by Marvin, Liz
How hadn’t she noticed this before?
Betty dove into research. She looked at everything from old Craigslist ads and E Bay to the local online sales pages, trying to find anyone in the Lofton area who was selling products similar to her own. She was looking anyone with any sort of motive for sabotaging her, so someone who might be reselling her products. But whoever was stealing her shipment must have had some brains. They weren’t selling it online in any venue she could identify.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Yes?” Betty asked absently.
Her father poked his head in. “Mind if I come in?”
“Sure,” she said. “Just let me finish this up.” She bookmarked the page she’d just found. No clothing, but a man the next town over was selling a tractor at thousands of dollars less than market value. If she could think of a place to store it, it might be worth buying for the turn around price.
Her father came in and sat on her bed, placing a plate on her desk as he passed. It held a cheeseburger, made just as she liked it. Open face, with only one piece of bread and, she grinned, a smiley face of ketchup on top and a large helping of broccoli slaw. At least one thing from her dinner hadn’t wound up in the trash.
“Thanks, This looks great.” Her body would just have to deal with one slice of bread. She was eating broccoli, wasn’t she?
“The slaw is really very tasty,” her father said.
“I thought so,” Betty said. “It was just everything else that was crap.”
“Well,” her father said, “I’ve had worse.”
Betty raised an eyebrow at him.
Her father made an exaggerated show of checking to make sure her mother wasn’t anywhere within earshot. When he’d confirmed that the coast was clear, he came back to sit on a chair by her desk. He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “Your mother’s apple pie tastes like ivory soap.”
Betty laughed. This right here was why she loved her Dad. He knew exactly how to cheer her up.
The burger he’d brought was bliss, and the peppery blue cheese slaw was the perfect accompaniment. Betty hummed in appreciation.
After a moment of letting her eat, Chet spoke. “So, what’s going on?” Betty looked up, her eyes wide. For the first time, she noticed that her father was wearing the blue plaid shirt she’d given him for Father’s Day. “Did something happen at the doctor’s?”
Her Dad was wonderful. But this wasn’t something she wanted him to know. Not yet. She chewed slowly, giving herself a few seconds to respond. “The doctor said I need to start eating more healthy,” she said. “But it’s just been a long day. Clarise was arrested at the theater, and I spent most of the day trying to help her.” There. That was close enough to the truth that it wasn’t quite a lie.
Chet sat up slowly, frowning. “Clarise? What was she arrested for?”
“Murdering Jarvis,” Betty said shortly.
Chet blinked. “Murdering Jarvis? Are you serious?” His voice grew louder with as he continued, his expression incredulous. “They think she murdered Jarvis? Are they stupid?”
“Yes.” Betty said shortly.
Her father stared at her for a minute before he started to chuckle. “Good God Betty, is that why you have your underwear in a twist? Between that new chief looking to prove himself and Wes Bundy mooning after Clarise like a sick puppy, do you think she’ll stay behind bars long? They’ll catch the real murderer,” a look of glee spread across his face, “and Clarise will give them Hell for even thinking it was her. Oh, I wish I could see that!” He clapped his hands. “There won’t be much left of them, I can tell you that.”
“Dad.”
“Clarise!” He laughed louder. “Murderer!”
“Dad!”
“What?”
“Dad, it’s not funny. Jarvis is dead.”
Her father stood and laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Honey,” he said seriously, “sometimes the best way to kill the devil’s pride is to laugh in his face. Don’t you worry. Clarise will be out in no time at all.”
He squeezed her shoulder before leaving Betty to her thoughts, the door shutting quietly behind him.
She felt a little better.
Just a little.
CHAPTER 13
In the morning, Betty woke her parents with breakfast in bed. Breakfast was one thing she did know how to cook, and remembering the way she had treated them the night before made her feel awful. The smiles on their faces when they sat up to receive their trays of cheese omelets and fried ham made her feel a little better. She had been so glad to find that this meal was approved for diabetics. She just drank water instead of juice, and avoided the toast. She’d probably be having something a bit more unhealthy while she was out, but it still felt nice to start the day right. All three of them sitting in her parent’s bed and eating food that reaffirmed her faith in her cooking skills was just what the doctor ordered.
After breakfast, she went upstairs to check if that tractor was still available. It was, but the price had gone up by several thousand dollars.
Opportunity gone. Oh well.
She searched for “Lofton Community Theater murder,” to see if there were any updates on the case.
“Stagehand found dead. Theater director arrested.”
” Murder Mystery Looms Ahead of Opening Night.”
“And Then There Were No Stagehands.”
Nothing new.
An article at the bottom of the page caught her eye.
“Lofton Resident, Ex Sitcom Star Claims Career Murdered.” She clicked on the link, only to huff in disgust as Walter Payone’s face loomed up.
Walter Payone, best known for his leading role as Officer Ray Frank in eighties sitcom “Staking Out,” raised allegations that his career was deliberately sabotaged by his co star Harriet Rayne. “She was always jealous,” he said. “So when the show ended she trash talked me to everyone. I couldn’t even get a job as an extra for months! She murdered my career I tell you. Murdered! But I still do alright”
Payone now makes a living touring for conventions and making cameo appearances in television shows and movies. He is currently performing as a lead for the Lofton Community Theater. Unfortunately, a recent injury to his shoulder has left Payone unable to raise his arm above his head. “This will seriously hurt my career,” he said jokingly. “No more fight scenes.”
Whether or not Payone will return to star in another sitcom remains to be seen. “Do I miss it?” the former star asked. “Of course I do. The question is, with all of Rayne’s trash talk, does television miss me?”
What a complete and utter load of crock. The man was delusional. Of course no one wanted to work with him! He was a scumbag, plain and simple. His capacity for being a jerk stood out even among sitcom and soap opera stars which was really an accomplishment to feel proud of.
Betty had twenty minutes before she had to leave. Visiting hours opened at nine at the station, and she wanted to be sure that Clarise had some basics. Luckily, Clarise slept over so often that she usually just left a change of clothes. Betty rummaged through her things until she found Clarise’s clothes: a changes of jeans, a loose shirt, underwear and a bra. She threw everything into a bag and added two pairs of warm socks, a blanket, a hairbrush, some soap, an extra toothbrush and some toothpaste. She had no idea what Clarise would be allowed to keep, but it was worth the effort if there was any chance at all that Clarise could use them. She had an image in her head of Clarise in an old time jail cell out of a Western, with a large round ring to hold all the keys and a rusty metal bed that creaked whenever an inmate shifted on its straw mattress.
To be honest, until yesterday she hadn’t even known that Lofton had its own holding cells, let alone what condition they were in. Hopefully, the reality was somewhat better than her imagination portrayed it.
Ding Dong.
Male voices sounded up the stairs—her father’s and—
“BETTY!” her father hollered. “THE NEW CHIEF’S HERE! HE SAYS
TO CALL HIM BILL AND WANTS TO KNOW IF YOU NEED A RIDE TO THE STATION!”
Well, that was a welcome surprise. She grabbed her purse and lugged the bulging bag for Clarise down the stairs. And there Bill was, standing in her doorway and looking neat and comfortable. Betty had an odd sense of de ja vue. They’d driven to plenty of practices together in college. She remembered him standing in her dorm doorway with just the relaxed expression on his face. This time, though, he was wearing a police uniform.
It was strange, to say the least.
Well, she was in far too good a mood to let a little strangeness put a damper on her attitude.
“Morning Bill!” she said, hopping down the last few steps.
“Morning Betty.” He tipped his hat at her. “I thought you might want a ride to the station this morning.”
Betty almost laughed at him. He actually tipped his hat? The last time she’d seen anyone do that had been in a production of Oklahoma! Well, if he was going to play the gentleman, the least she could do was play the damsel. She propped her hands on her hips and scowled, channeling her inner Scarlet O’Hara. It was a character she’d used often in college to annoy the extreme feminists. “Bill Owens, what do you mean, showing up here unannounced?”
“Beg pardon ma’am.” Then Bill laughed, a full sound that seemed to absorb into the wooden walls rather than echo. He leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms. “Betty Crawford, I forgot just how ridiculous you are. I’m on my way in to work—do you want a ride or not?”
Betty grinned and dropped the act. “A ride would be great.” She pecked her father on the cheek. “I’ll see you tonight, Dad.”
She hefted Clarise’s bag and followed Bill to the driveway.
“I don’t want people thinking I’ve arrested you too,” Bill said. He held the door to the front seat open for her. “So this morning, you ride in style.” Betty squashed her instinct to huff and complain that she could open the door very well by herself, thank you very much. After all, he was just being polite.
The had barely pulled out of the driveway before Bill asked, “So, how do you know Clarise?”
Any fond, reminiscent feelings that Betty had been indulging fled. So, that was why he’d shown up this morning. He wanted to question her about Clarise.
“We were friends in high school,” she said shortly.
He looked over at her, seeming to notice the shift in her mood. “Really?” he asked, keeping his voice light. “I thought she was older than you.”
“She is. She was the guidance counselor.”
“You were friends with your guidance counselor?”
“Yes,” Betty said. “She was the only one who encouraged me to pursue drama. Are you done with the third degree?”
“I was just making conversation,” Bill protested.
“Sure you were,” Betty grumbled. She stared out the window. After a moment of silence, he turned on the radio. Betty couldn’t look at him. Her cheeks burned. They had been friends. Maybe not very close friends, but friends nonetheless. Now… now he was Chief of Police, and her best friend was behind bars for murder. She should have known better.
CHAPTER 14
Inside the police station was surprisingly business like. In fact, if it weren’t for the “Emergency Contact” and “Wanted” posters or the armed employees it was hardly different than any other shared office space. Officers and clerks sat at open air desks with pile of papers. Phones rang. People swore at copy machines.
“I’ll have Clarise moved to a visiting room. You can check your stuff in at the front desk.”
Betty lifted the bag. “What about these? Do I have to have them checked before I give them to her?”
“Let me see.”
He walked over to a table and rifled through the contents of the bag. He put back everything but the change of clothes and socks. “You’ll have to take back the blanket and toiletries,” he explained. “We provide those already. But I’m sure she’ll appreciate the clothes. Come with me.”
He walked her over to a room on one side of the office area. It had one glass wall. The rest of the walls looked to be solid concrete, except the door where people entered. That was metal, with a small barred window two thirds of the way up. There was a long, wooden table with a couple chairs on each side.
“We’ll bring Clarise in here,” Bill said “It shouldn’t be too long.”
“Thanks,” she said. Bill shut the door as he left. The sound echoed.
For the second time in as many days, Betty found herself waiting in an office. She studied the grain on the table, tracing its whorls and lines with her finger. She’d probably been a bit too short with Bill. That really wasn’t fair to him. For all she knew, he’d really just been trying to make small talk.
She’d have to remember to apologize to him.
The door swung open and Clarise came into the room, flanked by two guards, Betty stood immediately. She examined her friend as the guard swiped a metal detector over her and patted her down.
Clarise’s eyes were red, her hair mussed, and her clothes wrinkled. She was wearing some sort of horrible grey sweat suit that exaggerated the bags beneath her eyes. She looked as though she hadn’t slept at all.
“We’ll be right outside,” the guard said.
The moment the door clicked shut behind them Betty launched forward. She wrapped her arms around Clarise, holding her tight. Clarise hugged her back, squeezing her tightly. It was a long moment before Clarise pulled herself away.
“I’m fine Betty, really.” Betty raised an eyebrow. There was no way Clarise was getting away with that statement. She opened her mouth to refute the statement.
“Well, maybe not fine,” Clarise interrupted. “But I’ll live.”
“I can’t believe they haven’t let you go yet,” Betty said. “This is ridiculous!’
Clarise sat down. She leaned back into the chair, keeping her eye on Betty. “They’ll let me go soon enough.” Her voice wavered. “They have to. I’m innocent. You know that I’m innocent, right?”
“Of course!” There was no doubt of that in Betty’s mind. None at all.
“Good.” Clarise laughed. “You know, Sergeant Bundy doesn’t believe it either. He’s visited my cell a few times already, making sure that I was comfortable.”
“Oh really?”
“Mmhm. He’s vowed to clear my name. It’s rather sweet.”
“Maybe you just had to be behind bars for him to make his move?”
“That would be one for the grand kids.” She mimicked a storyteller’s voice. “You see, I’d just been arrested. And your grandfather was a big cop at the jail…”
The two guards outside looked in when they heard Betty’s laughter. She waved at them.
To be honest hun,” Clarise said, turning serious. “I’m more worried about you right now. What was with the melt down yesterday?”
Rats. So much for keeping the focus on her, Betty thought. “You noticed?”
Clarise snorted. “Honey, I think everyone on the whole block noticed. What happened?”
“Well…” Betty started. “I thought you were dead. And then you it turned out you were alive, but you were being arrested for who knew what. And…” she paused, trying to think of the right words to use. “I may have flipped out just a little.”
Clarise glared at her. “I might have been arrested but that didn’t make me stupid. What’s going on?”
Sometimes, Betty really, really hated that Clarise knew her so well.
“You might as well just tell me,” Clarise continues. “Otherwise, I’ll have to spend some of our visiting time wearing you down, and that would annoy me. I’m already tired and cranky. So spill.”
Betty leaned forward and lowered her voice. She eyed the guards, wondering for the first time if they could hear everything they were saying.
“You have to promise not to say anything,” she said, her voice barely above a murmur. “Not one word. Not to my parents, not to Sergeant Wes, not to anyo
ne.”
“Of course,” Clarise said.
Betty took a steadying breath. “Before I met you for lunch, I had a doctor’s appointment.”
Clarise straightened with a snap, panic crossing her face. “Are you okay? You don’t have cancer or something do you - are you pregnant?”
“Sssh! Calm down! No, I don’t have cancer and I would need a man in my life for - and you would already know about him.”
“Oh good.” Clarise smacked Betty’s shoulder. “Don’t do that! So?”
“I…” This was Clarise. Clarise, who never judged her. Her best friend, who was looking at her with concern even while there were handcuffs on her own wrists. She could trust Clarise. She could. “I have diabetes,” she said in a rush, not meeting Clarise’s eyes.
“Oh…” Clarise seemed to be at a loss for words. Betty didn’t blame her. How could someone react to a revelation like that? “Have you told your parents?” Clarise asked.
“I already told you! No!”
“Let me rephrase that. Why not?” Clarise asked. “They’ll need to know sooner or later.”
No, Betty thought. They won’t. I can get through this without them. They don’t need more to deal with. The thought of the look on her mother’s face when she told her that she had diabetes… would there be shock? Scorn? Anger? Pity? Betty didn’t want to find out. Clarise was one thing. Her family was another.
But she wouldn’t put it past Clarise for her to tell them without Betty’s permission, if that was what she thought was best.
“Promise me you won’t tell them,” Betty said, knowing that Clarise wouldn’t break a promise.
Clarise sighed. “I already did but Betty, is that really what you want?” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. You should tell them.”
Annoyance spiked in Betty. Who did Clarise think she was, to tell Betty what to do? This was her disease, her life, her family on the line. Clarise had no say in it. Not one little bit. She shouldn’t have said anything. Her expression shuttered.
“Listen,” Clarise said. “I’ll back off. Just think about it.” Betty inclined her head stiffly.
