Rene Gutteridge - Listen

As if guilt had cloaked Darla, everything about her changed, from her expression to her posture. She turned to Tim, who still didn’t seem to follow.

Tim asked, “What do you mean, our conversation?”

“Like I said, I don’t know that. But this Web site is called Listen to Yourself and-”

Tim walked over to the breakfast bar, where a laptop was open. He cleared the screen saver and typed quickly.

“What are you doing?” Darla asked.

But Tim didn’t answer. He seemed to be scrolling. Then he stopped.

Beyond the hum of the refrigerator, silence hung as Tim leaned toward the computer, reading. Frank looked at Darla, who continued to glance between Tim, Frank, and the front window.

Then Tim turned. “Oh no.”

Darla stood. “What’s the matter?”

Tim didn’t seem to know what to say. He stared at the floor, shook his head, his hand on his cheek.

“Tim! What’s the matter?”

“It’s… it’s the conversation… the other night, when I was mad.”

“About the vote?”

“Yes, yes. About the vote. The whole conversation is on there. Except there are, uh… The, um, curse words. Aren’t.”

Frank had noticed that too. Whoever was recording these conversations seemed to be taking out the cusswords.

It felt like the air in the room disappeared. Frank said, “Why don’t you both sit down.”

Tim made his way to the couch, his eyes distant. Darla looked totally stunned. They sat down, this time a small space between them. Both stared at Frank as if he had an answer.

Finally Tim spoke, his face tightly drawn. “They think we hung their cat just because I was mad at him?”

Frank decided to take it a different direction. “Sir, do you go to the hardware store? Al’s?”

“Yes. All the time. Why?”

“Were you there this week?”

“Yes.”

“What did you buy?”

Darla’s face looked like it hadn’t seen the light of day in a decade. She tried to keep her composure, but her hands were shaking. “Weed killer, wasn’t it?”

Tim nodded.

“Did you pay cash for it?”

“You really don’t think we did this, do you?”

“Did you pay cash, sir?”

“Yes, we pay cash for everything.”

“You pay cash for everything?”

“Yes.”

“No credit cards or debit cards? What about checks?”

“No. Cash. Except for bills.”

“Why?” Frank asked.

“It’s the envelope system,” Darla said.

“The what?”

“It’s a method for getting out of debt, living within your means,” Tim said. “You pay cash for everything, like clothes, groceries, things like that.”

Darla hopped up and grabbed her purse, pulling out a small, yellow book. “See? Here.” She handed it to him. Inside were small envelopes filled with cash. Each envelope was labeled differently: Groceries. Dining. Date night. Pharmacy.

Frank handed it back and scribbled a note about it.

“It’s Dave Ramsey’s idea,” she said.

“Who’s Dave Ramsey?” Frank asked.

Darla pointed behind Frank and he turned around. There, standing in the darkness of the far corner of the room was a life-size cardboard cutout of a man, balding, fiftyish, pointing his finger toward Frank.

“He’s a financial guy. Writes lots of books,” Tim said. “To help us stay on track, we took him and had him blown up.”

“Enlarged,” Darla said quickly. “What Tim means is that we had him enlarged. We don’t blow things up, of course. Or people. Or hang things.”

“Look, Officer, I don’t know what’s going on or how they heard our conversation, but we did not kill the Caldwells’ cat. I was angry when I was speaking to my wife. But that was a private conversation, and the next day I was over it. Ted has not mentioned a thing about it to me. I didn’t even realize he was upset. He canceled coffee early this week, but he said he was busy. I didn’t think twice about it.”

Frank stood and closed his notepad. “All right. We may need you to come in and answer some more questions later.”

Darla seemed to be in full-blown panic. “Do we need a lawyer?”

“No,” Tim snapped. “Of course not. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I can’t answer that question, ma’am. Do what you need to do. But for now, I’d advise staying away from the Caldwells until this thing is sorted out.”

Tim seemed sad more than anything. He walked to the window and looked out, his back slumped. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Frank, I’m so glad you could stay for dinner,” Kay said, putting the pot roast in the center of the table.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Frank said. As Jenna and Hunter slowly made their way to the table, Frank leaned forward, engaging Damien. “Maybe I should call her.”

Damien sawed into the meat. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“This is not like Angela. She doesn’t not show up for work.”

Damien plopped some potatoes onto his plate as Kay returned with the salad. “There are a billion reasons she wouldn’t show up. Sick. Family emergency. Had to go neuter a pet. You’re overreacting.”

Frank sighed and sank back into his chair, crossing his arms and staring at the food. “I don’t expect you to understand. It’s just that she never gets sick. And she never misses work. When we were married, she never missed one day of work. Not one. For anything. She’s dependable and a vitamin C addict.”

Jenna and Hunter took their seats.

Frank put on a smile. “Hey, kiddos.”

“Hey,” Hunter said.

Jenna offered only a small smile. Damien cleared his throat, and she made another attempt with a slightly bigger smile.

“What’s going on these days?” Frank asked.

Hunter grinned. “Jenna’s grounded.”

“Shut up,” Jenna said. “So is he. From his cell phone. For racking up, what was it, three thousand minutes?”

“From the Internet,” Hunter added. “For beating a girl-”

“I’m going to shove this roast beef up your-”

“Okay,” Damien said, meat knife in hand, waving it between the two of them. “Let’s try to be civil while Uncle Frank is here.”

“Then tell the rodent to shut up,” Jenna said, jabbing her fork across the table at Hunter.

“Right in the nose-”

“Hunter! Enough,” Kay said. “It’s not up for discussion.”

Damien took a deep breath and served himself some peas.

Jenna suddenly stood, grabbed her plate, and headed upstairs.

Kay passed Frank the salt and pepper. “I’m sorry about that. She’s going through a stage. I think it’s just hormones.”

Frank nodded and looked at Hunter. “What about you? How’s school?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“Built any more computer programs?”

“Nah. Too busy.”

“I finally got the Wii. Maybe you can come over and play it this weekend.”

Hunter’s face lit up. “Really?”

When Frank’s cell phone rang, he reached to his belt to grab it. “Sorry. It’s my work phone.” He frowned as he checked the caller ID. “Huh. It’s the captain. Excuse me.” Frank left the table.

Damien glanced at Kay. “I think we should tell Jenna to get back down here and stop being rude.”

Frank returned to the table. “I have to go. Kay, I’m sorry to leave in the middle of dinner. It’s a work thing.”

“You’re not even on,” Damien said.

“I can’t talk now. I’ve got to-” Frank stopped himself and turned to Damien. “You want to come with me?”

“What?”

“Come on. You’re the investigative reporter now. And this is going to be quite a story, I think.”

Damien looked at Kay, trying to look appropriately desperate and remorseful all at once.