Kendra Clayton Mystery Box Set

by Angela Henry

  It turned out the young woman’s name was Cory and she was Joy’s girlfriend. Now I knew what Rachel had meant by the “way” Joy was. Joy was a lesbian. Talk about a news flash. I had no idea. Cory was light skinned, tall, thin, and small boned, birdlike in her features. She wore her reddish hair in braids and wore granny glasses over eyes red from crying. She was pretty in an unadorned natural way. She had just come from the hospital. She hadn’t been able to see Joy. Joy’s aunt and cousins didn’t approve of their relationship. They didn’t know Cory and Joy were living together because they hadn’t visited in months.

  Cory gave me some ice for my hand. I could flex my fingers, so I figured nothing was broken. However, my back was killing me. Except for having been scared half to death, I was okay. Cory decided nothing was missing. I wondered how the man had gotten in and what he was looking for.

  “Oh, it’s easy to break in here,” Cory said matter-of-factly.

  “Joy’s locked herself out a lot and used a bobby pin to pick the lock. I used a credit card once to get in when Joy and I had a fight and she locked me out. There are a lot of crack heads and winos around here. Some of them get desperate and break into apartments looking for money and anything they can sell for drugs and liquor.”

  I sat on the couch while Cory made us some tea. I used the time alone to think. Jordan had been Joy’s mother’s fiancé. He’d run off with her money, leaving Rita Owens broke and depressed. She lost her business and later killed herself. Joy was the obvious candidate for vandalizing Jordan’s car. She was probably responsible for the notes as well. She was seen arguing with him, and I caught her snooping around Bernie’s house after the funeral. Did she kill him too?

  Where was Joy the morning Jordan was killed? The note I found would be proof she was there, but there would be no proof she wrote it or how long it had been there. Joy was tiny and rode a ten-speed bike. She could easily have been mistaken for a child. I got up from the couch and walked over to the window. On a whim I uncovered the picture on the easel. The scene was a familiar one. The painting vividly depicted a man sprawled out on a floor and facing the wall next to him. His arms were stretched out in front of him. The man’s head was a mass of blood, brains, and bone. Blood stained the collar of the man’s shirt and splashed the wall next to him. I turned to Cory who’d come in from the kitchen.

  “I think Joy’s in big trouble,” I told her.

  After much ranting, raving, crying, and pleading, Cory finally convinced me not to go to the police until Joy could talk to them herself and tell her side of the story. She swore that Joy had never mentioned Jordan Wallace to her, and as for the snapshot with the X, Joy hated all her mother’s boyfriends. Cory claimed she had no idea that the man in the picture was the same one who had been murdered a week ago. She also claimed that on the morning of the murder, Joy was taking a final exam, and although she could be nasty and hateful, Joy could never murder anyone.

  I didn’t quite believe her but didn’t know what else to do. Neither one of us stated the obvious—that Joy might never regain consciousness. Cory refused to acknowledge that possibility, and I felt it cruel at this point to force it on her. Instead, not trusting her, I went into the bathroom and took the snapshot and started to take the painting.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” demanded Cory, who was standing in front of the door blocking my way out.

  “I think these things will be safer with me until Joy wakes up.”

  “You can’t just come in here, accuse Joy of murder, and then run out of here with her shit. Put it back, now!”

  Cory was pissed and I guess I couldn’t blame her. However, the evidence I was holding in my hands was proof that Joy was involved in some way with Jordan’s murder, which could only mean good news for Bernie and me. I didn’t want to antagonize Cory further, but I wasn’t leaving empty-handed. I looked over my shoulder at the easel that I’d just taken the painting from and noticed the window next to it that I’d opened when I first got to the apartment. I walked slowly over to the easel, trying to figure out how to get the painting out of the window without Cory seeing me.

  “That’s right, put it back,” said Cory watching me closely.

  Thankfully, the phone rang and as Cory turned to answer it, I quickly slid the painting out the open window and watched as it fell into the bushes below. I then grabbed another painting from the pile on the floor next to the window, put it on the easel, and covered it up with the sheet. Cory turned toward me, still on the phone, and nodded her approval. Then she held out her hand for the snapshot, which I’d already put in my purse.

  I pulled out an item from my purse and dropped it purposefully on the floor before Cory could grasp it. It sailed under the coffee table. She shot me a dirty look, then bent down to retrieve it. I shoved past her and ran out the door and down the hallway like the devil was on my heels. Cory was about to discover that what I dropped was actually my library card. I rounded the corner at full tilt and downed the stairs two at a time.

  Then disaster struck. I tripped and went flying like a human cannonball, straight into the amorous couple that I’d encountered when I first arrived. We all tumbled down the remaining half dozen steps and landed in an awkward heap at the bottom of the narrow stairway. There wasn’t much room to move. My efforts to free myself resulted in me accidentally poking the female half of the duo in the eye, eliciting a yelp of pain and a string of curse words that would make a gangsta rapper blush. In an attempt to get my feet under me, I ended up straddling the male half of the couple. He quickly recovered from his shock and grinned up at me with a mouthful of gold teeth. It was then that I noticed that my T-shirt had ridden up, exposing my bra and ample cleavage. I rolled off of Goldie, who looked a little disappointed that our slapstick threesome was over, and narrowly avoided a vicious kick to the kidneys from his outraged and now half-blind girlfriend. I ran out of the building wondering how I had managed to piss off so many people in such a short amount of time. I was praying the painting was still in the bushes and hadn’t been taken by a crack head looking for something to sell. Lucky for me it was still there; I grabbed it, ran back to my car, and took off—but not before I heard Cory screaming my name, and a few other choice words, from the apartment window. It was hours before I noticed all my hubcaps were gone.

  “I drove around for a while trying to figure out what to do. If Joy had killed Jordan, why did she leave a note? How did she get into the house? Did Jordan let her in? Why was he killed in the house where Vanessa was staying? Had Joy followed him over to Archer Street? How would she have known Vanessa wasn’t at home? For that matter, did Jordan know that Vanessa wasn’t home? I knew that Joy had a class on Friday mornings from nine to eleven. Even if she was taking the final for that class the morning Jordan was killed, she could have finished early and still had time to kill him. At the very least, she had to have been at the scene or how else would she have been able to paint that picture? I was certain Joy must have been following Jordan. She must have been the one to send Bernie the letter telling her about Jordan and Vanessa. She must have done everything she could think of to make Jordan’s life miserable. Killing him would be so final. If I knew Joy at all, making Jordan’s life a living hell and being an eternal burr in his behind would be more her style. I also had to wonder how Jordan took Joy’s assault on his life. Why had he come to Willow in the first place? Why had he stayed once he knew Joy was here, especially when he knew she held him responsible for her mother’s death?

  I finally went home and on my door was a note. It read: I was in town on business and stopped by to take you to lunch.

  Sorry I missed you. Call me. Carl.

  Damn!

  TEN

  The next day I called about Joy. There was no change. She’d made it through the night, however, which was a good sign. I’d also called Carl and agreed to have dinner with him on Saturday. I decided to go see Bernie. I figured if I called her she’d say she was busy, so I’d just show up unannounced
. I wanted to know if there’d been any break in Jordan’s murder, leaving Joy off the hook. It seemed ironic that Joy could pull through only to spend the rest of her life in a jail cell.

  It had gotten hot outside, so I put on white shorts and a red tank top. Mrs. Carson was sitting on her porch around ten when I left the house. Mahalia was draped lazily across her lap, making a sound like a busted carburetor as Mrs. Carson stroked her back.

  “Beautiful day, isn’t it, Kendra?”

  “It sure is, Mrs. Carson.”

  “Your boyfriend came by lookin’ for you yesterday. Sure is good-lookin’. He’s still married, ain’t he?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend, and his divorce will be final any day now,” I said patiently.

  “You mean that’s what he’s tellin’ you. You got to be careful when it comes to these married men. They can be devils. Say anything to get what they want. Why, my niece Tammy got mixed up with a married man. He could tell her anything. Could tell her shit was mud and rain was blood and she’d believe it. Of course, even he wasn’t mixed up in some murder.”

  “I’ll see you later, Mrs. Carson. You have a nice day.”

  “Okay, you ole foolish gal, don’t listen to me. You’ll be the one cryin’.”

  There were police cars at Bernie’s house. Bernie was standing on the lawn with Diane and another man I didn’t recognize. I saw Detectives Harmon and Mercer come out of the house. Both were wearing white latex gloves. Some of Bernie’s neighbors were standing on the sidewalk watching and no doubt whispering about falling property values. I walked over to a woman and asked what was going on.

  “I’m not quite sure,” she said in a stage whisper. “But I think the police have a warrant and are searching the house. Why it’s just like Law & Order. It’s so exciting.”

  Great. If I was wondering how things could get any worse, I’d just gotten my answer. I felt immediately guilty that I had something in my trunk that could put an end to all this. I just wasn’t one hundred percent sure about Joy. I walked across the lawn to Bernie. She looked relieved to see me, which was a surprise.

  “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  “They’re searching my house. They have a warrant but they won’t tell me what they’re looking for.” I could hear the anxiety in her voice, and it jacked my guilt up another notch.

  “Are you sure they can do this?” Diane asked the harassed-looking blonde man next to her. Bernie whispered to me that he was Diane’s lawyer. She’d called Diane when the police had shown up at her door and Diane had called her lawyer, Emmett Palmer.

  “It’s a legitimate warrant signed by Judge Corning,” he said wearily as if he’d already said it a thousand times.

  “I don’t know why I called her. She’s only making things worse,” Bernie whispered. “When they showed up at my door I panicked and couldn’t think of who else to call.”

  “How long have they been in there?” I asked.

  “Almost an hour. I couldn’t stand to watch them tearing my house apart, so I came outside.”

  I saw a police officer with white gloves on carrying a trash bag. He carried the bag over to Detective Mercer. Mercer looked inside the bag, then nodded for the officer to take it away. I felt sick.

  After another twenty minutes, the police were finished. I caught up with Detective Harmon and asked her what was going on. She would barely acknowledge me, let alone tell me anything.

  “I happen to know that Vanessa Brumfield had been stalked by a man named Russ Webster. He could have killed Jordan Wallace, mistaking him for Vanessa.” I was grasping at straws.

  “You mean Russell Webster alias Russell Wells aka Roger Williams. Extradited back to New Jersey six months ago and is in jail without bail awaiting trial for felonious assault on an abortion clinic doctor. Miss Clayton, we know what we’re doing. Do you? Because if I were you, I’d follow your friend Ms. Gibson’s lead and get yourself a lawyer to advise you. You’ll definitely need one when we decide to bring you in to give us a new statement concerning what really happened the night you took Ms. Gibson to her house on Archer Street.” She got into her car and drove away leaving me standing openmouthed on the curb.

  I went inside to help Bernie put the house back together. A half-assed attempt had been made by the officers to put things back where they were. But the overall effect was that of a tornado. Drawers had been pulled out, their contents stuffed hastily back inside. Cabinets had been emptied and a planter housing a rubber plant had been overturned. Even the trash had been gone through. Diane had predictably left claiming to have a lunch date, even though it was only ten thirty. The neighbors, the show being over, reluctantly went about their business.

  Bernie and I cleaned in silence. Both of us were wondering what the police had carried out in that trash bag. I was haunted by Harmon’s last statement to me. Who’d have thought a little lie could potentially get me into so much trouble? Now I had even more that I was holding back from the police. After an hour, Bernie came and told me she’d made coffee, and we sat down in the kitchen to drink it.

  “They know that I knew about Jordan and Vanessa,” she said to me as I stirred sugar and cream into my coffee.

  “How? And thanks for letting me know.”

  “Well, I didn’t tell them. I don’t know how they found out,” she said defensively.

  “Did you honestly think you could hide the fact that you knew from the police? I’ll tell you another thing too. I don’t think Vanessa told either. She’s involved with a doctor at Willow Memorial. She wants to bury any involvement she had with Jordan. I doubt she would have told them anything.”

  “That’s all the more reason for her to kill him in my book. Damn! I wish I knew what they took out of here.”

  “Could it have been anything of Jordan’s?”

  “No, they came and got all of his stuff right after it happened. They even impounded his car from Frank Z’s. They think I did it. I can just feel it. Can you believe I’ve been down to that station twice more since I made my first statement? I don’t know how many more times I can answer the same questions.”

  I felt sorry for her and at the same time relieved that I hadn’t been called back down to the station—at least not yet. What would I say if I were?

  “Bernie, do you know anything at all about Jordan’s past?”

  “Not really. He was born in Cleveland. I know his parents died in a car accident when he was little. He was an only child, and he went to live with his grandmother in Columbus, his father’s mother. From what I gather, she had a lot of money, which is where Jordan got his expensive tastes. She must have spoiled the hell out of him. That’s all I know. Jordan didn’t like to talk about his past, or the future for that matter. He was a real here-and-now type person. I don’t think he thought much beyond what he wanted at any given time. I don’t think he thought about the future consequences of anything he did.”

  “Which was what got him killed,” I said bluntly. Bernie looked at me strangely.

  “Sorry, but you saw him just like I did. Whoever killed him was pissed as hell. What could he have done to make anybody that mad at him?”

  Contributing to the suicide of a loved one would fit under that category. Did Joy, being as tiny as she is, have the physical strength to batter Jordan to death? Six years of pent-up anger and hatred could give someone considerable strength.

  “Did Jordan have a key to the house on Archer?”

  “He did when he lived there. He gave it back to me, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. I just figured I lost it here in the house somewhere.”

  “Were any keys found on him?”

  “Just my car keys and his key to this house. I can’t figure out how he got in over there. Vanessa had to have let him in and then killed him. She must have snuck back into town from wherever she was, killed him, and then snuck back out. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”

  “Could he have gotten a duplicate key made? I mean, he was seeing her behind your back. It�
��s possible, you know,” I reasoned.

  “Well, of course it’s possible. But why would he? If the only reason he would go over there was to see her, why would he need a key if she was letting him in? And if he had a key, why wasn’t it found on him?”

  “You’ve got a point. So, now what?”

  “Girl, I don’t know. Diane’s lawyer left me his card. I’m going to call him and see what my plan of action should be. I’m not going to just sit here and let them come and get me. I can’t believe this is happening. I thought this would be over by now.”

  She poured me some more coffee and I told her about Joy’s accident.

  “That’s awful. What was she doing out on Commerce Road late at night?”

  “I don’t know.” I was sipping my coffee when another thought suddenly hit me. If Joy had been following Jordan around, did she follow him the morning he was killed? Did she witness his murder, and could the killer have seen her and lured her out to Commerce Road to run her down on purpose? The thought made me nauseous. As much as I didn’t want to and despite the promise I’d made to Cory, I had to go to the police.

  “You okay, Kendra?” Bernie asked, placing a comforting hand on my arm.

  “I’m fine, Bernie. I’m just thinking about what a mess this all is. So, is Diane still bugging you about selling the business?”

  “Yes, Lord. She’s been bugging the hell out of me.”

  “I’m surprised she doesn’t want to run it herself. She’s always struck me as being the type who loves being in charge.”

  “Diane work? Now that’s a laugh. Working entails showing up and putting forth an effort. The only thing Diane puts any effort into is her appearance. Besides, she used to work at Gibson Realty when she first came to town. She was a part-time receptionist. As soon as she snagged Ben, she quit and hasn’t looked back.”