Chapter Two
I wasn't exactly sure what to think of this girl or even where we were going. I hadn't been in Linley long. Long enough to know it was a long way east from Nashville, sure. But I didn't know much else. I figured I'd at least go check out this 'apartment that wasn't really an apartment'. Way to kill time, and honestly, curiosity got the better of me.
Once we got out of the University Center, she got into her car: an old red Mustang. A '95 by the looks of the taillights.
And I got into my car — an older Thunderbird. Ancient as sin, but it had gotten me from Nowhere, Oklahoma to Nowhere, Tennessee in one piece. Plus, it had an amazing sound system that made my teeth rattle in a good way. I think I spent more money on the system than the car.
Think nothing. I know I did.
Anyway…
We drove west from Linley College, back toward Nashville, but I was fairly sure we weren't going there. After a few turns, we drove into the heart of Linley — city, or town, or… village. It was small enough to be considered a village, if people even used the term 'village' any more. Linley, Tennessee is something. Definitely small. Not like Nashville. Not even like Cookeville.
It was one of those towns time forgot, know what I mean? Main Street, town square, decorated lamp posts celebrating Fall.
Small.
I was used to small, being from Ash, Oklahoma, but — I don't know — I figured a 'college town' would be bigger — then again, it wasn't a very big college.
J parked next to a large row of old timey, western-era businesses, which lined Main Street, and got out. I did the same, only slower and like a gawking tourist. The three-story brick building in front me looked like it had seen a few better days. It was on the corner space of the business row. Adjacent to it was a furniture store and about six lawyers' offices. So, Linley was a lot like Ash: more lawyers than people.
Across one road from the building stood the courthouse, nothing very modern. The small patch of grass around it was filled with trees for the birds and benches for the old men whittling. And whittle they did. About ten of them. Just whittling. Seemed like a pretty peaceful way to get through the day. My first thought wasn't about the whittlers; it was about the lawn itself. I wondered how many people had actually been hanged on the courthouse lawn.
Morbid? Yes. Then again, I am an English major. A writer. I like crime novels. Historical crime mostly. The grittier the better. Morbid is sort of my thing. J liked that about me.
Across the street was another row of buildings and a little white church detached at the end, a relic of times past. The church is — was — important. It's not there now, but…
The beginning. I keep forgetting.
Directly across from the building J Rivers waited for me to enter was the police station. I gathered that from the two cruisers parked in front of it and the very annoyed-looking guy wearing a trim beard and a sheriff's badge leaning on the wall outside of it.
J's brother, Sheriff Joshua, I presumed. He didn't look anything like I expected. No Andy Griffith in this small town. Sheriff Joshua Rivers couldn't have been over forty — young for a sheriff — with slightly wavy brown hair. Sheriff Darby, from my neck of the woods, was much older and grayer than this guy. Then again, by the looks of him, I wouldn't want to mess with Sheriff Rivers. He didn't appear to be the friendliest guy in the neighborhood, especially with the icy look he gave me.
He had on a brown leather vest on top of a navy shirt and a dark leather jacket thrown on over it. Not what I expected in a sheriff. I learned later that jeans, vest, dark shirt, and a leather jacket was his 'normal' uniform. I even made fun of him about it when I got to know him better. Well, I did once. He didn't seem amused. Josh wasn't amused very often… by me anyway.
I could see where J got her intimidating and sparkling personality.
Speaking of J…"You comin'?" she snapped while knocking on the door which had seen better days.
I nodded tentatively and walked toward her, very confused. If this was her apartment, why was she knocking? And why was her brother giving me the evil eye? And why was this supposed apartment on the corner of a business block? And lots of other questions I can't remember now.
The point is I was flabbergasted.
"Your brother?" I asked as I tilted my head toward the guy across the road. I didn't need her to answer me. I knew for sure it was her brother, but I was trying to make small talk. We hadn't gotten used to each other yet. It wouldn't take long for that to change.
J looked across the street and smiled. For the first time, I saw her icy exterior melt away. "Yeah. That's him." She waved and he waved back. Waved is probably a nice word for what he did. More like he threw his hand up and then threw it back down. Such a grouch.
"He seems… pleasant."
She laughed — another melting of the ice — and knocked again. "You have to get to know him. He's not happy about me getting an apartment and then I show up with you… he's just overly protective."
"No, that's good. I'm protective of my little sister Ella, too. If I ever saw her going into a guy's apartment I didn't know, well, it wouldn't be good. Then when I got finished with him, my dad would bruise any part of him I didn't." I had to smirk. My sister wasn't that much younger than me, eighteen months actually, but I always treated her like a princess I had to protect. She wasn't always grateful. "Will I need to guard myself against your father too?"
I laughed, but she didn't. "My father's not around."
And, from her tone and by the way her shoulders slumped, I knew that was the wrong thing to say. Daddy issues. Fun. Figured out I didn't need to bring it up again. I found out later why.
"Where is she?" J mumbled and knocked harder. "Mrs. Bainbridge! Are you home?"
I was all ready to ask her who in the world Mrs. Bainbridge was, when I heard the lock move. A few seconds later, so did the door. "I'm so sorry, Jordan. I was in the living room watching my story on the telly."
Mrs. Bainbridge was British, which was awesome, but strange in Tennessee where everyone else had an… uh… different accent. I don't consider myself as one with an accent. J had one. It was cute. Like a female Matthew McConaughey.
It didn't take Mrs. Bainbridge's eyes long to find my midsection. She worked her way up my chest toward my face. Now I know how girls feel.
Her eyes were sort of grayish, almost the color of her hair which she had piled on her head like a bun. She wore a lavender dress with a white apron tied around the waist. I remember because it's the kind my grandmother used to wear: the ones with the high waist and hem a little below the knee. From her apron, it appeared her 'story' had interrupted her kitchen time. "Who's this handsome man, Jordan? He sure isn't Oliver."
Hearing her again, I noticed she didn't have a strong British accent as I assumed before. Later she told me, she'd lived in London as a child. Her family relocated to Tennessee in her twelfth year. In her many years there, she'd lost a bit of her original accent, but gained a touch of Southern as well.
I'm pretty sure I blushed, because I always did when older women called me handsome. Their expression changed and their voices lowered, like they wanted to take me and show me the 'ways of the world' if you get my meaning. Mrs. Bainbridge had that tone.
To my complete and utter surprise, J's cheeks reddened too. From the brief impression I had of her, I didn't think she'd ever blush, and especially not over me. "No, Ma'am. This isn't Oliver."
"Is Oliver still in the picture? He's a nice boy."
I was sort of hurt by that. I mean, I shouldn't be since I'm obviously a much better person than Oliver Weston, but at the time, I didn't know that. I didn't know him. I'd only heard his name once, and from that I learned he was rich and handsome — and Mrs. Bainbridge loved him.
I wanted her to love me too, and the realization shocked the heck out of me. I'd only met her, for goodness sake. But I wanted her to say 'I sure do like that boy' about me.
Maybe later she did.
"Mrs. Bainbridge, t
his is Walker Scott. He's from…"
"Oklahoma," I said for her in case she forgot, or I forgot to tell her. I couldn't remember. "Pleased to meet you." I held out my hand and she shook it politely, all the while sizing me up. I hope I passed. I think I did.
"Likewise, Mr. Scott. My… you remind me a lot of my husband. He's gone now, but you could pass for him. He had blond hair too. Such pretty blue eyes…"
I felt like a horse getting ready to be bought.
"Welcome to Linley," she said after she'd thoroughly inspected me.
I thanked her, and J started explaining why we were there. I was glad. I was wondering the same thing. "Walker is here to look at the apartment."
That surprised her. "Really? Oliver and the sheriff are okay with that?"
J's eyes narrowed. "I don't need their permission, Mrs. Bainbridge. I'm a grown woman."
Score one for her.
"Yes, you're right, Jordan. Eighteen is practically ancient now days." She winked at J and motioned for us to follow her in. "Let me show you around." Mrs. Bainbridge walked ahead of us and I stopped just a few inches from J.
"One more family question. Does your brother always look so constipated?" I whispered in her ear. Her hair lightly tickled my nose. Might not have been my best and brightest line, but it was the truth. He did, in fact, look like a constipated pickle.
She looked over her shoulder and grinned. "Yeah, constipated pickle pretty much sums him up. He tries, bless his heart, but he's sheriff and he's very, very over protective. He can't understand that I'm eighteen now and don't need him to be my legal guardian anymore."
One, bless his heart… such a southern expression. From what I could gather, it meant you could say anything you wanted about a person if you said that first. Made it okay or something.
Two, that 'legal guardian' thing got my attention, but I decided to let it slide. Mrs. Bainbridge was already almost through the foyer and to the stairs.
Trying to impress her with my gentlemanliness, I motioned for J to go ahead of me through the threshold. There might have even been a bow on my part. I saw it once on a television show. The girl on the show looked impressed.
J… well, J was a different sort of bird. She stared at my bow and batted her eyes a few times like she was trying to figure me out. I have to admit that my cheeks warmed waiting for her to say something, anything. Even one movement of her lips, a twinge, would have been better than waiting for her to respond. Finally, when I didn't think she would do anything, the side of her lip quirked up in a cute little half-smile and she shook her head like, "This guy's a nut." I could handle that. As long as she thought I was a cute nut, we'd be okay.
Thinking back on it, I don't exactly know why I wanted J to think I was cute. Male pride, maybe? Or maybe… even then... I don't know. Look, all I know is when she smiled at me, I smiled back. I liked it and I'd only known her all of ten minutes. It didn't take long to like J once she actually started talking and stopped being so standoffish. I could even see why Oliver liked her; though, I didn't know anything about the man. I had no idea he was a psychotic murderer. I had no idea he would…
Sorry, back to the story.
Mrs. Bainbridge had already made it to the stairs about fifteen feet from the door when I entered behind J. The foyer to the apartment was gorgeous. Victorian style. It reminded me of a sitting room on the Titanic for some reason. Yes, I think of the sitting room from the Titanic from time to time. Don't you?
Oh.
Anyway, it had dark wood, antique fixtures, and ornate moldings. I guess the biggest thing I noticed was how grand and stately it was, which was weird in an old apartment next to a furniture store in the Old South.
"Original wood," Mrs. Bainbridge said as if reading my mind. "It's been updated, heating and cooling wise anyway, but the molding, hardwood floors, and eaves are all original. This house was built as a hotel in the early eighteen hundreds."
"Ah," I thought. That's why it looked like a grand hotel, because it was at one time. Maybe not grand by today's standards, but grand for the time period. I could see some weary traveler lugging his or her bags in the front door, stopping at the desk on the left side and asking for a room for the night. I bet only the fanciest stayed here. The poorer among the population probably stayed somewhere else… somewhere with less charm, for lack of a better word.
Mrs. Bainbridge stood at the bottom step, clasped her hands in front of her lavender dress, and cleared her throat for us to pay attention. J and I stood with our shoulders nearly touching, facing the small but sort of intimidating older woman. "Now… I know and trust Jordan, but young man, I don't know you from Adam, so please listen and listen well."
So… I did.
"I'm a well-meaning, well-respected southern Christian lady. I rent out two floors of my home because I'm lonely since my husband went. But make no mistake, I will kick you out quicker than a punter on Sunday if I catch any unsavory activities going on under my roof." Mrs. Bainbridge looked directly at me.
I had a feeling she would actually describe what 'unsavory' meant to her. I wasn't disappointed.
"No wild parties. No drugs. Not even any beer, and young man, if you want to bring a lady friend here, that's fine, but I don't want to hear any hanky-panky, if you catch my drift. What you do in your room with a lady friend is your business and your right, but it's also my right to not have to listen to it… and the walls are thin."
And… I wanted to crawl under a rock. I didn't have to the heart to tell Mrs. Bainbridge that I didn't see any issues with that since I hadn't had a girlfriend since senior year in high school when we 'promised to try the long distance thing'… yeah. Because that worked.
Anyway, from the corner of my eye I saw J snort. The girl actually snorted. I tried not to laugh because I didn't want Mrs. Bainbridge to think I was laughing at her, but holy cow. I thought people only snorted in books.
"As for you, missy," Mrs. Bainbridge turned her attention to J. That shut her up rather quickly. "I don't care if Oliver comes over, but know that your brother has already been over here and talked about setting up home security cameras."
I asked what was wrong with that.
Mrs. Bainbridge smirked. "He wanted to set them up inside the house."
"Ah," I said and rocked back on my feet. So far, Tennessee was turning out a lot like Oklahoma. Lots of rules and little old ladies who didn't care to read you the riot act.
Mrs. Bainbridge's face lit up like a Christmas tree, like she was a different person or something. She clapped her hands together and smiled brightly, showing crooked, aged-yellow teeth. "Shall we see the rest of the house?"
J and I both nodded and Mrs. Bainbridge turned toward the stairs. "The bottom floor is all mine except for the foyer leading to the stairs. They are the only way upstairs, so we have to keep them clear. But, please, unless I ask you, don't enter my part of the house without my permission, and I won't enter yours. Deal?"
"Deal," both J and I answered. It seemed like J had heard part of this speech before, which would make sense since it was her looking for a roommate in a house she already had.
Anyway…
I cringed at the thought of having to go up all those stairs. Thanks partially to an old football incident that broke my knee and gave me a concussion, stairs weren't my friends. Sure, I could tolerate them occasionally, but not often. And the thought of having to climb them every day didn't sound fun.
"You two can fight over which floor you want. The upstairs have been renovated into two fully furnished apartments. Rather large apartments in fact. You won't even have to see each other except when the person upstairs has to come downstairs to leave… unless you want to see each other that is." She winked and stepped up on the second-story landing. For a lady who had made sure I didn't bring a woman home with me, she sure seemed okay with J and me visiting.
The mystery of Mrs. Bainbridge.
So that's why J said we wouldn't be living together, because we wouldn't. Not exactly. "Wh
at's the rent?" I asked, taking the place all in. Unlike the downstairs which had lots of old world charm, the second floor had newer fixtures and a different feel. Not to say it didn't have hardwood floors and the same moldings around the doors, but it was a cozier atmosphere. Not as formal.
"We'll get to that at the end." Mrs. Bainbridge kept right on walking. "Now, I've already shown J the apartment and she loved it. She needed a roommate which I assume you fit the bill."
"If the rent is right," I said, not even joking. I worked at the dry cleaners. It wasn't like I was made out of money. Plus, I had to pay tuition for college. That wasn't cheap or easy. Scholarship or not. This place was huge and massive and awesome and… way too expensive-looking for my wallet I was afraid.
Mrs. Bainbridge turned around and smiled. "I said we'll talk later about the rent."
We walked through the second level. It had the same dark hardwood floors as Mrs. Bainbridge's level. The walls were medium blue color. It had a living room, a small bathroom, a kitchen with a fridge, and a bedroom. Plus one big window that let you see Main Street and, more specifically, the police station. Sheriff Rivers would like that.
"I thought I'd take this level," J said, pointing to a few boxes already sitting around. "That way I wouldn't bother a roommate when I came in from work. I work nights as a dispatch." She motioned toward the window and the police station. "Sheriff likes me."
"I see." I couldn't say much else until I knew what the rent was and Mrs. Bainbridge wasn't too forth coming.
"Okay. Let's see the third level." Mrs. Bainbridge led the way up the stairs. Again, same feel. Same wood. Same creak when you stepped down just right. One stair especially had a rather loud squeak. I could see how that would be annoying.
By the time we made it to the next level, my knee hated me.
Unlike the second floor, the door to the third floor apartment was closed. Mrs. Bainbridge pulled out a set of keys from her apron pocket and fiddled around until she found the right one. "Now, isn't an attic if that's what you're thinking. It's an honest to goodness apartment. Renovated and everything. Even has some really cool beams as the show House Hunters says."
She opened the door and my jaw dropped. It was, literally, the coolest apartment I'd ever seen. Mrs. Bainbridge didn't lie. Anyone could tell that it had been an attic at one time. Or at least part of one. The room had an angular roof which was fine. It gave it character. In front of me was one big great room: living room, dining room table, kitchen at the far end of the room. Nothing too fancy, but really cool. The living room had a leather sofa and matching chair, fireplace, and big flatscreen TV on the wall. The kitchen was a rustic brown color with stainless steel appliances.
"Does this all stay?" I couldn't believe it if it did.
Mrs. Bainbridge nodded. "I sure ain't gonna lug it downstairs. You?"
I shook my head because I wasn't an idiot. The bathroom was the first door on the right. Nice size. Nothing terribly fancy. It was blue and had a tub. The bedroom was next to the kitchen, big enough for a king-sized bed and a pretty decent sized walk-in closet. If I had a wife, she'd have lots of room to hang her clothes. We sure wouldn't fight over them.
"Okay. I'm going to stop this tour right now," I said because there was just no way to keep going. It was wasting all of our time. "Thank you so much for showing me the apartment, and J, for thinking of bringing me, but I can't take it."
Mrs. Bainbridge looked hurt. "You don't like it?"
"Oh no. That's not it at all," I said quickly. "I love it. It's just… there's no way I can afford something like 'this'."
Mrs. Bainbridge sighed loudly. "Son, you have the patience God gave a goose, do you know that?"
Truthfully, I had no idea how much patience God had actually given a goose, but I daresay it wasn't much because they were geese and… well…
"Two-fifty," Mrs. Bainbridge said when I didn't say anything to her goose comment.
I knew it! There was no way. "A week? See, I'm sorry. That's way too much for me."
"No. Two-fifty a month," Mrs. Bainbridge corrected as she blew a stray gray hair out of her eye.
I know my jaw dropped and there was no way I could speak for a few seconds. From the expression on J's face, I could tell she was enjoying my little mini break from reality.
"Can you afford two-fifty a month?" J asked.
"Well, yeah, I can afford it, but why is it so cheap? Is it haunted or something?"
Mrs. Bainbridge walked very close to me. Her face as stern and hard as ever. "Yes. My late husband died up here five years ago. Right over there. In the bedroom. Sad. I thought he had more... stamina. We haven't been able to keep a tenant since. Strange."
I swallowed hard because, frankly, I'm not a fan of ghosts, or zombies, or anything dead really — and don't really want to share an apartment with them. And just... eww. I did not need to know that much about Mrs. Bainbridge. Not at all. I was all ready to tell her thanks but no thanks when Mrs. Bainbridge erupted into laughter. She slapped me on the back so hard I thought it knocked my lung loose.
"I'm lyin'. My husband's not dead and he sure ain't my husband anymore. We've been divorced five years." I could tell by the way her jaw set and her body grew rigid that this wasn't a conversation she particularly wanted to have right this second.
"So you lied downstairs when you said you were renting it out because he's been dead five years and you were lonely." I eyeballed her. That woman was a good liar.
"He's dead to me, if not in the eyes of the law or, you know, nature," Mrs. Bainbridge said with a wink.
"So why is it so cheap?" If ghosts were out, after all.
She shrugged. "I like the company. It's five hundred total for both floors. I normally rent it out to families. I love the sound of little feet. But Jordan asked if she could bring in a roommate and I had no problem with it. So five hundred divided by two is…"
"Two fifty," I said, not believing my luck. I expected to pay at least four hundred for an apartment not nearly as good as this one. Okay, it lacked privacy, though up on the top floor I could do whatever I wanted. Except J and Mrs. Bainbridge would know every time I left.
Still two hundred and fifty dollars for a fully furnished apartment? Definitely not bad at all.
"What do you think?" I asked J, not really sure why I needed her approval. If I wanted the apartment, I'd take it. I didn't have to have her okay and she didn't have to have mine.
"I've already moved some of my stuff in, remember? So it's up to you. Wanna be my roomie? And it isn't like we even have to be in the same room. Or in the same apartment even. You can have your life and I can have mine."
I liked that idea. At the time, I had no idea how much of a lie that statement was. We couldn't have two separate lives. Not after all we'd been through. But at the time, at the beginning, it seemed okay. She'd go her way with the sheriff and Oliver Weston, and I'd go mine with… well, no one at the moment.
"We have a deal." I extended my hand to Mrs. Bainbridge, who took it and shook it hard enough to actually make my hand hurt. That woman had a grip.
"Great. I'll go get the paperwork." She scuttled down the stairs leaving me and J alone in my new apartment.
"Guess this means we are sort of roommates," she said with her hands in the back pockets of her well-fitting jeans.
"Guess it does. You were right, though. It's not like we'll even see each other that much," I said, thanking my lucky stars that I'd won the lottery to get this apartment, furnished, for as cheap as I did… And I got J as a sort of roommate. Definitely my lucky day.
"Well…" she walked toward me and extended her hand. I took it and smiled like a doofus. I was her roomie now. Very cool indeed. "Welcome home."
She had no idea at the time, neither of us did actually, of how true that statement was. I was home. Really and truly home. With J. Too bad I didn't realize it until it was too late.