The Infamous Frankie Lorde 2, page 2
“Then enlighten me, wise master,” Ollie said, pulling me out of my thoughts. “What is bugging the Detective these days, if it’s not work.”
Ah, yes, Uncle Scotty. The Lorde that was already housebroken.
“It’s got something to do with my dad,” I said, dropping the bomb.
Ollie’s eyes widened at the mention of my old man.
“You think the Detective’s worried he’s busting out?” he asked, practically salivating at the thought.
I sighed.
Ollie was sort of obsessed with my dad. In fact, it was this same obsession that had allowed him to recognize me on my first day of school just a few months back. He’d been glued to the TV during my dad’s trial and had seen right through the mousy make-under I’d given myself in an attempt to go unnoticed. It hadn’t taken Ollie long to admit that he was a fan—not in the criminal sense—and had dreams of playing Dad in the biopic of Tom Lorde that he swears will be made one day.
I prayed it never did.
“He’s not worried about Dad breaking out,” I answered Ollie while kicking at a rock. “Though, I’m sure Dad’s been working on a plan ever since he got in there.”
Ollie’s head turned to me like it was on fire.
“Did he tell you that?” he asked excitedly.
“Nah. It’s just what we do. Like, I don’t need to tell you that I’m already working on some ideas for our next plan,” I explained to him simply. Ollie blinked at that like it was news to him, but I continued. “No, it’s more like…Uncle Scotty doesn’t want me to talk to my dad or something.”
“But why? He seemed pretty cool when you mentioned it before.”
“He was definitely not cool about it,” I said, shaking my head and chuckling to myself. Sometimes I forgot how much the average person missed when it came to body language.
“Okay, so tell me what I missed,” Ollie instructed. “I’m ready to learn.”
I glanced over at him and could see he was serious. He wanted to know about this stuff.
I took a deep breath and began. “Well, first off, Uncle Scotty’s whole body tensed up when I mentioned my phone call with Dad tonight,” I said, recounting the incident in the kitchen. “Stiffening up or momentarily stopping what you’re doing is like, your body’s fight-or-flight response. Only, there’s one more F that’s more common: freeze. Uncle Scotty froze when I mentioned talking to Dad, so that probably means he’s uncomfortable with the idea and doesn’t know how to respond.”
“Couldn’t he have just been distracted?” Ollie asked. “And it was just poor timing on when it kicked in?”
I nodded slowly. “Sure. And if the pause was it, then you might be right,” I said. “But it wasn’t.”
“Oh,” Ollie said, frowning. “What else, then?”
“There was his smile when I mentioned the call,” I offered.
“I remember that!” Ollie exclaimed proudly.
“And what do you remember about it?” I asked him like a teacher prompting her student.
“It was really big,” Ollie said. “I know he likes to act all grumpy cop, but I remember thinking that I’m definitely his favorite out of all of your friends.”
“Newsflash, Ollie: you’re my only friend,” I pointed out.
“And let’s keep it that way.”
“No arguments here,” I agreed. “I will, however, have to take issue with your recollection of Uncle Scotty’s smile.”
“Why?” he asked, surprised.
“Because it was one hundred percent fake,” I responded matter-of-factly.
Ollie raised an eyebrow. “How could you tell?”
“It’s all in the eyes, my dear friend,” I said. “Or rather, not in the eyes.”
Ollie let out a frustrated sigh. “So, which is it?”
“A real smile puts a crinkle in the corner of your eyes,” I revealed. “And Uncle Scotty had no crinkle.”
“Maybe he’s just worried about getting crow’s feet,” Ollie suggested as he touched the area near his eyes gently. But after a second, he seemed to abandon that theory. “Okay, so the Detective’s got a problem with you talking to your dad. What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing,” I said. “For now. Until he tells me there’s a problem, there is no problem. But I’m definitely filing it away.”
Entry Four
School had a way of ruining everything.
Case in point: Three weeks ago, classes let out for winter break.
But instead of getting to take a much-needed mental break from everything scholastic, the powers that be at Western Middle School decided to force us all to take on an extracurricular assignment during our vacation.
(Yet another reason I’m convinced Dad had the right idea to keep me out of school all those years.)
In a fit of what could only be described as sheer insanity, we were suddenly required to sign up for community service. More specifically, we had to complete a total of twenty-five hours of volunteer work at one of the local charitable organizations before heading back to school mid-January. There had been a special curated list to choose from, ranging from soup kitchens and hospitals to libraries and shelters.
After discussing our options, Ollie and I decided on two things:
One, that we wanted to volunteer someplace together.
And two, that we needed to find a place that didn’t completely suck.
We got both of those with The Farm.
And after having volunteered there for the past three weeks, we could now say that we loved it. Not that we’d ever admit to Western Middle that they’d done anything right.
Nearly fifteen minutes after leaving my house, Ollie and I stopped in front of what looked like an old barn. We’d been volunteering there long enough to know that the inside did not match the outside.
“You ready?” I asked Ollie.
“Sure. If you’ll be on litter duty today,” he responded hopefully.
I snorted in response as we walked up to the front door.
A tiny bell announced our arrival almost as soon as we’d turned the knob. It seemed unreasonably loud to me and I cringed at the noise it made.
I will never get used to making such an obvious entrance.
“Don’t let them escape!” a woman’s voice shouted out, pleadingly.
I kicked the door closed just as three cats darted out of hiding to greet us—or more likely, to find their ways to freedom.
“It’s us, Kayla!” Ollie yelled out, walking through the room and toward the back.
“Oh, good!” she answered, sounding relieved. “Perfect timing. I could really use some help.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” I answered, following behind Ollie.
As we walked farther inside, I glanced around at the two-story open floorplan, which was airy yet cozy. There were exposed beams and distressed wood, as well as decorative square windows along the top that let in plenty of light. Hanging on one of the walls was a large iron art piece that read THE FARM. I remembered the first time Kayla had explained the concept to us. She’d named the place after the old story that some parents gave their kids when their pets had died. “Snowball went to live on a farm in the countryside to be with her other doggy friends.” “You won’t see Lucy for a while because she’s living on the farm now.”
Kayla liked the idea that “The Farm” could actually exist as a place where animals went to live happily ever after—or until they found their forever homes. I had to agree that the concept and name fit perfectly for an animal rescue.
I walked farther into the building and caught sight of another cat out of the corner of my eye, this one stalking us from a beam overhead. I didn’t need to be an animal psychic to know what her plan was, and I smiled as I waited for what was coming.
A few seconds later, the white and gray Maine coon wiggled her butt before jumping down from the rafters and right onto Ollie.
“Eeeeeeeowwww!” he shrieked at an octave I didn’t think he had in him. Having been caught completely off guard, Ollie struggled to remain upright while the cat tried her best to balance on his shoulders.
I cracked up as I sidled up to the two of them and gently retrieved the animal from her new favorite perch.
“Did you see that?” Ollie exclaimed, his chest heaving dramatically. “She’s totally trying to kill me! Why doesn’t she ever do that to you?”
I shrugged. “She knows she could never sneak up on me.”
But it was more than that.
Now, I was the first to admit that I wasn’t exactly a warm and fuzzies kind of person. But Geronimo had won me over with her completely aloof attitude and mischievous ways.
It was almost like we shared a kinship.
“Geronimo!” I playfully scolded the cat as I scooped her up in my arms and kissed her furry face. “You may have nine lives, but as you know, Ollie does not. Maybe cut him a little slack?”
Ollie scowled at this and mumbled something under his breath as he fell into step behind us—keeping a healthy distance this time, I noticed.
“Hey there, Tiny,” I said, leaning down to tousle a two-and-a-half-foot-tall goldendoodle’s mop of curly hair before passing into the back where Kayla was.
The rear section of the barn was a different space entirely from what was up front. It reminded me a little like the description of the worst haircut known to mankind: business in the front, party in the back.
The analogy worked because the back of the barn was sectioned off specifically for the rescue animals.
Now, if you were picturing a room like the ones in those really sad animal abuse commercials, don’t. First off, it’ll make you cry. And then you’ll be reading my journal and crying, and people will think you’re reading The Notebook or something. And that would just be embarrassing—for you.
Second, you would be wrong in your assumption.
The reality is, The Farm was nicer than I’d expected a rescue could be. But this was Greenwich, so there were certain expectations people had. The town simply wouldn’t accept a run-down, dirty-looking business in their clean, sparkly community…even if it was just a shelter for animals.
With that said, it was really Kayla who insisted the animals in her charge not go from one crappy situation to another. She cared more about them than that.
So much so that she’d given up her cushy pet vet job to open The Farm.
It was just who she was. Nothing was too good for the animals who ended up in her care.
In terms of living conditions, this meant roomy glass cubicles lining the walls to allow each dog their own space to move around comfortably and uncaged. For the animals who were more social, or the ones that arrived with siblings, connecting suites allowed for co-mingling and frequent cuddling.
Above the K-9 units were where the cats were kept in what Kayla aptly called the purr-fect penthouses. Also made of glass, each animal’s abode was expansive and equipped with everything the felines needed. For the more playful residents, there were scratching posts, toys, and lounging perches set up all around the room to give the cats plenty of real estate to explore.
I’d taken to calling the animal area the inner sanctum. Because that was what it had become to me: my home away from home.
“Over here!” Kayla called out. She must’ve heard our shuffling feet because she’d said it even before she could see us.
I carefully placed Geronimo down on the ground and followed Kayla’s voice to where she was kneeling next to a big brown box.
“Well, what do we have here?” Ollie asked as he appeared beside me, a big grin on his face.
“We need to get this little guy up and into his new cage,” Kayla said.
And then she began to pull out a creature bigger than all of us.
“Holy—snake!” Ollie screamed in surprise, and jumped behind me as if I was going to protect him.
I rolled my eyes and scooted forward to crouch down next to Kayla.
My experience with pets may have been limited, but still, I wasn’t what you would call squeamish around them. After all, I’d run into my fair share of odd pets while breaking in to places over the years. Rich people collected the strangest stuff. Even animals.
“What do you need me to do?” I asked.
“I’ll grab its head and upper body,” she said, already switching up her grip on the reptile. “You grab the lower half.”
“You got it,” I said, moving to do what she asked.
On the count of three, we both stood up, the animal’s leathery body feeling like one giant muscle in my hands.
I’d never held a snake before.
It was surprisingly exhilarating.
Ollie did not feel the same way.
“You’re…touching it?” Ollie asked from the spot he’d retreated to all the way across the room. He shuddered dramatically.
Straining a bit under the snake’s weight, I gritted my teeth. “Is there another way you think we should do this, Ollie? Levitation maybe?” I said. “Or hey, here’s a thought…you could help.”
Ollie’s face drained of color.
“Nope, looks like you’ve got it,” he said quickly, stepping back once more to put even greater distance between us.
“I already prepped his new home,” Kayla said, moving on. “Had to use one of our largest fish tanks.”
Taking coordinated steps, we walked over to the empty tank and slowly lowered the snake into it. Once he was inside checking out his new digs, I turned back to Kayla.
“What is he?” I asked, placing my fingertips on the outside of the glass next to his face, my way of saying hi. His tongue darted out at me and I imagined what it might feel like to have its breath on my skin.
“A boa constrictor,” Kayla said, walking over to the sink and washing her hands.
“I didn’t know we had boas in Connecticut,” I said.
“We don’t,” Kayla said. “Not naturally, at least.”
Ollie still hadn’t moved any farther into the room, and his usually caramel-colored skin had gone white since seeing what was in the box. I decided not to torture him anymore and placed the cover on top, latching the two sides loudly to show him it was secure.
“So, where’d he come from then?” I asked, turning back to Kayla.
“Good question,” she responded thoughtfully.
Then, a shadow crossed over her face. It was such an odd reaction coming from her, that it immediately piqued my interest.
Since day one, Kayla had reminded me of a Disney princess. From the melodic singsongyness of her voice to her beautiful pale skin and dark hair, she could’ve been one of Walt’s muses.
She said things like, “Oh my goodness,” and talked to the animals like they talked back to her. She was sweetness and light all wrapped up with a bright, colorful bow, and despite my general thinking that no one was that nice, I’d come to believe she was.
But the frown she was currently wearing? This was a side of her I’d never seen before. In fact, I didn’t think her face could even move that way.
“You have a theory though, don’t you?” I asked her, finishing her thought from before.
Her mouth fell into a surprised O shape, revealing instantly that I was right.
“Well, I don’t really like spreading rumors,” Kayla’s honeyed voice sounded reluctant. “And you two are still so young….”
I could tell she needed a little coaxing, so I complied.
“We won’t say anything,” I promised.
Kayla gave me a look filled with hesitation. Then everything in her seemed to relax along with the gentle sigh she let out.
“I suppose it’s not a rumor if it’s true,” she said finally, giving in. “Besides, you are supposed to be learning about this business. Even the not-so-fun stuff.”
I nodded to let her know it was okay to spill.
Turning away from me, she began to walk around the inner sanctum, picking things up and placing them in their designated spots. Then she handed me and Ollie gloves, plastic bags, and scoopers, and directed us toward the purr-fect penthouses.
“We can talk while we work.” She said it so sweetly that I almost forgot she was asking me to pick up poop.
Regardless, Ollie and I let the cats loose so we could clean their houses. Once we’d started working, Kayla began to talk.
“As you guessed, Frankie, boa constrictors aren’t from around here,” Kayla said as she portioned out lunch for each of the dogs into their designated bowls. “Home for them is actually in Mexico and tropical Central and South America.”
“How did they get here then?” Ollie chimed in. Then his face dropped. “Please tell me it wasn’t a Snake-nado situation. I couldn’t even—can you imagine if it began raining reptiles? Nope. No. No thank you.”
I glared at Ollie, hoping he’d quit babbling, but Kayla just chuckled.
“No, Ollie. Their migration was not an act of nature,” Kayla said, calming his fears. “It was an act of man.”
“Meaning…,” I said, though I thought I already knew.
“Meaning, some not-so-bright people brought them here.”
“Why would they do that?” Ollie asked, astonished by the thought.
“People wanted them as pets,” Kayla answered.
“Again, why exactly?” Ollie asked, making a face.
“It’s the whole X factor,” Kayla explained. “As in, exotic. They think it makes them cool to have something that the average person doesn’t. Never underestimate the power of exclusivity among those who can afford it.”
No one knew that better than me. If my past had taught me anything it was that rich people loved having things others didn’t—no matter how stupid it was. Money, clothes, houses, cars…you name it, they wanted it. In fact, the most appealing words to a wealthy person seemed to be “rare,” “uncommon,” and “one-of-a-kind.” Oftentimes, they didn’t even truly want whatever the object was; it was simply that they didn’t want anyone else to have it.
