In any case, Alex slept soundly and awoke at around four in the afternoon feeling refreshed. She began to busy herself with the small chores of the house and the laundry. She had to think about going back to work. She couldn’t stay out much longer if she hoped to hold onto her new job. However, as she went about folding her laundry out of the dryer, her good mood seemed to fade. In spite of herself, she kept remembering the look on Dory’s face when the detectives arrived to take her away. The look of a frightened child.
Don’t do it, she thought. Don’t talk yourself into feeling guilty. You did your best. You even got Marisol to help her. The situation was messed up from the beginning. This was not, as Mr Killebrew had said to her from the outset, the sister that your mother had in mind for you. Soon Seth would be back. He would be back, and she would tell him that she felt the same, and they would begin their life together. This interlude with Dory would just be a bad memory.
She decided to go down to the guest room where Dory had stayed and clean it up, almost as if she wanted to remove every trace of Dory from this house. It was over now. She had to put it behind her. She walked into the guest room and looked around. The room was in a chaotic state. The bed was unmade and looked as if wild horses had thrashed around in it. There were pieces of paper in the trash can but also scattered around it, as if Dory had aimed and missed. There were half-empty bottles of water on every surface and food wrappers on the nightstand. Dory’s duffel bag gaped open on the chair with the few clothes she had brought along spilling out of it. Her shoes lay at the foot of the bed. The television was on mute but was still playing. Alex went over to the remote and turned it off. She looked around the messy room with a sigh. She hadn’t cleaned it up since Dory first came to stay. She had expected that a grown woman would keep her own room clean. Obviously prison life had not turned Dory into a neatness freak.
Alex began to pick up. She collected all the trash into the trash can and emptied the water bottles into the sink in the guest-room bath. She folded up Dory’s clothes and repacked the duffel bag. She put Dory’s shoes on top, wondering if she would ever have any need for the clothes and toiletries she had brought along. Not if she ended up with a jail sentence. And this time, Alex thought, I won’t be bailing her out. She was almost tempted to take the duffel bag downstairs and put it in the trash. But it seemed as if she would be prematurely sentencing her own sister. She zippered it up and, after a moment’s hesitation, placed it on the floor in the closet instead.
Finally she went around to make the bed. She knew she should strip off the sheets and wash them, but it just seemed like more than she was capable of doing at this point. The wounds in her back, though healing, began to ache as she finished the chores. She pulled up the top sheet and tucked it tightly in. Then she pulled up the bedspread and the blankets, smoothed the bedspread and shook out the blanket ready to fold it and replace it at the foot of the bed. But as she shook it, something fell out onto the white counterpane.
It was a dingy stuffed elephant, homemade from a faded flowered fabric. It had been stuffed when it was new, but its body had become flattened with the passage of time. It had large floppy ears made from the same fabric as the body and the trunk, and matching buttons on either side of its head for eyes.
As Alex stared at it her knees began to feel wobbly and she had to sit down on the bed. She knew this elephant. She had had one exactly like this when she was a baby. Different fabric but the same simple pattern sewn together by hand. Her dad had called it her ‘guardian elephant.’ She kept it for years. It might still be in her toy box in the attic. She knew exactly where it came from. She had heard the story dozens of times. Her mother had made it while she waited for Alex to be born. She told Alex that she had sewn it from a pattern she got when she took home economics in high school. Clearly she had made one while she waited for Dory too. Perhaps she slipped it into the carrier with her when she gave her up to be adopted. Dory probably had no idea where it came from. But for some reason that defied reason, she still secretly carried it around with her and slept with it in her bed.
Alex looked at her watch. Marisol still hadn’t called. Clutching the elephant to her chest, she left a message for Marisol to call her as soon as she could. Almost as soon as she hung up, the phone rang. Marisol, she thought.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘This is Cilla Zander. Is this Alex?’
‘Yes.’ Alex recognized the name immediately, although she was taken aback to hear from her.
‘I’m a talent manager,’ said Cilla in a rich, languorous Southern accent. ‘I manage Walker Henley and, at one time, I managed Lauren Colson.’
‘I know who you are,’ said Alex.
‘Oh, you do. OK. Well, Walker asked me to call you. He told me about meeting you and your sister last night in Providence.’
Was that only last night? Alex thought. It seemed a lifetime ago. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was very nice of him to talk to . . . us.’
‘Well, he’s a very nice guy. And he thought I might be able to help you.’
‘Really?’ said Alex cautiously.
‘You live in Boston?’
‘Just outside of . . .’
Cilla Zander, for all the honeyed civility in her voice, wasn’t interested in specifics. ‘Listen, Ms Woods, I’m going to be flying into Portsmouth, New Hampshire tomorrow. They’re trying to set up a kind of Bonaroo North for the summer, and they want three of my clients to appear. I need to check out the venue. I know that Portsmouth’s not too far from Boston. About an hour’s drive, I think.’
‘Yes,’ said Alex. ‘That seems right.’
‘If you want to talk about Lauren, you can meet me up there tomorrow. I’ll text you the location.’
Alex didn’t want to go to Portsmouth, New Hampshire. She had to get back to work. Besides, what was left to discuss? Dory was in jail for trying to kill her. Obviously it was exactly what she had done to Lauren. What difference did it make what Lauren’s life had been like? The police had been right in the first place. Right all along.
‘Ms Woods, are you there?’
‘Yes,’ said Alex. She looked down at the elephant tucked under her arm.
‘Shall I send these directions? Do you want to meet with me?’
‘Yes,’ said Alex. ‘I do.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
The trip to Portsmouth was short and relatively smooth once she got past the highway congestion in Boston. When she arrived in New Hampshire she only had to travel a few miles until she exited the road in Portsmouth. She followed Cilla’s directions to downtown center on the waterfront. Portsmouth was clearly a town rich in history and lovingly refurbished by its citizens since the early days of its founding. It retained many of its original buildings and all of its early American flavor. The town square was anchored by a red-brick, white-steepled church. It was easy to imagine those snowy, cobblestone streets when they were peopled by women in mobcaps and bewigged men in greatcoats. She found a parking space quite easily on Main Street and got out of the car.
Cilla Zander was meeting the young organizers of the music festival at a restaurant called Lucky Toast. Even though it was in the next block, it was easy for Alex to spot it. There was a black limousine parked outside and still running. A man in a driver’s uniform, complete with gloves and hat, was leaning against the side of the shiny town car, looking extremely out of place. Alex walked down to the restaurant and nodded to him as she pulled open the door.
Inside, the decor of the restaurant was a genial explosion of kitsch. Kitchen tables with formica tops in primary colors and matching chair seats stood side by side with tables covered by white cotton cloths bright with apple or cherry prints. Each table had a lamp on it, some with Hawaiian hula dancers, others with bucking bronco riders as a base. There were hordes of old posters framed on the walls and lots of warm wood surfaces. The overall impression was homey and easygoing.
Seated in the middle of the room was a table of patrons as mismatched as the décor
. Three young people with long hair, North Face parkas and hiking boots were sharing the table with a heavyset woman wearing ropes of pearls and a fur coat. Her hair was shiny black and swung in an expert cut around her creamy-skinned, double-chinned face. She seemed to perch on the very edge of the kitchen chair, her posture perfect, her blue-eyed gaze looking coolly at the younger people at the table.
Alex hesitated and then approached the table. ‘Excuse me, I’m looking for Cilla Zander?’
The woman in furs looked up at her hopefully. ‘Ms Woods?’
Alex nodded. Cilla Zander gathered her expensive handbag and her furs around her and abruptly stood up. ‘My friends, I hate to leave you, but I have another meeting. I would ask y’all to get me those specs that we talked about ASAP if you have any hope of my performers considering your festival.’
‘We’ll do that, Miss Zander.’ The best-looking of the three young people at the table stood up and offered her his hand. He had pale skin, fine eyes and matted dreadlocks falling over the collar of his parka.
Cilla Zander looked at his extended hand as if there were a spider in his palm. She did not offer her hand in return. ‘I hope you know,’ she said in a Southern accent that sounded like molasses over steel, ‘that you have taken me far out of my way, when you were not actually prepared for this meeting.’
‘And we will make up for that,’ the young man insisted, still holding out his hand to her. ‘We really regret that we didn’t have all the answers to your questions, but the planning is still a little preliminary. We will get those answers for you. I promise.’
Cilla extended one pudgy, beautifully manicured hand and basically tapped the young man’s hand with her own. ‘See that you do. I do not appreciate having my time wasted.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said, frowning.
Cilla took Alex’s arm by the elbow and began to propel her to the door. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said. ‘They do not serve alcohol at this establishment. What kind of a business meeting takes place at a restaurant with no alcohol on the menu? That name is very deceiving.’ As she talked she led the way up the street to a fern bar on the next corner. Alex followed her in and Cilla flopped down onto a banquette at a table near the door. Alex sat down opposite her in a chair. Cilla immediately began to scan the room for the nearest available waitress. Once she had her attention and had ordered a drink, she sat back against the banquette with a sigh.
‘I’ll tell you something. There are going to be some heads rolling in my New York office. They set this meeting up without even making sure that we were dealing with bona fide promoters. This is completely unacceptable.’
The waitress, sensing the urgency of her customer’s thirst, appeared quickly with the glass of Makers Mark neat, and set it down in front of Cilla. Cilla lifted it, took a soothing sip and closed her eyes in sensual delight. Then she set the glass down carefully on the table in front of her and smoothed out the napkin underneath.
‘Now then, Alex.’
Alex nodded.
‘Tell me again how you are related to Lauren.’
Alex explained about Dory and made sure to keep her explanation brief and to the point. ‘It was really good of you to see me.’
Cilla rolled the whisky around on her tongue as she listened. Finally she looked Alex in the eye. ‘Walker called and said you were wondering about Lauren’s personal life.’
‘Yes,’ said Alex. ‘The Boston police have reopened the investigation into her murder. They are questioning the same people who were on the scene when the murder occurred. I was thinking about the fact that they never considered anyone as a suspect who was part of Lauren’s life outside of Boston. Like in Branson or Nashville. I began to wonder if there might be such a person. Lauren’s father told me she was gay, but she was busy passing for straight. That can lead to a lot of hard feelings.’
‘Her parents knew she was gay?’ Cilla asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise.
Alex nodded.
‘Hmmm. I guess Lauren finally broke down and told them. Elaine certainly didn’t know about it when Lauren was first keeping company with Walker. Elaine was always calling me, telling me what a storybook wedding it would be for country music if they got married. It was all I could do to hold my tongue.
‘I won’t lie to you, Ms Woods. The only reason I was willing to see you is because I am trying to protect my own investment here. After all, I was the one who set Lauren up with Walker. At the time he didn’t have a gal, and I knew about Lauren. I knew she wasn’t going to be dating any men. But it’s just not good for an entertainer’s image to look like they don’t have any love in their lives. I mean, fans have that problem in their own lives. They want to believe that their idols are gettin’ more ass than a toilet seat.’
Alex laughed in surprise. The expression seemed so alien coming out of this expensively dressed, proper-looking woman. ‘Did you tell Walker that she was gay?’ Alex asked.
Cilla grimaced in disbelief. ‘No. Of course not. That’s the point. He would be furious even now if he found out what I did. He would never have agreed to it. Even at the time I didn’t make a big deal out of it. I just introduced them, said how I was hoping to raise their public profiles, and that nothing did that better than when two stars start dating. I said they should just start seeing one another out in public, even as friends.’
‘Her father said she had to keep it quiet for her career,’ Alex observed.
‘Do you know anything about country music? There is no such thing as gay in country music. On that point, I would have to agree with her father.’
‘So, Lauren was gay, but she didn’t act on it?’
‘Oh, honey, I’m sure she acted on it. She was a grown woman.’
‘Did you know any of her girlfriends?’ Alex asked.
Cilla shook her head and finished off her drink. ‘No, I did not. And I did not want to. It was none of my business.’
Alex felt deflated. ‘So you don’t know any of the women she was involved with? She didn’t live with anyone or anything like that?’
‘Well, she didn’t live with anyone in the eyes of the world. It was just Lauren all by her lonesome. Of course she did have help in the house.’
Alex frowned at her. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that if you have a live-in housekeeper, nobody suspects anything.’
‘You mean, even if they’re not actually a housekeeper,’ Alex said slowly.
Cilla gazed at her coolly. ‘They always had chores to do. Shopping. Cooking. That sort of thing. Probably ran a vacuum once in a while. But they weren’t housekeepers.’
‘Did she have a “housekeeper” around the time she was killed?’
‘She did. A young, pretty one from Alabama. I had to pay her off not to sell her story to the tabloids. But don’t get any ideas. I know exactly where she was when Lauren was killed.’
‘Where?’
‘In Nashville. In rehab. I paid for it.’
‘Oh,’ said Alex, discouraged.
‘There was only one she really cared about, I think,’ said Cilla. ‘It was years before she died. Only lasted about six months but it broke her heart in two. Lauren couldn’t hold on to her. She was a beauty though. Older than Lauren. She had long dark hair and a pretty little mole beside her mouth. Showed up in Branson one day and moved in with Lauren. Lauren was head over heels. It was tough to keep her from telling the world about it. In fact, she wrote some songs about the break-up that had to be rewritten so that you couldn’t tell she was talking about a girl. I believe her name was . . . Joy. Joy. Ironic, isn’t it? Should have been Sorrow.’
TWENTY-NINE
Alex’s brain seemed to be seething as she drove back to Boston. She went directly to the South End and parked nearby the Colsons’ apartment. Maybe it was a coincidence, but Alex didn’t believe that. It was exactly the sort of connection she had been looking for. She knew it didn’t mean that Joy had killed Lauren. Why would she? But there was a secret between them.
That was obvious. And it might have proved to be an explosive secret. Alex needed more information.
She knocked on the Colsons’ front door. Elaine answered.
‘You’re home,’ said Alex. ‘Thank goodness.’
‘It’s a Catholic feast day. The office is closed.’
‘I wanted to talk to you,’ said Alex.
‘Look, don’t blame me. I warned you about Dory,’ said Elaine wearily. ‘I wish I could say I was surprised when they showed up here with that warrant and found the knife. But honestly, I wasn’t. I’m sorry that she hurt you, but I told you she would.’
‘This isn’t about Dory,’ said Alex, amazed yet again at Elaine’s dislike for her own daughter, which seemed to be permanently frozen in place. ‘Not directly, anyway. Can I come in? I really need to talk to you.’
Elaine shrugged and stood back from the door. Alex followed her down the hall and then the steps into the great room. There was a smell of burnt sugar in the air. Elaine had obviously been working in the kitchen when Alex arrived. There were measuring cups and baking ingredients on the counter, and a fruit pie cooling on a rack by the stove. The smell of smoke was heavy in the kitchen, and the back-garden door had been opened to let it out. Elaine returned to the flour-covered counter and resumed her mixing and measuring.
‘What happened?’ Alex asked.
‘I was making a pineapple upside-down cake for Father Finnegan’s retirement dinner and it overflowed the pan. What a mess. I don’t know how that could have happened. I’ve made that recipe a million times. Anyway, I have to start all over again. I wouldn’t bother, but the dinner is tomorrow night and my pineapple upside-down cake is his favorite.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Alex. Looking around the cozy, great room, the kitchen full of wonderful smells in spite of the smoke, the pie cooling on the counter, Alex thought that it was the image of a happy home. When Dory was adopted it must have seemed to the Catholic Foundlings Agency that this was the perfect setting to raise a child. Except that Dory’s mother seemed to be unable to love her without reservation which was, in the end, more important than the cozy house and all the baked goods in the world.
Sisters Page 20
