Murder with Macaroni and Cheese
Page 24
“What about those Fendi pink sandals we saw when we first came in?” I ask. I’m sure they have a smaller heel than Wavonne would like, but they are florescent pink with a wide beaded toe strap. I don’t think Wavonne has ever turned down a florescent anything.
“Those started at four hundred.”
“If no one has placed a bid on them, and they are still going for four hundred, I’ll throw in the other one fifty,” I offer, hating the idea of Wavonne having actually behaved like a mature adult and saving some money amounting to her leaving empty-handed.
“You would?” Wavonne’s face lights up, and she leads us back over to the sandal display. Fortunately, no other bids have been placed, and with the silent auction about to close, I think it’s safe to say Wavonne will be the winner.
“Looks like I’ll be leaving with these babies.”
“I think they have to reconcile everything tonight. You’ll probably have to come back and pick them up tomorrow or another time.”
Only slightly deflated, Wavonne writes down her bid, while, from the corner of my eye, I see someone approaching carrying a flat package wrapped in brown paper. I turn my head to bring the individual into full view.
“Kimberly!”
“Hi, Halia,” she says while Wavonne is still distracted by the shoes. “I just came back for a quick visit to see my parents and to give you this.” She nods toward the package. “I went by Sweet Tea to surprise you, and they said you’d be here.”
“What is it?” I ask, intrigued.
“You’ll see.”
I take the package from her and set it on one of the display tables, so I can unwrap it. My excitement builds as I gently remove the packing paper, and it becomes clear that Kimberly’s gift is a portrait—the portrait that we discussed her painting of my grandmother.
“I have no words,” I say, smiling from ear to ear as I take in the painting of my hero and mentor and namesake . . . and all around special lady, Mrs. Mahalia Hix. “I love it!”
“Girl can throw down with a paint brush,” I hear Wavonne say behind me as she takes in the painting.
“Hi, Wavonne,” Kimberly says.
“Hey, girl. That painting’s dope!”
Kimberly laughs. “Thank you,” she says to Wavonne, and then turns to me. “I figured I owed you one. If you hadn’t put all the pieces together and figured out who killed Raynell, I could have been in a lot of trouble if the police figured out I was there the night she was murdered. It’s the least I could do.”
“Well, I still insist on paying you.”
Kimberly lifts her hand at me. “I won’t hear of it. How about just the occasional complimentary meal at Sweet Tea when I come to town?”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Perfect.”
“I can’t wait to take this back to Sweet Tea and get it on the wall.”
I’m still gushing over the painting when Alvetta steps to the microphone and announces that the bidding has closed on the silent auction items, and that the live auction for the Keckley painting is about to begin.
“Can I entice you with one of those complimentary meals now?” I ask Kimberly. “You can help me hang the painting and see how perfect it looks at Sweet Tea.”
“You don’t want to stay and see how much the Sarah Vaughan painting goes for?” Wavonne asks.
I look past her at the portrait, and, while it is lovely, I can’t help but think how it ultimately played a role in the death of Raynell and the incarceration of Christy. In my mind it’s hard to separate the beauty of the artwork with the dreadful series of events that unfolded because of it.
“You know,” I say to Wavonne as I pick up the painting of Grandmommy and gesture for her and Kimberly to follow me out the door, “the only painting I really have any interest in at the moment is this one. Let’s get it back to Sweet Tea and admire it over a tall glass of iced tea and a few slices of whatever Momma has whipped up for dessert.”