Deadly Gamble

Chapter 21 (Part 1)

Chapter 21

The sun had finally cleared Sandia Crest, throwing long shadows across the yards. Josh's house faced west, its front yard completely in shadow this early. His primer gray car was alone in the driveway. I pulled in behind it.

The place was quiet. No rock music blasted forth, no sign of activity. I opened the rickety screen and knocked on the door. No response. Once again, a bit firmer. This time Josh answered. He wore only a pair of boxer shorts, dark blue and green tartan plaid. His dark hair was sleep-mussed and his angular face showed a dark shadow at the jaw. His smooth well-muscled body had a disquieting effect on me.

"Sorry, I thought you'd be leaving for school about now," I said.

He said something but since he was rubbing both hands over his sleepy face at the same time the words only mumbled out. He turned away, leaving the front door standing wide open, which I took to mean "Come on in." I stepped into the dim living room.

Jean's housekeeping skills might not have been much, but the absence of a woman was becoming obvious here. The vinyl recliner was piled high with clothes, worn and discarded at random. Plates with dried on food and cutlery stuck to the surfaces waited in odd places around the room—on the sofa, the end tables, the TV set. A heap of school books sat at one end of the sofa, with a pillow and two coats thrown on top. Obviously, the books had not been used in days.

Josh emerged from his room, zipping on a pair of jeans. He hadn't got around to finding a shirt yet. He combed his hair by running all ten fingers through it, front to back in one swipe.

"Can I get you some breakfast?" I asked.

"Uh, sure, if there's anything in the house." He glanced around like a bowl of cereal might show up just about anywhere.

I shed my jacket and purse behind the recliner and gathered up the crusty remains of previous meals on my way to the kitchen. Obviously, Josh had not spent lots of time in here. The kitchen was far neater than the living room. The plate I'd used on my last visit here was still in the sink, soaking with the same water I'd run there. The trash can overflowed with sacks and wrappers from fast food places.

"You got any cereal, milk, stuff like that?" I called toward the other room.

He appeared in the doorway, shrugging.

"Well, let's look." The date on the milk carton had expired two days ago but it smelled passable. I found a box of Froot Loops and a clean bowl. Clearing a spot at the kitchen table, I set the cereal down for him. He grinned as I poured the milk for him.

"So, what's going on?" I asked.

"Not much," he mumbled with red and yellow loops poking out between his lips.

"You talked to your aunt?"

He nodded. Despite my attempt to sit with him and carry on conversation, I couldn't look at the dirty dishes while doing nothing. He didn't strike me as the type who would be touchy about someone else stepping in and cleaning up. I set the stopper, squirted dish soap into the sink and started the hot water spraying over the dishes. Josh crunched down the cereal quickly and refilled the bowl.

"So, are you going to be moving in with her?" I asked as I poked around under the sink, looking for trash bags.

"She wants me to come Saturday." His eyes narrowed belligerently. "I ain't going, man."

"What did you find out about school?"

"She's checking on that. Says she thinks I can probably stay at Highland."

I dumped the contents of the trash can into a plastic bag and tied the top in a knot. "Have you been attending?"

"Some."

"At the risk of sounding like a social worker, Josh, you can't afford to let your work fall behind. You've always been a good student, haven't you?"

"I guess." He shrugged again and turned back to his cereal.

I cruised through the house, finding several more dishes and a few glasses tucked away in odd spots. I returned them to the kitchen, adding them to the sudsy water in the sink. The dish sponge had dried to a disk about the thickness of cardboard but it sprang to life again when it hit the hot water. I began the routine of washing, rinsing and stacking.

Josh tipped his bowl up to his mouth and drank the milk from it. He started to leave the kitchen but remembered to pick up the dishes he'd just used and slip them into the sink for me.

"Look," he said, "you don't have to do that. I was going to clean up today."

"It's okay. It'll go faster if I pitch in."

He gave me one of those lopsided Elvis grins.

"Why don't you take that trash out, then maybe get another bag and gather up all those old newspapers and stuff in the other room," I suggested after he'd stood uncertainly in the doorway for several minutes.

He grinned again and went willingly to the tasks. He might look grownup, but there was still a kid inside. I finished the dishes, wiped the counter and table, and tidied up the rest of the kitchen. When I went into the living room, Josh was stuffing newspapers and junk mail, one piece at a time, into a trash bag.

"Make sure you check that mail before you toss it," I reminded. "There might be bills and important things in there."

He looked up at me, like he'd never considered the possibility. I circled the room, gathering castoff clothing in my arms.

"Do you have a washer and dryer?" I asked.

"I think Mom just went to the Laundromat," he said, as if he weren't quite certain.

"Okay, where's the clothes basket?" At his blank look, I told him I'd find it myself.

No sign of a basket in the bathroom, but while in there I couldn't resist wiping off the sink and straightening the shampoo bottles in the tub. I wasn't going to scrub toilets for this kid but I do have this tidy streak that can't abide clutter. I put away the toothpaste tube and his toothbrush almost without thinking.

I located the laundry basket on the floor of Jean's closet. Two bras and panties lay in the bottom of it. I took them out, thinking to spare Josh the vivid reminders. I carried the empty basket back to the living room and dumped the heap of dirties into it. The place was beginning to look almost habitable.

"You'll have quite a job here, moving all this stuff," I commented. "Does your aunt have room for all of it?"

"I don't know," he said shortly. "Guess it'll have to go in storage. The furniture came with the house. But there's all my stuff."

"You want some help packing? I could come by this afternoon," I suggested. "Help you pack boxes. It would be less work for your aunt when she comes."

"Yeah. Whatever." He probably had not considered the work involved in moving. He was still acting like the move wouldn't happen.

I glanced at my watch. It was almost nine.

"Look, Josh, I really think you ought to be in school. Here, take this laundry basket with you. You can stop at the Laundromat after school and do these."

He didn't look thrilled, but he didn't argue. We walked out together, he with his arms loaded with books, me carrying the laundry. I set the basket on the front passenger seat of his car so he couldn't ignore it.

Rusty had sacked out on the back seat of the Jeep and he barely raised his head to acknowledge that I'd returned. I backed out of the driveway so Josh could leave, but I hung back slightly to make sure he did.