Schooled In Lies

by Angela Henry

  “Where are we going?”

  “To a ball, like I told you,” he said, keeping his eyes firmly on the road ahead.

  “What kind of ball?”

  “Relax, Kelly. It’s one I go to every year. It’s put on by my club, The Distinguished Gents,” he said proudly.

  “This isn’t a formal is it?” I was still getting a weird feeling and Lewis’s shit-eating smirk wasn’t helping matters any.

  “Just sit back and enjoy the ride, okay, baby doll. It’ll be fun. You’ll see,” he said cryptically, laughing outright now. I felt a chill go down my spine.

  “What kind of club is The Distinguished Gents?”

  “It’s a motorcycle club,” he said smugly.

  “Are you serious? You ride a motorcycle?” I got an instant mental image of Lewis perched atop a Harley with his little feet dangling on either side unable to reach the pedals. I burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” he said huffily.

  “You on a motorcycle.”

  “I didn’t say we rode motorcycles, Miss Snotty. See, that’s how much you know.”

  “You belong to a motorcycle club that doesn’t ride motorcycles?”

  “Naw. See, Slinky Bledsoe, one of the cats in the club, has a Ducati and we all take turns sittin’ on it.”

  I laughed even harder.

  “Cain’t none of us actually ride it ‘cause we all on disability—or least I used to be. They don’t know I got kicked off so don’t be blabbin’, you hear me?”

  “It all depends on how bad you get on my nerves,” I warned him.

  Half an hour later, we pulled into the back of a crowded parking lot of a VFW hall. Lewis turned nervously to me and then looked quickly around the lot before pulling a brown paper bag from under the front seat and handing it to me.

  “Here. You need a little somethin’ somethin’. Put this on,” he commanded. I snatched the bag out of his hand and opened it. Inside, was a long, curly, white blonde wig.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “Just put it on, Kelly, please,” he pleaded.

  “Why?” I asked, craning my neck to try and see the other people who were arriving for the ball. That’s when I noticed the attire of the other attendees. My mouth fell open and I got out of the car and headed towards the banquet hall. Lewis was hot on my heels still waving the blonde wig and pleading with me.

  “Kelly, please, just put the damned wig on, girl. Why you got to be so difficult?”

  When I got to the front entrance of the hall, I saw what was written on the large marquee over the door and it all became clear. It read: “Welcome to The Distinguished Gents 15th Annual Pimp and Ho Ball”. I watched as a steady stream of black people of every size, shape, age, and hue walked into the hall dressed in every color under the rainbow. Men wore suits, large brimmed hats with feathers, alligator shoes, and long fur coats. Women sported gold and silver sequined mini dresses, hot pants, tube tops, fishnet stockings, and sky-high heels and boots.

  Hair that wasn’t hidden under cheap and cheesy looking wigs was worn slicked back, teased out, spiked up, long and wavy, or bald. People smiled at me with mouths filled with gold and diamond studded teeth. The loud, pulsing music coming from the hall was old school funk from the seventies. I recognized the song playing as the Bar-Kays’s “Shake Your Rump to the Funk”. I could feel my own rump start to move. Lewis finally caught up with me at the door panting and holding out the wig.

  But it was the smell of barbeque ribs, fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, collard greens, and peach cobbler wafting from the hall and tickling me under the nose that got me in the end. I took the wig from Lewis, who grinned. But instead of putting it on my head, I snatched the fur trimmed hat from his head, slapped the wig on him in its place, put the hat on my head, broke the brim down over one eye, and strutted into the hall to Lewis’s shouts of outrage. He could scream and holler all he wanted. If I had to be here, then I was damned well gonna be the pimp. Kendra Clayton was nobody’s ho.

  Lewis dropped me off at my apartment at twenty to twelve. I was filled to the gills with good food, my feet were sore from all the dancing I’d done, and I had a slight buzz from all the fuzzy navels I’d downed in the course of the evening. Hell, I even posed for pictures sitting on Slinky Bledsoe’s infamous Ducati. My wrist was feeling much better, too. Lewis looked at me and grinned. After taking first place in the Super Fly Best Dressed Contest, and second place in the pimp stroll, he forgave me for stealing his hat.

  “I bet you’d rather cut yo’ arm off then admit you had a good time,” he said, laughing.

  “I have to admit it was fun.” I was laughing too. But inwardly hoping no one ever found out I actually went out with Lewis Watts.

  “See, I knew there was a good time in you just dyin’ to get out, Kelly.” He put his arm around me and leaned in for a kiss. I wasn’t that drunk.

  “Don’t press your luck.” I hopped out of the car and slammed the door shut. I came around to the driver’s side and leaned down into the window. Lewis puckered up thinking he was going to get a kiss after all.

  “And for the millionth time, it’s Kendra, not Kelly.” I headed into my apartment.

  A quick check of my voice mail showed no calls from Carl. Disappointed, I ran a hot bath and got undressed while humming the tune to George Clinton’s “Atomic Dog”. That song was one of the reasons my own dogs were aching. I’d danced to the entire twelve-minute club remix in three-inch heels. I was thinking about dogs chasing cats when it dawned on me that I’d forgotten to feed Mahalia.

  “Crap!” I said aloud. I quickly put my robe and slippers on and hurried to Mrs. Carson’s to feed her spoiled cat.

  Mahalia was pacing impatiently next to me and shooting me reproachful looks with almond-shaped blue eyes as I filled her bowl with cat food. I didn’t like the cat but felt bad that, no thanks to me, she’d gone all day without food. I wasn’t much better than Stevie. No sooner had she bent her sleek head over the bowl than the loud sound of a dog barking from outside sent her jumping straight into my arms.

  “It’s okay, Mahalia. That bad dog can’t get to you in here.” I stroked her arched back and winced as she started to hiss and spit when the dog continued barking. She must not have found my words too comforting because she shot out of my arms and scrambled to the top of the refrigerator where she continued to hiss and spit. I walked over to the kitchen window and looked out. I saw a dog in the backyard. A large German Shepard. It continued to bark at the house like it knew Mahalia was inside. I shook my head and went back to my apartment and took a bath.

  Afterwards, I lay in bed once again thinking about dogs and cats. I thought about the dream I’d had that I was Jeeves lying stiff and stuffed on Clair Easton’s fireplace hearth, and about Ivy Flack’s missing and probably dead cat, Tamsin, and Clair Easton walking Jeeves at all hours of the night and him digging up Ellis Kirby’s azaleas. I wondered what Dennis was doing while Jeeves dug a hole in his father’s flower bed not ten feet from his cottage?

  I thought about Emma Kirby donating money to replace the missing reunion fund money and sat straight up in bed. I’d been so busy trying to find out if Clair Easton had seen Emma Kirby and Gerald together that I’d completely forgotten about what Emma had told me. She’d sent Dennis to tell Ms. Flack that she’d be willing to donate money to the reunion fund. Dennis never said one word about seeing Ms. Flack after that last committee meeting. Dennis loved reminding people that his parents had money. He’d have bragged about his mother saving the reunion but didn’t. Why? Did he see Ms. Flack the day she died? And something else dawned on me as I thought about Dennis. His wrist was still bandaged, which I thought was strange at the time. But it wouldn’t be strange if it were the opposite wrist from the one he sprained. What was underneath that bandage? I had a good idea and felt sick to my stomach because I realized that Jeeves hadn’t just dug up flowers.

  It was almost one thirty in the morning when I crept up the Kirby’s steep driveway
. All of the lights inside the house were off. There were no cars parked in the driveway. I walked under the arched portico, down the side of the house, towards the backyard, and prayed they didn’t have some kind of motion sensored security system that was about to go off. I heard a car door slam somewhere off in the distance and instinctively pressed myself against the side of the house. Once I caught my breath, I continued on until I got to the fence that led to the backyard and garden. Unlike Clair Easton’s gate, it was open and I walked through into the dark backyard. I pulled out my flashlight and turned it on.

  The backyard was beautifully landscaped and filled with flowers and neatly trimmed bushes. I could smell honeysuckle and roses. Water trickled from a fountain in the middle of small pond filled with koi. All around the garden there were stone pavers that led to benches in what I assumed where the shadiest areas. The only light was coming from beyond the garden in the well-lit pool area. The area I was interested in was the bed of azaleas on the other side of the pool near Dennis’s cottage.

  I was headed towards the pool when I heard a splash of water and a woman’s laugh. I ducked down behind a bush and shut off my flashlight. Then I heard a man’s laugh and the woman squeal in delight as more loud splashes echoed through the garden. Someone was having a good time. Considering the bomb I’d dropped on Emma Kirby, I knew it couldn’t be her and Gerald. I got up and crept over to hide behind a large stone urn to get a closer look. There were two people in the pool, a man and a woman. Though his thick silver hair was wet and looked darker, I recognized the man as Ellis Kirby. The woman was Emma Kirby’s physical therapist, Ashley. Both of them were naked. Ashley was the only precious flower Ellis Kirby seemed to be interested in at the moment. I wondered if Emma had any idea?

  “Stop, Mr. Kirby,” said Ashley breathlessly, as she tried in vain to grab her bikini top away from the older man. She was laughing, or giggling to be more precise.

  “If you want it, you’ll have to go and get it,” he said playfully and tossed the bikini top onto a lounge chair by the pool where it landed with a wet plop.

  Ashley crossed her arms over her perky breasts and pretended to pout. Then she gave Ellis a sly look and very slowly—purely for effect I’m sure—got out of the pool and stood staring at him with her hands on her hips. Ellis stared at her lush, wet body glowing in the moonlight like he was in a trance and watched as she walked over to the lounge chair and bent over like she was going to retrieve her top.

  Instead, she bent over with her legs spread wide and gave him an eager beaver shot. Even though I didn’t have the view Mr. Kirby had, I looked away just the same. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the splashing I heard next was Ellis Kirby scrambling out of the pool to take what Ashley was offering him. Dennis said his father had a bad heart. I hoped Ashley wasn’t about to kill him with that lethal bod of hers.

  I looked back and Ellis was lying on his back on the lounge chair with Ashley straddling him and trailing her long wet hair over his chest.

  “Are you sure she won’t be back tonight?” asked Ashley, flipping a lock of wet hair over her shoulder before sticking her tongue in his belly button. Ellis shuddered with pleasure. I assumed Ashley was referring to Emma.

  “I told you she flew to our condo in Palm Springs. Said she needed a break.” I just bet she did, I thought.

  “And your son?”

  “He won’t be home until the bars close at three. We still have plenty of time.”

  And they didn’t waste a minute of it.

  For the next twenty minutes, I waited patiently by the urn and tried to block out the sounds of Ellis Kirby getting it on with his wife’s physical therapist. It was almost impossible to drown out the sounds of Ashley’s porn star worthy moaning, and Ellis Kirby’s grunting and constantly asking her, “You like it, doncha? Is this what you want? Is it?”

  To which she would reply, “Yes, Big Daddy! Yes!”

  Big Daddy? Eew!

  Every few minutes I would take a quick peek and see the two of them contorted into positions that I knew couldn’t be conducive to real pleasure. It was like they were competing with each other to see who could come first, each one focused solely on their own pleasure. If I were a betting woman—and I’m not cause I’m usually broke—my money would have been on Ellis but he was hanging tough for a man his age. Ultimately, it was Ashley who threw her head back first and howled, closely followed by Ellis. They lay on the lounge chair panting and exhausted for about five minutes before Ashley jumped up.

  “Race you to the shower, Mr. Kirby.” Ashley took off like a shot—still naked—right past me for the house. I wonder what happened to Big Daddy?

  “You can call me Ellis,” he said, racing after her with his limp and spent ding-dong flopping with each step.

  I was relieved they’d finally gone into the house, but I had to take a minute to shake the images of the two of them out of my head before I headed over to the flower bed. I looked at my watch. It was 2:15. I practically ran around the pool, careful not to slip on the slick mosaic tile, and headed straight for the bed of azaleas. The part I needed to see was the section that Jeeves had dug up that had been replanted with bright orange flowers. I looked around to make sure no one was watching. Dennis’ cottage showed no signs of life. So, I carefully poked around in the dirt under and around the orange flowers, slightly uprooting them. When my fingers encountered plastic, I gently pushed the thick dark soil aside until I revealed a black trash bag.

  I poked and pulled on the plastic until I made a large hole, then shone my flashlight inside. I was greeted by the sight of a dead black and white cat. Its face was frozen in a hissing death mask. Its fur was stiff and hard. It smelled really bad. It was Ms. Flack’s missing cat, Tamsin. I could tell by the way the cat’s neck flopped that it was broken. This had been what Jeeves had been after when he’d dug up the flowers. He’d smelled Tamsin. I noticed the cat’s fur was smeared with dirt, meaning it had probably been buried without the benefit of its trash bag shroud the first time around. Dennis hadn’t made that same mistake twice. And speaking of Dennis, I heard the unmistakable sound of a door opening behind me. I turned and saw Dennis standing in the doorway of his cottage smiling at me.

  “I thought you were—” I began, not quite knowing what I was about to say. Dennis laughed.

  “Out?” he said, coming closer. “And miss my old man’s Saturday water therapy session with smokin’ hot Ashley? Not on your life.” He’d been home the whole time. Crap!

  “You killed them both, didn’t you?”

  “I’m really sorry.” He shook his head. I stood up slowly leaving the bag with the cat where it lay.

  “Sorry for what?” I backed away, not taking my eyes off of him. “Sorry you killed Clair Easton, or sorry you killed Ivy Flack?”

  “Naw, I’m not sorry I killed either one of those nosy bitches. Actually, I’m sorry for what I’m about to do to you.” Then he lunged at me.

  I threw my little flashlight at him and watched as it bounced off his big chest. I tried to jump back out of his reach and slipped on the grass, falling on my ass. Dennis grabbed one of my legs and I kicked out of his grasp and managed to get to my feet. I took off running towards the pool but didn’t get far when something hard slammed into the back of my head. Everything went black.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I WOKE UP IN the dark. Confused and disoriented, I lay still for a few seconds and tried to get my bearings and figure out where I was. I tasted blood in my mouth. Tentatively, I touched my lower lip and discovered it was split. There was also an egg-sized knot on the back of my head causing pounding that made even thinking painful. Curled into a fetal position on my side, I slowly turned onto my back and reached out my hand hitting something hard and unyielding mere inched from my face. I tried to straighten out my cramped legs but couldn’t. Where the hell was I and why was it so dark? Then another sensation cut its way through the mind numbing pain in my head. Movement. I was moving.

 
A familiar smell filled my nose. Exhaust fumes. Car exhaust fumes. I was in a moving car. Judging by the enclosed space I was in, I quickly realized I was in the trunk. Panic welled up inside me and I started screaming and frantically beating on the inside of the trunk. But the car didn’t stop and after a few minutes both my throat and my hands were sore. I was feeling around the trunk for something to pry open the lock with when the car came to an abrupt stop. I heard the opening and closing of the car door and footsteps crunching on gravel.

  Fumbling around in the dark, my hand came to rest on a hard, round, plastic cylinder. It was a large flashlight. I felt for the switch to the sound of a key being inserted into the trunk lock. When the trunk flew open, I flashed the light into my captor’s face. When I saw who it was, memories suddenly came flooding into my head, jolting me back in time, making me remember how I came to be in the trunk of a car with Dennis Kirby staring down at me. He effortlessly knocked the flashlight out of my hands, grabbed me by the front of my shirt, hauled me out of the trunk, and shoved me onto the ground.

  I frantically looked around and saw that we were in the gravel driveway of an old dilapidated white house that looked like it was in the process of being renovated. We were at the old Bridges place. The house that Dennis’s cousin Julian had bought and was renovating when he fell to his death from the roof. I started screaming and then grabbed a handful of gravel and threw it in his face. Dennis was blinded briefly, then swore and came at me. I took off running towards a nail gun lying in the grass only to trip and go sprawling, scraping up my hands and forearms. I felt my head being tugged painfully back as Dennis grabbed a handful of my hair. He started dragging me towards the cellar door on the side of the house. I struggled and kicked along the way to no avail as he wrestled one side of the heavy cellar doors open.