shaped brows danced around on her forehead.

She was enjoying her review of the last few days.
 
My sister has a talent for these things.
 

I had to set the record straight, and maybe interrupt her train of thought.
 
If my luck was holding, and God knows I got lucky last night, I could switch subjects without her ever noticing.
 
It doesn’t happen often, but it was worth a shot, “Not quite accurate, Liam knows.”

Even I admit that my attempt didn’t pack the wallop of a flea bite on a buffalo’s bum, but think about it, I’ve recently been using my energy for things more important than mental skirmishes with my beloved, if annoying, sister.

 
If she noticed the attempt to pitch her off the path, it didn’t slow her down.
 
She continued, “That was an accident.
 
Not my fault that goofy Liam went from the irresponsible little brother we all know and love to a man madly in love with a serene woman, who happens to be gorgeous and who has won over the hearts and minds of everyone in the family, and not only that, but she comes to us with a child, a ready made family for Liam, another blessing for us all.”

She looked at me as if I didn’t have the brains God gave a flat rock, “Remember?
 
We were in panic mode since they had planned to marry just days from now.
  
Thank God they pushed the date back a bit.
 
I thought Mom was going to suffer apoplexy since they’ve only known each other about a minute and a half.
 
They came over to announce their surprise engagement and figured out that you had a new roommate.
 
You didn’t really tell them anything.
 
You weren’t honest and forthright.
 
You got caught.”

She leaned in for the kill, “And to top it all off, you dreamed up not one, not two, but three new business opportunities, none of them making much money yet, all of them beyond bizarre, and you were dumb enough to quit your job when you didn’t know if you could generate a living wage.”

I thought that last hurtful comment would wrap it up.
 
I was wrong.

With added enthusiasm she continued, “Oh, and let’s not forget what you told some unbelievably good looking cop, at least your claim is that he’s good looking, I’ve not seen him yet.
 
Anyway, you tell a cop that you think that multiple deaths that you are aware of, and possibly connected to, are connected to each other in some convoluted way.
 
Did it dawn on you there’s a chance you have a whole task force watching your every move?
 
They probably think you’re some whacked out serial killer.
 
I bet they had a good time watching you last night!
 
You let that cop in your apartment.
 
The place is probably wired for sound and video.”

I shook my head and gave her a nervous laugh.
 
Besides the whole creeped out thing, the thought of a group of cops sitting outside my apartment last night, in some van with all the widows blacked out, and a florist logo on the side, was unnerving.
 
Then, worse, the thought of those cops inside the van watching little monitors, hooked up to a video camera, aimed at my bed, or worse, the living room couch, was causing me to give serious consideration to having a panic attack.
 
Although I’ve never actually had a panic attack, realistically, this would be a good time to start.

My wee little brain just couldn’t go there, so, I tried to fling myself back onto a safer track, “Give me a break.
 
Cops don’t do things like that.
 
They’d need a warrant or something.”

My sister’s responses can be quick and still appear to be well thought out, especially if she is getting the reaction she wants, “Only if they planned on using the information in court.
 
You don’t know.
 
This could be a rogue cop.
 
He could be working on his own because he thinks you killed his partner.”

“Right Teagan, I’ve got the look of a serial killer written all over me.”

“You dingleberry, if a serial killer looked like a serial killer, they wouldn’t be able to kill more than one person.
  
The cops would swoop down and grab them.
 
Serial killers, good serial killers, look just like you and me.”

I had to fight back, it’s a sister thing, besides, I was on edge about the cops sitting in the van thing and trying not to imagine exactly what they had seen.
  
What about when I laughed and told AJ that I’d been trying for weeks to become flexible enough to get my foot behind my head?
 
Were they watching when he challenged me to prove it?
 
I’m the kind of girl that can’t leave a challenge unmet, without even warming up or anything I’d grabbed my ankle and…

Teagan interrupted my thought, “What’s wrong with you?
 
You look like you just, well, you look like, I’m not sure what you look like, I’ve never seen you look that way before.”

I tried to go back to the subject I’d been trying to change, because it suddenly seemed much more benign, which is just pathetic.
 
It’s easier to think about being intimately involved with a serial killer, than discussing how intimately I’m becoming involved with AJ.