Kendra Clayton Mystery Box Set

by Angela Henry

  A grim mental image of a frantic girl unable to breathe, turning blue, and probably knowing she was going to die flashed before me. How had Rollins done it? I’d been to my share of picnics and knew how many bees were constantly buzzing around the trash cans and food tables. Did Rollins see Gina playing basketball and take her a can of pop with a bee trapped inside it and put it in the car with her as she was changing her shoes? Did he take her EpiPen from her as she struggled to inject herself and then put it in Melvina’s purse afterward? I suddenly felt sick and didn’t know if it was from the thoughts popping into my head or from all that chili and pudding I’d consumed earlier. I needed some fresh air because something else was beginning to bother me.

  “Are you okay?” Melvina asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, slowly shaking my head to clear my thoughts. “But I’ve taken up enough of your time. I should go so you can get back to your writing.” I stood up and put my coat on.

  “We haven’t even discussed your writing yet,” she said, following me to the door.

  “Oh, that’s okay. Maybe when you have more time we can get together again.” I hurried through the living room past a sleeping Pookie, and paused at the door. In doing so, I noticed a green-and-gold Holy Cross choir robe hanging on a coatrack by the door.

  “Oh, you sing in the church choir?” I asked Melvina.

  “No. That was Gina’s choir robe. I should have given it back to the church, but I just haven’t been able to,” she said, fingering the folds of the robe.

  “Well, thank you for your time, Ms. Carmichael,” I said before walking out the door.

  I was halfway to the bus stop when I heard Melvina calling after me about forgetting my signed book.

  As the bus headed back downtown, I had a chance to think about what had been bothering me. I was getting some very conflicting views of Morris Rollins. When Melvina described Gina’s father, she’d clearly been bitter, but when she talked about Reverend Rollins her whole attitude changed and I saw love and admiration in her eyes. I also thought about my visit to Joseph’s aunt, Pearl Strong. When she talked about Joseph’s father it had been with scorn and anger, but when she mentioned Rollins as someone who could have given wrong information about Joseph going swimming, she didn’t believe it. Why was I getting so much conflicting information? It was as if Pearl and Melvina had been talking about two different men. So, if Morris Rollins wasn’t Joseph and Gina’s father, who was? And why in the world would Rollins be listed on the death certificates of children that he hadn’t fathered?

  I found myself back at the library, more confused than ever. I grabbed some scrap paper and wrote down everything that I knew so far about the deaths of Joseph Porter and Gina Parks: Both had died during Holy Cross Church picnics; both deaths had been ruled accidents; both Joseph and Gina had known their fathers, though Melvina claimed that Gina didn’t know he was her father. Gina and Joseph’s father was a member of Holy Cross Church, yet Morris Rollins was the only man’s name that had been mentioned during both my conversations about Joseph and Gina’s deaths. Rollins had been present during both deaths, had profited monetarily from the deaths, and he had been trying to cash an insurance policy on Inez, as well.

  I wondered if Rollins had been in Detroit when Ricky Maynard was killed. How could I find out? Deciding to take advantage of the resources around me, I headed over to the periodicals desk again. The same bored looking, mullet-wearing librarian from earlier was manning the desk.

  “You’re back. What can I help you with this time?” he said, smiling.

  “This time I need to know how I can find news stories on a specific person that have appeared in the Willow News-Gazette. Can you help me?”

  “You happen to be in luck, young lady. Two years ago we undertook a major indexing project. We’ve indexed all the news stories that have appeared in the News-Gazette for the last ten years. So as long as what you’re looking for has occurred in the last ten years, you should be able to find out what issue and date it appeared in the News-Gazette.”

  “Wonderful. I need articles from about two years ago.”

  He led me over to a set of alphabetized drawers where I got to work looking for articles on Morris Rollins. I had very little luck finding out news on Rollins specifically, but I was able to find a multitude of articles on Holy Cross, even one about major damage to the church’s roof from a fallen tree during a storm. Finally an article that had appeared in the News-Gazette a year and a half ago caught my eye: HOLY CROSS CHURCH INVITED TO PARTICIPATE IN INTERFAITH CHURCH CONFERENCE. I jotted down the date of the article, then got the microfilm from the periodicals desk so I could read it. It wasn’t much of an article, more like an announcement:

  Holy Cross Church has been invited to participate in the 25th annual Midwest Interfaith Church Conference being held in Detroit, Michigan, in June. Select churches in Ohio, Michigan, Illinois, and Indiana are invited yearly to participate in the conference, which is hosted by a different Midwestern city each year. This is the first year Holy Cross has been invited to participate.

  There was a small picture of a group of Holy Cross Church members, including Morris and Nicole Rollins, Rondell and Bonita Kidd, and several other people I didn’t recognize, that accompanied the article. The article didn’t mention exactly when the church convention was being held but it still put Rollins in Detroit the same month that Ricky had been run down. I glanced at the picture and was again struck by how different Rollins and Rondell were physically. The only thing that they had in common was their height. Then something else clicked in my mind. Melvina had mentioned that Gina had gotten her basketball prowess from her father, who’d played basketball for Springmont High. I’d assumed she meant Morris Rollins, but now I wasn’t so sure. I knew one way to find out.

  I headed over to the reference department where I knew they kept copies of all the Springmont High School yearbooks back to the thirties. I didn’t know exactly how old Morris Rollins was‚ somewhere in his early fifties, perhaps‚ so I grabbed several years’ worth of yearbooks and headed to an empty table. I started with 1960. My eyes had started to cross and I was getting a headache from looking at so many bouffant hairdos and cat-eyed glasses when I finally found a picture of Morris Rollins. It was in the 1962 yearbook. Rollins had been skinny, geeky, and almost unrecognizable with thick horn-rimmed glasses and a side part in his short hair. I searched throughout the yearbook and didn’t find a picture of him anywhere other than with his graduating class.

  But I found other pictures that sent chills up and down my spine. While it appeared that Morris Rollins hadn’t been anything special during his high school years, his half brother Rondell was a different story. Rondell Kidd had been a member of the honor society, choir, and was a standout on both the football and basketball teams. He’d also been prom and homecoming king. Unlike the overweight, poorly dressed man he’d become, his high school pictures showed that Rondell had been handsome. And while the pictures still showed him to have been a somewhat large young man, he’d been solid, without an inch of the flab that now encircled his waist, and his clothes had fit properly.

  I knew plenty of men like Rondell from my own high school days. Popular, handsome guys who’d never been able to translate their high-school success into the real world. Guys who still tried to wear the same size clothes they wore in their glory days and never changed their hairstyles. In light of how popular he used to be, playing second fiddle to his older brother Morris must be torture for Rondell. I thought back to what Pearl and Melvina had said about Joseph and Gina’s father: He had a family of his own that included a daughter and an uppity wife. The uppity wife part sure sounded like Bonita Kidd, but I hadn’t heard anything about what Rollins’s late wife Jeanne had been like. She could have been uppity, too. Rondell Kidd was a devoutly religious man who worshipped his wife and didn’t seem like the type of man to cheat, let alone father illegitimate children. Plus, cheating on your spouse and fathering children with other women didn’t make a man a
murderer, just sleazy. And if Rondell had killed Ricky, Gina, and Joseph, what was the motive?

  As far as I could tell, Rondell didn’t seem to be showing any signs of living the high life. He and Bonita wore outdated, well-worn clothes. Their cars looked to be well taken care of but were older models. They had a nice, but hardly extravagant house. Shanda went to an expensive college yet she lived at home, saving the Kidds the expense of dorm fees. So, if the motive had been money, where was it going? As far as I could tell, the only one living in the lap of luxury was Morris Rollins. The only one who’d benefited from the deaths of Ricky, Joseph, and Gina, was Morris Rollins. So why the conflicting views? There were too many questions swirling around my tired brain.

  I leaned forward and rested my head on the table I was sitting at and closed my eyes. I told myself it would only be for a few minutes, but soon I found myself sliding into a fitful sleep, only to jerk awake as new even-more-sinister thoughts hit me: Did Rollins kill Nicole because he mistook her for Inez? Was that the reason Inez had screamed, “Daddy, don’t”? Was he hiding his daughter until he had a chance to kill her for real? It was time to get Inez out of that house and to the police before she suffered an accident like her half siblings. I called Detectives Harmon and Mercer but was told they were busy and couldn’t be disturbed. I left a message for them to meet me at Rollins’s house, then gathered up my stuff and headed out to catch the bus to Briar Creek.

  I waited, skulking around at the entrance to Rollins’s driveway for a half an hour before I got tired of waiting and headed up to the house. I should have waited for the detectives, but all I could imagine was a doped-up Inez being smothered with a pillow by her father. There were no cars in the driveway but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one parked in the four-car garage behind the house. I didn’t dare knock on the front door because I knew that that bulldog of a nurse was probably watching Inez like a hawk. I walked around to the back of the house. There was a swimming pool taking up most of the backyard, and a stone deck with two levels that ran the length of the house. I peered into the house through the French doors off the patio straight into the family room. The nurse was sitting on the couch watching TV. I ducked down behind a large terra-cotta planter by the steps and waited. Finally, I saw the nurse get up and head to the refrigerator. I ran all the way up to the top level of the deck. There was indoor/outdoor furniture and a hot tub on the upper level, as well as another set of French double doors. I looked inside and saw that it was a large bedroom, probably the master suite. I turned the handle on the door. It was locked‚ surprise, surprise.

  I wrapped my hand up in my scarf and punched through a pane of glass on the door. I crouched down, expecting a loud alarm to sound, but was rewarded with silence. I reached inside, unlocked the door, and let myself into the house. The first thing that struck me immediately was the smell of Rollins’s cologne. It smacked me in the face as I crept farther into the large room. His closet door was open and I could see all of his numerous suits hanging inside. A royal blue bathrobe was laying across the large, unmade, king-sized brass bed. I tripped over a pair of his big shoes and almost chickened out.

  I pulled myself together and quickly headed out the bedroom door into the hallway. I recognized where I was from the last time I’d been in the house. I hurried down the hallway past the landing overlooking the foyer, towards Inez’s bedroom. I was reaching for the doorknob when I saw it turn slowly. I took a step back as the door opened, revealing Inez Rollins. She was dressed in pajama bottoms, tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt. Her braids were wild and medusa-like, sticking up all over her head like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket. She jumped back when she saw me standing outside her door.

  “Kendra?” she whispered, clearly stunned to see me. “What are you doing here?” she asked. Before I could answer she pulled me inside the bedroom and closed the door. “Never mind. Look, Kendra, I really need your help. Is my father here? ‘Cause I gotta get outta this house. They’ve been drugging me. I only pretended to take my pill this morning. I need your help, please,” she pleaded with me.

  “I don’t think your father is here, but that nurse is downstairs watching TV. It’s okay, Inez, you’re safe now. I know your father tried to kill you and killed Nicole by mistake. Come on. We can make a run for it.” I grabbed the sleeve of Inez’s sweatshirt, but she pulled away from me.

  “What are you talking about? My daddy didn’t kill Nicole. I killed her.”

  Uh-oh!

  SIXTEEN

  I was suddenly lightheaded. I backed away from Inez, who, sensing my sudden fear, rushed to explain.

  “No, Kendra. You don’t understand. I didn’t do it on purpose. It was an accident. I swear,” she said and started to cry.

  “You need to tell me what’s going on, Inez. Do you know everyone in town thinks you’re dead?” I licked my dry lips nervously. I couldn’t believe I’d rushed in here to play the hero and was face-to-face with a murderer.

  Inez went over and sat down heavily on the edge of her bed. I joined her and patted her back until she stopped crying. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

  “I was at work at the shop that night, minding my own damn business. I went to take the trash outside and when I opened the door, Nicole was standing there. She scared the shit out of me. I asked her what she wanted and she told me that she knew what I’d done and she was going to make sure I fixed it. I didn’t know what she was talking about. Then she accused me of telling my daddy that she was having an affair. She said he confronted her about it and threatened to divorce her. I laughed and told her that I hadn’t talked to my father in a month. Then I turned to go back inside and she pulled a gun on me, and told me she was taking me home with her so I could tell him I was lying. I should have gone with her. But, Kendra, I got so mad. I grabbed for the gun and tried to get it away from her. We ended up on the ground and I almost twisted the gun out of her hands when it went off. It hit her in the face. There was blood everywhere. Kendra, you believe me, don’t you? I didn’t mean to do it,” she said, unable to finish before sobs overtook her.

  Actually, if Mona Carter hadn’t told me the story of Nicole attacking her nephew for spreading lies about her in high school, I probably wouldn’t have believed Inez. What was it that Mona had told me about Nicole? “Little Miss Nicole takes her reputation very seriously.” She couldn’t have been more right. Anyone who’d confront someone with a gun over a lie meant serious business.

  “Did you call your father afterwards?” I asked, rubbing her back.

  “No. He just showed up. He must have been following Nicole. I told him we needed to call the police. He said he would as soon as he took me home so I could clean up. I was covered in Nicole’s blood. But, when we got here, he gave me something to drink to calm me down and he must have put a sleeping pill in it or something. I woke up in this room and Daddy told me that everything would be okay. But he wouldn’t let me leave. He had that nurse watching me all the time and they kept giving me those pills that made me sleep.”

  “Inez, your father told the police that it was you who’d been killed. He’s been passing you off as Nicole. He even dressed you up in Nicole’s clothes and passed you off as her at your own funeral.”

  “You mean that funeral was real? I thought I was dreaming. Why would he do this?” Inez asked, looking as bewildered as I felt.

  “I don’t know, but we’ve got to get you to the police so you can tell them your story. The police think a friend of mine, an innocent young man, was the one who killed you. Come on,” I said, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet.

  We left the room, crept down the steps, and were heading towards the front door when we heard the nurse’s voice behind us.

  “Mrs. Rollins, what in the world are you doing? Who is this person?” She apparently didn’t recognize me from my earlier visit to the house. But we weren’t about to stop and give her an answer.

  I pulled the front door open and ran, quite literally, strai
ght into Morris Rollins. I let out a yelp of surprise and jumped back like I’d been scalded. Inez started to cry. Rollins looked from me to his daughter and I could see the muscles in his neck tighten. Anger and rage contorted his features. He was so mad he could barely speak.

  “I want to know what the hell you’re doing in my house, Kendra! Where do you think you’re going with my daughter?”

  “Daughter? I thought you said she was your wife. What’s going on here?” The nurse was looking very confused and when no one answered her she turned her attention back to me.

  “Reverend Rollins, I swear I have no idea how she got into the house. She must have broken in. I’ll go call the police,” she said, hurrying off in the direction of the kitchen.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Rollins called out, stopping her in her tracks.

  “Oh, I think calling the police is an excellent idea, Reverend. They would be quite interested to know that you’ve been passing your very-much-alive daughter off as your wife and trying to cash in a life insurance policy on her.”

  “Daddy? What’s she talking about?” Inez looked from me to her father while Rollins reserved his dirty looks for me alone.

  “I wasn’t trying to get the money for myself. I don’t have the money I used to. My first wife’s family cut me off after she died. The insurance money was for Inez so she could go start a new life someplace else. I will not let them put my baby in prison,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Prison? Daddy, I told you it was an accident,” Inez said, walking over to Rollins and clutching the front of his sweater.