Kendra Clayton Mystery Box Set

by Angela Henry

  “It’s a diamond tennis bracelet. My boyfriend gave it to me. If he finds out I lost it he’s going to kill me.”

  “Well, we do have a lost and found but it’s mostly junk that gets turned in. I doubt anybody would be honest enough to turn in an expensive piece of jewelry. But I could post some signs. What kinda reward are you talking about?” her eyes glittered greedily.

  “Two hundred dollars.” She sat back in her chair and I could almost see her mentally calculating how many pizzas she could buy with two hundred dollars.

  She leaned down and pulled a drawer in her desk open, withdrew a yellow form and handed it to me across her desk. It was a claim form to report lost property. I grabbed a pen from her desk and started to fill it out, using bogus information, of course.

  “I bet you got to meet Vivianne DeArmond last weekend. What was she like?” I asked.

  “She was all right,” replied Joyce Clark, shrugging. “Kinda stuck up. But I guess that’s normal for somebody who used to be in movies. That little assistant of hers worked my last nerve though.”

  “Really?” I said, my ears perking up.

  “She chewed out a member of my custodial staff. Accused him of stealing a necklace of Ms. DeArmond’s. My people don’t steal. None of them even went into that dressing room once Ms. DeArmond and her assistant arrived. I was the only one who kept checking with them to make sure everything was okay and I sure as hell don’t steal. She probably just misplaced it or forgot to put it on, period. Ms. DeArmond was real upset about it but we never found any necklace. Who knows, maybe the same person who found your bracelet has Ms. DeArmond’s necklace.”

  “Wow. Did you or any of your staff see anybody strange lurking around her dressing room?”

  “You ask me, all them show-business people are strange. Ms. DeArmond’s assistant was doing a good job of keeping people away. I personally saw her turn away about two-dozen fans. Only one I saw go in that dressing room was an older, black man. Then I had to go make sure the film festival committee members had everything they needed for the presentation. I was running around all morning long. My feet still hurt.”

  “You’re right, you know. My bracelet’s probably long gone by now,” I said, handing her the form. “Things got so crazy after that fire alarm went off. I didn’t even realize it was gone until later that night.”

  “Crazy is right. We get the auditorium all emptied out after that alarm went off. Then next thing I know Ms. DeArmond’s assistant comes running up to me screamin’ for me to help Vivianne. I thought maybe she had a heart attack or somethin’. I go runnin’ down there like a fool ready to perform CPR and there was blood everywhere. I didn’t know somebody had killed her. Lord Jesus, if I never see a sight like that again it will be too soon.” She pulled a piece of pizza from the box and started eating it to calm her nerves. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one using food for therapy.

  So Harriet had been the one to discover Vivianne’s body after the dust cleared. I wondered where she’d been up until that time? What was she doing when the alarm went off? Cleaning blood from her clothes perhaps? Or maybe tossing Vivianne’s purse in the Dumpster. Donald Cabot had said she stuck to Vivianne’s side like glue that morning. Could Vivianne have sent her on some fake errand to get her out of the way so she could do her interview with Allegra? Or is Harriet the one who killed her then pulled the fire alarm to distract everyone?

  “Did you ever find out who pulled the alarm?”

  “No one pulled the alarm. Someone was smoking in the men’s room and set off the alarm. We found some cigarettes in the trash can.”

  “What kind of cigarettes? Were they black and milds?” I asked. I felt a little lightheaded. Had Blackie Randall come out of hiding to silence Vivianne? Could he have been the older black man seen going into Vivianne’s dressing room? Joyce Clark just shrugged.

  “No idea,” she said. She looked over my form and set it on top of the pizza box. “I’ll have my staff look around for your bracelet, but like I said, mostly we just find junk. We post it on that lost and found board behind you and after a month we pitch it.”

  I thanked her and got up to leave and saw the lost and found board propped against the wall by the door. There was an assortment of objects tacked to it: two sets of keys, nail clippers, a tarnished hoop earring, dog tags, a watch with a broken strap, a man’s tie. She was right. Just a bunch of junk but something else caught my eye. There was a framed painting hanging on the wall by the door. The picture showed a group of cowboys gathered around a campfire at night. The skill of the painter was nothing remarkable. It was the subject matter that had gotten my attention. Camping! I suddenly realized I knew where Lynette was.

  John Bryan State Park was in Yellow Springs, home of Antioch College and Glen Helen Nature Preserve. It was also a mere fifteen-minute drive from Willow. When Lynette and I were Girl Scouts we’d gone camping several times with our troop in John Bryan Park. Lynette used to love it. I didn’t. I remembered her staring at the picture of us as Girl Scouts when I’d gone to her house on the morning of Vivianne’s murder and talking about how our lives had been so uncomplicated back then. I was banking that she was trying to relive that time by going camping again, though she’d have to really be in love with camping—or just plain crazy—to be out in the cold, dreary weather we were currently experiencing.

  I arrived at the park. Not surprisingly the parking lot was empty save for two cars, a brown Buick Regal and a familiar black Nissan Altima. Lynette’s car. Hallelujah! I parked next to her car and got out. It was raining again and I rooted around in my trunk, finally finding an old, raggedy umbrella that wasn’t going to offer much protection from the rain but was better than nothing. I also found a lint-covered blue sweater and pulled it on. It smelled moldy, and there was a rust stain on the sleeve from where my tire iron had been lying on top of it, but I didn’t care. It was warm.

  I headed back to the campgrounds. It had been years since I’d been to the park, but everything still looked much the same as it had long ago. The rain seemed to make everything look more lush and green, but I could hardly appreciate my surroundings under the circumstances. I squelched through mud in some spots, staining my running shoes, and twice I almost slipped on the wet grass in my haste to find Lynette. The campground was empty. No tents were pitched and no one appeared to be in any of the cabins. I walked on, eventually giving up on the useless umbrella and tossed it in a nearby trashcan. I clutched my sweater close around me and wiped the rain dripping through the tree branches hanging overhead from my face with the sleeve. Finally, I saw a canvas teepee pitched on a wooden platform in the distance. I hurried toward it and called out Lynette’s name. Nothing. I called out again, louder this time, and finally the flap of the teepee opened and Lynette stuck her head out.

  “How’d you find me?” she said when I reached her. She held open the flap and stood aside so I could enter. She was dressed warmly in a gray sweat suit and a jean jacket. The teepee wasn’t exactly toasty, but it was sure better than being out in the rain. I saw a pot of coffee and a pan of what smelled like beef stew warming on top of a propane stove. Lynette actually looked not only happy to see me, but a lot happier than when I’d seen her last. I, on the other hand, was cold, wet, miserable and in no mood for any mess.

  “That’s all you have to say to me? How’d I find you? How about saying you’re sorry you ran away and made me, Greg and your mother worry? And that you’re sorry me and your mother got into a shouting match in the grocery parking lot? Or that you’re sorry that I went looking for you at the Heritage Arms with Morris Rollins and now everyone in town thinks I’m screwing him, including his girlfriend, Winette Barlow, who tried to kill me with a paper cut!” I snapped indignantly. Lynette’s eyes got big.

  “Morris Rollins is kicking it with Winette Barlow?” “Lynette!” I bellowed.

  “Okay. Okay. I’m so sorry, Kendra. I truly am. I just had to get away for a few days, that’s all.” “Well, your vacation is over. Pack
this mess up and let’s get going. Your mother is threatening to cancel your wedding if you’re not back home tonight.” Lynette laughed. I could see no humor in the situation at all.

  “Yeah, right. She can’t cancel anything. She was just bluffing.”

  “She sure seemed to think that she could.”

  “Kendra, you know how my mother is. She can’t stand it when she’s not in charge. I let her help me make all the wedding arrangements, but my name is on all the reservations that were made. She can’t cancel anything without my consent.”

  “So you do plan to marry Greg on Saturday?” I asked cautiously.

  “Does he still want to marry me? Because I love Greg. Being away from him for the last few days made me realize just how much I do love him. I just hope I haven’t ruined it,” she said looking at her feet.

  “Of course he still wants to marry you, fool,” I said and grabbed her hand. “And what about that other issue? You know, the sex thing—”

  “I think it’s going to be okay, Kendra. I was under so much pressure and my mother wasn’t making it any better constantly throwing my marriage to Lamont in my face every time I turned around. I started second-guessing myself. I really needed a break to think without the kids and my mother breathing down my neck. But now I know things with Greg will be different. I didn’t mean to make you all worry. I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”

  I hugged her to show that all was forgiven.

  “You need me to help you pack up?” I asked, reaching for a nearby cooler. “I’m not going back tonight,” she said simply.

  “Huh? I thought you just said—”

  “I already paid for this teepee for the night. I’ll go home first thing in the morning.” She looked like an excited little girl and I had a hard time not smiling.

  “You look hungry, Kendra. Let’s have some stew. And then for dessert, guess what I have?”

  “I can’t begin to imagine,” I said sarcastically. Like I said before, I hate camping. I watched Lynette as she rummaged through a grocery bag. She turned to me beaming and waving a bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers and a giant Hershey Bar.

  “S’mores!” We both said in unison

  A couple of hours, a bowl of stew and a half dozen s’mores later, I headed home. I called Greg from my cell on the way and told him his runaway fiancee would be home first thing in the morning. I’d leave it up to him to tell Justine. After I hung up with Greg, my cell phone rang and I saw that it was Mama’s number. I didn’t answer. I just wasn’t up to getting a singed eardrum from her ranting and raving over me and Morris Rollins. My cell phone beeped, indicating that she’d left me a voice mail message that 1 was in no hurry to listen to, either. Instead, I headed home so I could get out of my still slightly damp clothes and take a hot bubble bath. But when I turned onto my street, all thoughts of a bath flew right out of my mind. There was a group of neighbors on the front lawn of my duplex. My landlady, Mrs. Carson, was smack in the middle of the crowd talking and gesturing wildly. I parked and got out. Mrs. Carson came rushing up to me.

  “Where you been, missy? Everybody’s lookin’ for you.” I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong is they just arrested your sister for murdering Vivianne DeArmond. They carted her off in handcuffs ‘bout half and hour ago.”

  Great!

  TWELVE

  When I arrived at the Willow police station I had to fight my way through the crush of media crowded into the lobby. Two officers were keeping the press at bay, preventing them from proceeding beyond the lobby. I tried to explain I was a relative of Allegra Clayton’s, but they wouldn’t let me through. News reporter Tracey Ripkey spotted me trying to shove my way past the officers and decided to get a statement. Bad idea.

  “Miss Clayton, how do you feel about your sister being arrested for the murder of Vivianne DeArmond?” She shoved a microphone in my face. Another reporter, a large sweaty man in a tight suit, caught wind that I was a relative of the accused and brutally shoved Ripkey out of the way, practically sending her flying, and stuck his microphone in my face. It was too crowded for me to see where Ripkey had landed, but I was sure her big hair had probably cushioned her fall.

  “Has your sister confessed to murdering Ms. DeArmond? What was her motive?” The sweaty man asked. Then a third reporter jumped in my face.

  “What evidence do the police have against your sister, Miss Clayton?” I was surrounded by reporters and could barely move.

  Tracey Ripkey, not at all pleased about being shoved out of the way, rushed up to the sweaty male reporter and stomped on his foot. His face went white with pain and he angrily elbowed her in the shoulder causing her to drop her microphone on another reporter’s foot. Soon it was a free-for-all with the lobby full of reporters punching and kicking each other like bikers in a bar fight. I ducked several punches as I eased my way out of the crowd and clung to a nearby wall. The two officers plunged into the brawling crowd in an attempt to restore some kind of order, leaving me free to rush past them into the main part of the building. I headed around the corner and down a long hallway until I spotted my family: Mama, Alex, Gwen and Carl. Alex and Gwen looked away as I approached but Mama and Carl greeted me with tight angry expressions. I hadn’t done anything. Why were they mad at me?

  “Did you know?” Carl spat out at me. Mama was standing rigidly by his side with her arms crossed.

  “That Allie’s been arrested? Yeah, Mrs. Carson told me. Where is she?” I asked looking around.

  “No, Kendra. Did you know about that check Allegra took from Vivianne DeArmond’s purse? That they found the check in Allegra’s rental car?”

  In her rental? That meant that Allegra had lied to me about the check being stolen. She’d had the check all along. I was too stunned to be angry, but my shock at being lied to didn’t keep me from feeling hurt and betrayed. I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach.

  “How’d they find out about the check?” I asked meekly.

  “They found out about Vivianne DeArmond’s book. They also found out that she’d been issued a check for an advance they didn’t find among her possessions and that hadn’t been cashed. So they had the post office put a trace on it. It had arrived at her house the morning of her murder. Harriet Randall said Vivianne got the mail that morning and she saw her putting some mail in her purse. But no letter was found when they dug the purse out of the Dumpster. They got search warrants for every place Allegra had been staying, including your grandmother’s house and your apartment, plus they impounded Allegra’s second rental car. They found the check in the glove box of Allegra’s rental.”

  “Where is she now?” I asked again.

  “She’s being processed like a common criminal, having her mug shot taken and being fingerprinted,” Mama said stiffly. I reached out to touch her but she shook my hand off.

  I told them everything that had happened after we’d found my apartment broken into and tossed and about Allegra confiding in me about the check. It was too little too late. They were all furious with me.

  “Good Lord, Kendra, why in the world didn’t you at least tell Carl about that check? Do you know how this makes your sister look? She doesn’t have the good sense that God gave a goat, but I thought you’d have known better than this. Now, I’m going to have to try and track down your parents in Europe and tell them their daughter has been arrested,” Mama said, sounding close to tears.

  She walked away from me, shaking her head, and went to join Alex and Gwen. Gwen put a comforting arm around her. Alex usually stays pretty neutral, but even he was looking at me like I was an idiot.

  “I made a mistake. I’m sorry. But I swear Allie told me that check had been stolen during the break-in,” I said to Carl.

  Since we’d been dating, I’d never had an occasion to see Carl truly angry, especially not at me. It was not a pretty sight. It looked like it was taking everything in him not to scream, which I would have pref
erred to him starring daggers at me and not speaking. Had I made a mistake in not telling Carl about the check? Yes. But, hell, I’m not the one who took the damn check in the first place, and I didn’t appreciate being made the scapegoat.

  “You know, Carl, I’m really surprised Allie didn’t tell you about the check herself. I mean, you’ve probably seen more of her this past week than I have. In fact, the two of you have gotten quite cozy lately.” I could tell by the way his eyelid started twitching that it had been the wrong thing to say but I didn’t care. Being picked on tends to bring out the worst in me.

  “I don’t believe this shit. I’m trying to keep your sister from spending the rest of her life in prison, so, yeah, we’ve been spending time together. She’s my client. At least you know who I’ve been with and why. But from what I’ve been hearing, you haven’t exactly been missing me, have you?” He was practically vibrating with hostility.

  He’d heard the rumor about me and Rollins. Boy, this just kept getting better and better by the second.

  “I haven’t been doing anything that you haven’t been doing,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “You need to grow up, Kendra. And while you’re at it, go home. You’ve upset your family enough and I don’t have time for your petty insecurities,” he said. He turned to rejoin my family, who were gathered around my visibly upset grandmother. No one looked at me.

  They didn’t want me there? Fine. I was leaving. I headed out to the lobby and barreled my way back through the now calm and strangely subdued flock of reporters. A couple of the braver ones started to follow me until I whirled around and screamed at the top of my lungs, “No! Comment!” They fell back, looking at me fearfully, like whipped dogs. But one of the photographers snapped my picture midscream. I had a good idea who was going to be on the front page of tomorrow’s Willow News Gazette.

  I headed for my car, hot tears of frustration and hurt feelings blurring my vision, and ran smack into a very tall man. I looked up. It was Morris Rollins. I clung to him and bawled like a baby while he held me and stroked my hair. Rollins insisted on following me home even though I told him I was okay. Once at my place, I felt obligated to invite him in for coffee, and of course, he accepted. I just hoped Winette Barlow wasn’t lurking around in my bushes waiting to administer a Steel Magnolia-style beat down on me.