Kimberly thinks for a moment, which makes me nervous. I saw on her Web site that some of her paintings have gone for tens of thousands of dollars.
“For you, I’ll do it for a thousand dollars . . . oh, and that takeout fried chicken you promised for my parents.”
“I think you’ve got yourself a deal.” This is way more than I’d generally pay for artwork, but I’m genuinely excited about the idea of a custom painting of Grandmommy. “Why don’t you have a seat?” I gesture toward the table next to us. “I’ll get you a glass of the lemon blueberry iced tea we’re serving today, and you can look over the menu and decide what you’d like for lunch. We have some chicken croquettes on special today.”
A few minutes later I return with two glasses, a pitcher of iced tea dotted with blueberries and lemon slices, and a menu.
I offer the menu to Kimberly and fill the glasses.
“You know, I don’t think I need to look at the menu. I haven’t had chicken croquettes since I was a girl. I’ll go with those.”
“Good choice.” I wave for Wavonne to come over to the table, and we watch her leisurely approach. “Sorry. Wavonne has three speeds: slow, slow, and slow. Unless there’s only one pair of discount heels left on the shelf at DSW—then all of a sudden, she’s Flo-Jo.”
Kimberly laughs. “Aren’t we all Flo-Jo when a discount pair of heels is at stake?”
“What are you two ol’ hens cluckin’ about?” Wavonne asks.
“Nothing. Just discussing shoes.”
“Shoes? My favorite topic.”
“It’s good to see you again, Wavonne,” Kimberly says.
“Yeah. You too,” Wavonne replies, and turns toward me. “She tell you why Jack found her all loopy doopy in a parking lot by Raynell’s house Saturday night?”
“Wavonne!” I say.
“Yeah. I figured you hadn’t gotten to that point yet.” Wavonne plops herself down next to Kimberly. “I personally wouldn’t blame you if you did the bitch in. She had it comin’. Sista mess with my tresses and leave me bald, I’d take her down, too.”
“What is she talking about?” Kimberly asks me.
“What she’s talking about in her complete lack-of-tact way”—I glare at Wavonne before turning my attention back to Kimberly—“is that a local police officer happened to stop in for lunch yesterday when I had your business card out on the table. He recognized your photo and said he had an incident with you at the Herald Shopping Center in Fort Washington. He said he found you in your car in a peculiar state very late Saturday night . . . Sunday morning, really. I guess Wavonne and I just thought it was . . . well . . .” I’m trying to find a less offensive word than “suspicious” to use here. “Curious that you were found sleeping in your car so close to Raynell’s house the night she died.”
Kimberly’s mouth drops. “Are you guys accusing me of something?” she asks. “Did you really ask me here to discuss a painting or to talk about Raynell’s death?”
“Maybe a little of both, Kimberly.” I reach for the pitcher on the table. “More tea?” I ask—a little gesture of goodwill before I begin pummeling her with questions.
CHAPTER 28
Kimberly quickly goes on the defense. “For your information, the Herald Shopping Center is on the way from the hotel to my parents’ house. I didn’t think I had drunk that much at the reunion, but once I got on Indian Head Highway, I really started to feel the liquor from earlier in the evening affect me. I didn’t feel drunk as much as I just got a really bad . . . terrible headache. I didn’t think I should be driving, so I pulled off the road to let it pass.”
“I’m sorry, Kimberly. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Well, I hope I’ve explained myself. I only stopped at the shopping center because I was in no condition to drive. I’ve never gotten a headache like that from alcohol before—it was really intense.” She starts to get up from the table. “I think I will pass on lunch. I don’t have much of an appetite anymore.”
“So, you explained why you were asleep in your car late Saturday night,” Wavonne says just before Kimberly walks off. “Care to explain what you were doin’ traipsin’ around Raynell’s house Sunday afternoon?”
Kimberly’s eyes dart from Wavonne to me and then back to Wavonne.
“Yeah. We know all the good stuff,” Wavonne says.
“How do you know that? That I was at Raynell’s?”
“Does it really matter?” I ask before Wavonne has a chance to speak. “And come to think of it, when you came in, you said you were staying at your parents’ house in Clinton. The reunion was in Greenbelt, Kimberly. Fort Washington is in no way on the way from Greenbelt to Clinton.”
Kimberly gives me a long stare. “Okay. So I was at Raynell’s yesterday . . . and, fine, Saturday night, too. But I swear I have no idea how Raynell died. I had nothing to do with whatever caused her death. All I wanted was a little payback.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what a wicked demon she was to me in high school. I was bald for most of junior year thanks to her. I still have post-traumatic stress from the Nair incident—I’ve spent thousands on therapy to get over my days of being bullied, and that hussy was so callous she didn’t even remember what she did to me when we reconnected at the reunion. And on top of it, she wanted a favor from me. A favor? Are you freakin’ kidding me?!” Kimberly takes a moment to collect herself and sits back down at the table. “I’m not sure I’d throw her a life raft if she was drowning, and she had the nerve to ask me to appraise a painting for her—so ridiculous! But at least her request gave me an excuse to show up at her house.”
“Which you did? On Saturday night?”
Kimberly nods. “I wasn’t crazy drunk by the time I left the reunion, but I had had a few drinks, or at least enough to get up enough gumption to even the score with Raynell. With a nice buzz from the liquor, I left the hotel, stopped by an all-night drugstore, and picked up a bottle of Nair. I had planned to go to Raynell’s under the pretense of evaluating her painting, sneak into her bathroom, and put the hair removal cream in her shampoo bottle just like she had done to me.”
“Ooh,” Wavonne says. “I should be writin’ this down, so I can sell it to BET.”
“You were going to show up at Raynell’s in the middle of the night to look at a painting? That wouldn’t seem a little odd?”
“Yes, it would seem a little . . . very odd for me to come to her house at midnight to appraise some artwork, but I was tipsy and just seeing that awful woman got me going. I wasn’t thinking straight. I figured I could tell her I had a change of plans and was leaving town early the next day. If she wanted me to look at the portrait, it would have to be then. I was afraid I’d lose my nerve if I waited any longer. When I got there, she didn’t answer the door, but it was unlocked, so I snuck in and found her passed out on her bed. I simply tiptoed past her to the master bath, switched out the contents of her shampoo bottle, and left. I swear!
“I thought I was starting to sober up by the time I got to Raynell’s, but on the way back to my parents’ house, the drinking really caught up with me. My head hurt, and I felt more woozy and light-headed than liquor has ever made me feel before. But, somehow, I had the sense to get off the road and sleep off the booze before going back to my parents’. I still had a terrible headache when the police officer found me, but I blew a clean breathalyzer, so he let me drive home. Honestly, I still have a lingering headache, and it’s been two days. I don’t know what they put in the drinks at the reunion, but it was strong.”
“So, why did you go back on Sunday?”
“Because, once my head cleared, I felt silly and juvenile about the whole thing, and, honestly, I was a little afraid of what Raynell would do when she likely figured out it was me who switched out her shampoo. It’s been more than two decades since high school, but I got the sense that Raynell was as nasty as ever, and who knows what she would have done when she connected me to her bald head. I didn’t even know she was
dead when I went back. I was just going to knock on the door, feign interest in her painting, and make an excuse to use her master bath. I had planned to just drop the shampoo bottle in my purse and be on my way before she had a chance to use it. Most sisters only wash our hair once or twice a week, so I figure there was a good chance she hadn’t used it.”
“So, when you went back to her house on Sunday, you didn’t know she was dead?”
“No. I heard about it yesterday evening when the news starting showing up on Facebook. Nothing seemed out of order when I was there until I heard someone downstairs . . .” Kimberly pauses for a moment. “Wait. It was you . . . it was the two of you who were downstairs when I was there . . . and the two of you who drove off in Raynell’s Escalade.”
“Don’t be silly.” I try to feign innocence, but I can feel the guilt showing in my face, and the quick looks Wavonne and I exchange erase any doubt that we were the culprits.
“How else would you have known I was there?”
“Fine,” I admit. “I’m not convinced Raynell’s death was an accident, and we were there Sunday looking for clues as to who might have killed her.”
“Do you really think she was killed? So far everything I’ve heard indicates she fell.”
“I don’t know what to think. Believe me, you are not the only one who wanted revenge on Raynell. The woman racked up enemies faster than frequent-flier miles.”
“Well, I assure you I had nothing to do with her death.” Kimberly looks up and off to the right as if something just occurred to her. “But you know who might?”
“Who?”
“Gregory. Gregory Simms. Saturday night, just after I got back in my car, after switching out Raynell’s shampoo with Nair, I saw a car pull up in front of her house.”
“Gregory?” I’m hoping I misheard. Not only do I hate the idea of him possibly having something to do with Raynell’s death, but I don’t want to stomach him having a late-night rendezvous with her after he spent the evening flirting with me.
“Yep. It was dark, but I recognized him. Brother is looking fine these days.”
“You got that right,” Wavonne says.
Kimberly’s demeanor has softened now that she’s explained her actions to us. Her tone is friendlier and much less defensive. “Before I drove off, I saw him get out of the car and walk toward the front door. I figure if he and Raynell had a thing going, it was none of my business. But maybe his intentions were more sinister than an affair with a married woman. Not sure what his motive to kill her would have been, though.”
“I guess he had as much motive as you did,” I say. “Raynell did him dirty in high school just like you. And, oddly, he recently connected with her to help him find potential Maryland locations for his restaurant, which doesn’t really make much sense. There must be a few thousand real estate agents he could have sought help from. Why did he decide to partner with the one who used and abused him so many years ago?”
“What did she do to him?” Kimberly asks.
“It’s a long story,” I say as Darius walks by with a tray holding two plates of our special for the day on his way to another table. I note Kimberly’s eyes light up as she sees the chicken croquettes and takes in the faint scent they leave behind. “Has your appetite returned? Would you like to hear the Raynell/ Gregory story over some lunch?”
Kimberly smiles. “Now that you mention it.”
“And shouldn’t you get back to work?” I ask Wavonne. “Go put in a croquette order for Kimberly, would you?”
“All right, all right,” Wavonne says, and gets up from the table.
Kimberly and I watch her leisurely meander toward one of the POS stations to put the order in, and I can tell we are both thinking the same thing: slow, slow, and slow.
CHAPTER 29
So, here I am back at Rebirth Christian Church, but, as it’s a weekday, the parking lots are mostly empty. After nabbing a space close to the entrance and walking into the massive building, I follow the instructions Alvetta gave me for finding her office. We spoke on the phone earlier, and I told her I had an errand to run in the neighborhood and wanted to check in with her and see how she’s doing following the loss of Raynell.
I make a left down a wide hall to an elevator, which promptly deposits me on the third floor. I stride past a large office with “Pastor Michael Marshall” displayed on the open door. I take a quick peek inside and see a spacious executive suite fit for the CEO of a Fortune 500 company . . . and given the amount of revenue this place brings in, I guess it shouldn’t be surprising.
When I reach Alvetta’s office I find her on the phone. She smiles and waves me in. While it’s not quite as grandiose as Michael’s space, I’d still be surprised if Michelle Obama had a more lavish office in the White House. I step onto the thick cream-colored carpet and sit down in a beige leather chair across from Alvetta. She’s seated behind an imposing wraparound wooden desk that sits in front of a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the church grounds and some of the few remaining acres of farmland in Prince George’s County.
“Hello, Halia,” she says to me after hanging up the phone. “The work of a minister’s wife is never done. I’m trying to make final arrangements for Raynell’s service, and my phone won’t stop ringing. Three couples want the chapel for their weddings the first week in October, and they are all trying to sidestep the process and get me to work it out for them.”
“Chapel?”
“Yes, it’s on the other side of the building. It’s a smaller space than the main sanctuary . . . only holds five hundred people. Parishioners often prefer to have their ceremonies in a more intimate setting. And some like that the chapel has the feel of a traditional church with wooden pews and stained glass windows.”
“I love that a space that seats five hundred people is considered an intimate setting.”
Alvetta laughs. “It’s all relative I guess. Welcome to the megachurch world. Very little is done on a small scale here.”
“Hey . . . whatever works.” I take a slow look at her face. “So, are you okay? You and Raynell were so close. How are you coping?”
“How I always cope—by staying busy. Raynell and I talked almost every day. I would fill her in on church gossip, and she would tell me I looked tired and needed a new moisturizer, or that my hair was going limp, and she’d heard about a new balm that would help.”
I smile. “God bless her. She was no stranger to offering criticism.”
“That was just her way. Somehow it made her feel better about herself. I never took it to heart.” I notice Alvetta’s eyes start to well up. “She was really the sister I never had. Yes, she was bossy and sometimes . . . well, much of the time she built herself up by tearing other people down, but she always looked out for me.”
She pauses for a moment to keep the lonely tear lingering just outside her right eye from erupting into a full-fledged sob and grabs a tissue to delicately wipe it away. “She even introduced me to my husband.”
Your husband, whom she was having an affair with, I think to myself.
Her affection for Raynell and angst over her death does seem sincere. If she knows about Raynell’s affair with Michael or had anything to do with her untimely demise, she’s hiding it well.
“Sorry.” She lifts her shoulders and raises her head, determined to fight off further tears. “I’m still grieving I guess, but I don’t like to get emotional in front of other people.”
“There’s no shame in crying over a loved one who’s passed.”
“I know, but as First Lady of this church, I’ve gotten used to not letting my emotions take over. I’ve been to more funerals than you can count, and it’s my job to be strong and keep it together so I can comfort others. I guess it’s just habit.” She gives her eyes one more dab with the tissue. “And speaking of funerals, I’ve got a meeting with the choir director to go over the music for Raynell’s service in a few minutes, so I do need to run shortly, but it really was nice of you to dr
op by, Halia.”
“Sure. I’ll let you get back to work, but before I go, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Not at all.”
“When we talked the other day you said Gregory and Raynell had a secret romance in high school and had recently reconnected. Did you ever find out who reached out to whom to start working together? Do you know if he initially contacted Raynell, or if she reached out to him about her real estate services?”
“I asked Christy about it, and she said Gregory originally called Raynell. He claimed he had heard she was the best and wanted her help in scouting restaurant locations and a home in the area.”
“A home? He was looking to move here as well?”
“I guess . . . or at least spend enough time here to warrant owning a house.”
“Interesting.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just can’t get past the idea of Gregory reaching out for help from someone who wronged him so badly. Raynell probably stood to make a lot of money off any sales she facilitated for him. Why would he want to reward someone who did nothing but use him—even if it was a long time ago?”
“You’re not back to that whole murder thing? The police met with Terrence yesterday and assured him it was an accident. Besides, you don’t really think a successful restaurant entrepreneur like Gregory would risk everything and kill someone over some petty high school shenanigans, do you?”
“I normally wouldn’t, but I have it on good authority that Gregory was at Raynell’s house the night she died.”
“How do you know that?”
“I really can’t say, but someone saw him approach her house late Saturday night.”
Alvetta hesitates for a moment. “Well . . .” She takes a breath and looks down at her desk. “That’s really not surprising. Terrence was out of town, and Raynell and Gregory . . . well . . .”
“They had a thing going?”
“I shouldn’t be sharing this. Wow . . . I feel like I’m violating Raynell’s confidence, but, yes, Gregory and Raynell shared more than just a business relationship.”
Murder with Macaroni and Cheese Page 16
