Sheila’s eyes widened. “Why then?”
“Whoever put that box on my doorstep wanted me to know about the connection between the Bernards and Queenie. Whoever did it knew that the minute I saw it, I’d start asking questions. Not just why me, but why you? Why your family? What was the tie between Queenie, or Billy as you call him, and the nice family across the street?”
Sheila opened her mouth again, but no words came out.
I went on: “You say you didn’t know about the finger? I’ll buy it. I can believe that it wasn’t part of the plan. I can even see things from your point of view. All of a sudden, there I was at your doorstep. Carrying that box. Asking questions. You had to think on your toes, and you did. I have to give it to you: you can lie without batting an eyelash.”
I said it hard, said it fast. I wanted her to feel as though I’d slapped her. She winced as though I had. But she remained silent. Despite my harsh words, I thought she was a good kid, a decent kid, inexperienced with lies. Maybe she had a natural talent for faking it, but I didn’t think so. I could see it in her eyes. She was trying to come up with another fat one, but I wouldn’t give her the space.
“You people did tell the truth about one thing, didn’t you? That the family wants nothing to do with this kidnap victim. Nothing at all. And maybe that’s the key to this whole thing.”
She seemed to shrink inside her skin. She offered no defense, just cowered under the onslaught. Her face was growing paler by the second. I felt bad for her, but I had to get through. Now was the time to do it. Later would be too late. And so I went on, relentless and showing no mercy.
“There is no Billy, is there? There’s only Junior. Junior Bernard. He’s Queenie. He’s your husband. And he’s their kid, not you.”
Sheila went very still. For a moment, she even stopped breathing. Then she closed her tear-filled eyes. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. How long have you known?”
“Since I brought the cigar box.”
She raised her head, stunned. “But how?”
“Let’s just say you’re a little too brown.”
“What?”
“A source told me the Bernards’ little girl was pretty light. Plus, you said that nobody ever called you Janie.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The day I brought the cigar box, I asked you if anybody had ever called you Janie. You didn’t know what I was talking about.”
“But who is Janie?”
“It’s the name Junior went by when he was a child.”
“But … that’s a girl’s name.”
I nodded. “Exactly.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “So you already knew when you left the house.”
“I had a suspicion, but it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that your husband’s life is on the line. If we’re going to save him, then you have to tell me the truth.”
“I didn’t want to do this pretend kidnapping. But Junior said I had to. He said it was the only way.” She swallowed, bit down on her lower lip. “He promised me he’d be safe, that nothing bad could happen, cause he knew somebody.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Somebody he met at the club. All he said was that this guy would know what to do.” She clutched her shoulders. “I don’t believe this. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
“How was it supposed to be?”
“Simple. Real simple. Junior made it sound so easy.” Kids playing with fire. “What was he thinking?”
“He said it was the only way to be free.”
“Of what?”
“Of them.” Her tone turned vehement. “His parents?”
She nodded. Straightening up, she wiped her face and sniffled. Her expression had turned bitter. “You want to know why we did it? I’ll tell you why. There’s no reason to hide anything anymore—and that includes the truth about those vipers, my in-laws.” She balled her hand into a fist. “They control us. They control him. He couldn’t make a move without getting their approval. Neither one of us could.”
“But then how could he be singing at the Cinnamon Club?”
“They didn’t know. They didn’t want to know.” She took a deep breath. “But I guess I should start at the beginning.”
CHAPTER 26
I got her some water. There was a glass, relatively clean. The sink was dingy but the water ran clear. She accepted it gratefully, and drank like a woman coming in from the desert. Then she set the empty glass on the floor and launched into her story: “Y’see, I didn’t know anything about all this—this kind of living—when I met Junior. This thing about men dressing up like women and even loving each other? I hate it.” She shuddered slightly. “It sickens me and I don’t believe it’s right before God. But there’s a whole lotta worse goings-on in this world, and I’m no one to judge anybody. Furthermore, I love Junior. I really do, and nothing’s ever gonna change that.”
She paused, reflecting.
“I guess I should be ashamed to say that. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m a fool of a woman for loving a man like this, but that’s me. That’s how I feel.”
She glanced at me with a sad, bleary smile. I gave her an encouraging nod.
“We met at Howard,” she continued. “We were in the same class, both first-semester seniors. I’d just transferred in and was lonely. He was the hand-somest, gentlest man I’d ever met. I sensed a sorrow in him and that drew me to him too. I liked the fact that he wasn’t a lumberjack kind of guy. I’d been out with those types before and I didn’t want to ever again. Junior made me feel loved and cherished. I fell head over heels for him. My parents took to him immediately. It was great.
“I guess you could say I was sheltered,” she explained softly. “Daddy was a preacher, and Mama … well, she was a farm girl. I had two older brothers, Lynn and Wallace. But a woman shot one and the other died in a train accident. After that, my parents got real protective. Nothing bad was going to happen to their baby girl. And when they met Junior, they just knew everything was going to be all right.” Her expression turned grim. “Like I said, Daddy was a preacher and Mama sewed clothes. Neither one of them finished high school, but they believed in education. They were so happy when I got that scholarship to Howard. And when I came home and told them about Junior … well, you can imagine. They were thrilled. Baby girl had done good, real good.”
They got married in secret (“Junior insisted”) and spent the next month on campus, then moved up north. She’d so anticipated graduating and moving to New York. That dream included them having a place of their own.
“But Junior said it would make more sense to move in with his mom and dad at first. We’d have a nice place to stay and could save money.”
They’d been married for nearly seven months now, and six of those seven had been spent at his parents’ house.
“Things went wrong from the moment I stepped into that place. Junior couldn’t be with me anymore. He just couldn’t … if you know what I mean. Everything had been fine up until then. But from that first night on … he couldn’t do it.” She shook her head.
“At first, he kept making excuses. And I bought ’em. I mean, I really thought he was sick or tired or had a headache or something. Then one day I came home and found him moving all of his stuff into a separate room. No warnings, no discussions, nothing. I asked him if I’d done something wrong. He said I hadn’t, but he refused to move back to our room and would rarely let me step foot in his.”
“When did that happen?”
She thought about it. “Back in September.” Soon after Queenie appeared on the scene. “He was going out most every night. He said it was with friends, but Junior didn’t have any friends, no one but me. So I knew then that—”
There was a knock at the door. Sheila and I exchanged glances.
“Yes?” I called out.
“It’s Mrs. Mercer. Open up.”
I went to the door and Mercer handed me an envelope. “Taxi driver brought it,” she said, mounds of flesh ji
ggling on her hips as she walked away.
I shut the door and ripped open the missive.
“What is it?” Sheila breathed at my side.
“Another note from the kidnappers.” It was typewritten on the same plain paper as the other ones. Take the money and drive to Mount Morris Park. Enter on the north side and look for a stake with a white cloth attached to it in the northeast corner. I looked at Sheila. “Are you ready to do this?”
She nodded.
“What about the dough?” I asked.
Sheila grabbed the satchel and yanked it open. “It’s all here.” She handed it to me. The bag was full of bundled bills.
“Did you count it?”
Sheila shook her head. “I saw Dr. Bernard counting it.”
“How did you get it if you didn’t tell him about the letter?”
“I saw where he hid it—in the piano bench.”
I had a bad feeling about this. “Are you sure you don’t want to bring the police in?”
“Oh, no! We can’t do that. These people are crazy. Look what they’ve already done. And now they say they’re gonna do worse.”
“That’s all the more reason for you to call in the cavalry.”
Sheila’s eyes looked sorrowful. “I’m afraid you’re all the cavalry we’ve got.”
CHAPTER 27
Mount Morris Park was a small square of greenery surrounding an imposing rock. It interrupted the north-south run of Fifth Avenue, from 120th to 124th Streets. I parked the car on the northeast corner of 124th and left Sheila locked inside with the satchel carrying the money. The park was dark and shadowy and a cold wind cut through my clothes. The wind was uncomfortable, but it turned out to be a good thing. Without it, I might’ve missed the white fluttering cloth tied to the stake.
Under the cloth was a tin can; inside the can was another note. This time, the instructions said to drive east to 124th Street and Park Avenue. There we’d find another white cloth.
I hurried back to the car. It was just as cold inside as out. Sheila was shivering when I returned.
“What happened?” she asked, with chattering teeth. “Did you find anything?”
As I started the car, I told her about the note. There was no traffic at this time of the night, so it only took a minute to get to the next piece of the puzzle. The cloth was tied to an iron railing in front of a brownstone. We saw no note or other form of communication. I steered us to the curb, then left the window cracked and the engine running to keep us warm.
“What do you think will happen now?” Sheila asked.
“I guess we’ll get more instructions.”
“But how?”
“I don’t know.” I noticed a pay phone on the corner. “Over there?” I pointed. “Maybe they’ll call us on that.”
“But how’ll they know?”
“They’re probably watching.”
She studied the telephone. “If it rings, will we hear it?”
I had wondered about that too. I rolled my window down a bit more and a blast of arctic air hit me in the face.
Next to me, Sheila shivered. We settled into silence, preoccupied with our private worries.
“We’ve been sitting here a long time,” Sheila said after a while.
“I know.” I glanced at my watch. “Fifteen minutes already.”
“You think they’re just testing us?”
“For sure.”
“To see if we called the police?”
I nodded.
Sheila turned to me. “I mean, you didn’t call them, did you? You didn’t tell anyone?”
How I wished I had. I shook my head.
“Good,” she exhaled. “We don’t need to worry then—about the police messing things up, I mean.”
I studied her profile. She was so very young and naïve and terribly, deeply in love.
She must’ve felt me staring at her, or maybe even read my thoughts, because she just started talking, picking up where she’d left off.
CHAPTER 28
Alone in her marital bed at night, Sheila often felt an overwhelming urge to cry. What had she gotten herself into? Was this how it would be for the rest of her life? She would allow a couple of tears to slip down her face, but then impatiently swipe them away. What was done was done.
The man she’d married was gone, if he’d ever really existed, and now she was stuck with a stranger. The man she’d married didn’t smoke or drink, but for the past few days she was sure she’d smelled both, not just on her husband’s breath, but his clothing as well.
Unable to sleep one night, she glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel and saw that it was ten minutes past two. Her gaze went to the window. Where was he? What was he doing out there?
And who was he doing it with?
Her mood shifted from anger to fear and back again. She went to her bedroom door and set it ajar. She would be able to see him when he came up the stairs, but he wouldn’t be able to see her sitting there, watching and waiting for him in the dark.
She climbed back into bed, kept her bathrobe on, and drew the sheets and blankets up to her chin. The robe was bulky under the linens, but she didn’t care. She needed the extra warmth. Her hands felt cold, her feet felt cold. She felt cold inside as well as out. Her eyes sought out the clock again. She could barely discern the hands in the dark. No matter, she could guess what time it was: not even five minutes later than the last time she checked.
Crazy thoughts swirled through her mind, thoughts about losing her husband, her marriage; about the Bernards and their sweet smiles, but worried eyes.
Had they known this would happen?
The idea of moving to New York City, to Harlem, and to a big, fine town house on one of the city’s most graceful blocks, had thrilled her. She’d been nervous about finally meeting her in-laws, but their reception made her feel warm and welcome.
Sheila paused in her memories. Her voice was steady, but her hands were trembling. She smiled grimly. “Mr. and Mrs. Bernard … they made a big to-do over me, talking about how happy they were that Junior had found me, had met someone like me. And that they were just overjoyed when Junior told them I’d agreed to marry him.
“Hmph. I should’ve known right then and there. First of all, Junior and I had kept our wedding secret. He said he hadn’t told his parents. So somebody was lying, them or him. But why lie over something like that? And then, I kept thinking, what mother is ever happy—I mean that happy—to see her only son come home with a bride? Something had to be wrong somewhere. That woman wasn’t just happy. She was grateful, and now I know why.”
Sheila looked down at her wedding ring, twisted it on her finger. “Mrs. Bernard, she was always watching. At first, I thought she was watching me. But she wasn’t. She was watching Junior. His father was too. Meanwhile, they were being real nice to me. Anything I wanted, I got. At first. But then the questions started. Mrs. Bernard would delicately ask me about how things were going between Junior and me, and I’d tell her things were fine. Again, I didn’t think anything of it, not initially. But when Junior and I were sitting at the dinner table, I would catch them cutting glances at us, like they were waiting …”
The first time Phyllis Bernard had introduced her as their daughter, Sheila had seen it as a sign of them taking her to heart. She’d considered herself lucky and blessed. So many mothers-in-law rejected the woman their son married and did everything to undermine their relationship. Not Mrs. Bernard. She was everything you could wish for in a mother-in-law. And Daddy Bernard, he was wonderful too. So caring, so protective. So … attentive.
In her room that night, understanding dawned. Sheila saw matters much more clearly. They wanted her to be happy all right. They needed her to be.
“They wanted me to spy on Junior, to keep him in line,” Sheila explained. “At the time, I didn’t know what for, but I soon found out. I thought he was having an affair, had a little something-something stashed away on the side. I wish it had been that simple.”
&nb
sp; “You followed him,” I guessed. “Or had him followed.”
“I did it myself.”
He led her to the Cinnamon Club. It was a place she’d never heard of, a lifestyle she’d never conceived of.
“I wasn’t prepared for what I learned that night. Not at all.” Her voice cracked. “When I saw all those people, I … well, at first, I still didn’t know what was going on. I knew it was a sinning place, like the juke joints we had back home. I’d never been to one, never wanted to, ’specially not after what happened to my brother Lynn. He used to hang out in them kind of places. That’s where he met that woman who shot him. Him being killed like that, it gave me a righteous fear of bars and speakeasies.
“When I walked in that door, the first thing that hit me was that this was a place of happy people. Real happy people. They were laughing, jiving, having fun. It may sound strange, but it was the first time I realized just how miserable I’d been. For months, I’d been making excuses, rationalizing things. Standing there in that club, I actually envied those people.
“And you know what’s really crazy? I can’t believe how naïve I was. I must’ve been out of my mind, cause for the longest time I just stood there refusing to accept what I could see. That it was women with women, men with men, hugging and kissing and making out.
“I started looking for Junior. I kept wondering why he hadn’t taken me there. I could understand his need to escape that house, but I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t brought me with him. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t like that kind of place. That could be, but … we were married. We weren’t supposed to be keeping secrets from each other. Not unless … Maybe he just didn’t want me anymore. Maybe he wasn’t just trying to get away from that house, but away from me too. And that’s when I started really searching that crowd for his face.
“It wasn’t until he strutted out on stage, all dressed up, that I made the connection. Lord knows, I didn’t want to. He’s a pretty man, Miss Lanie, don’t you think?”
Black Orchid Blues Page 14
