by Angela Henry
“Cliff, don’t be so rude. It’s Nola Morgan, the nice young woman from the funeral home.”
“Here’s the thing,” Cliff said, sliding into the booth. “I spoke to one of the owners of the funeral home after the service and you know what he told me?” I knew but I pretended not to anyway.
“He told me that he’s the one who did Vivianne’s hair and makeup. He’s never even heard of a Nola Morgan. Now what do you think about that?” he said, looking at Stephanie.
“Oh my God! Are you a reporter?” Stephanie looked horrified. Her hands flew to her mouth like she was trying to keep anything else incriminating from escaping. Too late.
“What the hell have you been telling her, Stephanie!” Cliff’s hands were curled into fists.
“Just a bunch of girl talk, Mr. Preston. Nothing you’d be interested in,” I said mildly and took a step backwards and out of pummeling range of Cliff Preston’s fists.
“I don’t know who you are. But you’d better stay the hell away from my wife, lady, or I’m calling the cops,” Cliff said menacingly.
I started to leave and could feel the eyes of Cliff, Stephanie and a few other diners on me. Then a thought came to me and I marched back to the Prestons’ table. Cliff slammed his coffee cup down, sloshing coffee on the table and making Stephanie flinch.
“That’s it! I’m calling the cops,” he said, pulling a cell phone from inside his sport coat.
“Did either of you know Vivianne had written a book?” I said quickly before he could press a button. He froze and the color drained from his face. I took that as a no.
Stephanie was staring at her husband strangely. Then Cliff regained his composure and scowled at me. He held up his phone and deliberately pressed a button. I hurried away from their table, only stopping long enough to pick up my order of hot fudge cake, and beat a hasty retreat.
I sat in my car in the parking lot of Cartwright Auditorium finishing up the last of my hot fudge cake. After placing the final spoonful of ice cream and chocolate cake in my mouth, I licked the fudge from my fingers and, feeling quite fortified, got out of my car and entered the building.
It had long since stopped raining, but it was cold, dark and overcast outside. The chill was seeping through my thin shirt and I wished I’d worn a sweater. The building was unlocked but seemed deserted, and I heard my footsteps echoing in the empty lobby. Besides Vivianne’s recognition program, which now felt as though it had happened a million years ago, the last time I’d been in Cartwright Auditorium had been eleven years ago for my high-school graduation. I remembered lining up in my cap and gown with my fellow graduates in the same lobby I was now standing in, which had seemed bigger back then, waiting to march into the auditorium and take our seats. We were all so happy and filled with hope for the future. I sure didn’t envision myself standing in the same spot more than a decade later trying to prove my sister didn’t kill a washed-up actress. Funny how life works out.
I heard someone humming and followed the sound into the main auditorium. There was a middle-aged black man in a gray uniform sweeping the stage. I called out to him, but he didn’t answer or look up. As I got closer, I could see he had a Walkman on with the music blaring so loudly that I could hear Al Green singing about love and happiness. When I reached the edge of the stage he finally looked up, noticed me standing there and almost jumped out of his skin.
“Girl, you gave me a heart attack,” he said, chuckling. He pulled his headphones off and let them hang around his neck.
“Sorry, sir. I’m hoping you can help me. I was here for that recognition program last weekend and I lost an expensive bracelet. I can’t find it anywhere and think I may have lost it here. Were you working that day?” I was hoping he had so I could grill him about who he may have seen going into Vivianne’s dressing room.
“No, sweetheart, I was off last weekend. But Joyce worked that day. Maybe she found it.”
“Is she here today?” I asked hopefully.
“She’s eatin’ lunch in her office. Just go back out there to the lobby and it’s the first door on the right.” I thanked him and headed back out to the way I came.
I knocked on the first wooden door on my right that I came to. The door had a mail slot in the center of it. A brass nameplate mounted at eyelevel on the wall next to the door read J. Clark, Manager. I knocked again and heard a distinct sigh and what sounded like exasperated muttering. I was interrupting Joyce Clark’s lunch and she was none too pleased about it. I could hear movement behind the closed door and seconds later it swung open and the smell of food, pizza to be precise, wafted out. The doorway was filled with a large, irritated, light-skinned black woman in a denim jumper whose expression told me there wasn’t a whole lot that made her happy. Lucky me.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, ma’am. But I was told you might be able to help me.”
“With what?” she asked bluntly, not budging an inch from the doorway. I could see a smear of pizza sauce in the corner of her mouth. I looked her in the eye and rubbed the corner of my own mouth figuring she’d get the hint and wipe her mouth. Instead, she looked at me like I was crazy and then peered over my head out into the lobby as though she expected to see men in white coats coming to claim me.
“I was here for the recognition program last weekend and I lost a very expensive bracelet. Did anyone turn in a bracelet last weekend?”
“Nope. Sorry,” she said, not impressing me one bit with her customer service skills, and started to swing the door shut.
“There’s a reward,” I called out before the door completely shut. The door opened again and this time Joyce Clark’s entire attitude had changed and a smile was spread across her round face. Ah, the power of money. She stepped aside and gestured for me to come into the office.
“Must be a pretty expensive bracelet,” she said, pulling a chair from against the wall of the tiny cluttered office and motioning for me to sit down. She closed the office door and sat back down behind her desk. There was two-thirds of a large pizza with the works sitting in a box in the middle of her desk. It was still hot and I could see steam rising from it. My mouth watered. She noticed me looking longingly at the pizza, closed the lid and pushed the box aside.
“It’s a diamond tennis bracelet. My boyfriend gave it to me. If he finds out I lost it he’s going to kill me.”
“Well, we do have a lost and found but it’s mostly junk that gets turned in. I doubt anybody would be honest enough to turn in an expensive piece of jewelry. But I could post some signs. What kinda reward are you talking about?” her eyes glittered greedily.
“Two hundred dollars.” She sat back in her chair and I could almost see her mentally calculating how many pizzas she could buy with two hundred dollars.
She leaned down and pulled a drawer in her desk open, withdrew a yellow form and handed it to me across her desk. It was a claim form to report lost property. I grabbed a pen from her desk and started to fill it out, using bogus information, of course.
“I bet you got to meet Vivianne DeArmond last weekend. What was she like?” I asked.
“She was all right,” replied Joyce Clark, shrugging. “Kinda stuck up. But I guess that’s normal for somebody who used to be in movies. That little assistant of hers worked my last nerve though.”
“Really?” I said, my ears perking up.
“She chewed out a member of my custodial staff. Accused him of stealing a necklace of Ms. DeArmond’s. My people don’t steal. None of them even went into that dressing room once Ms. DeArmond and her assistant arrived. I was the only one who kept checking with them to make sure everything was okay and I sure as hell don’t steal. She probably just misplaced it or forgot to put it on, period. Ms. DeArmond was real upset about it but we never found any necklace. Who knows, maybe the same person who found your bracelet has Ms. DeArmond’s necklace.”
“Wow. Did you or any of your staff see anybody strange lurking around her dressing room?”
“You ask me, all them show-busine
ss people are strange. Ms. DeArmond’s assistant was doing a good job of keeping people away. I personally saw her turn away about two dozen fans. Only one I saw go in that dressing room was an older, light-skinned black man. Then I had to go make sure the film festival committee members had everything they needed for the presentation. I was running around all morning long. My feet still hurt.”
“You’re right, you know. My bracelet’s probably long gone by now,” I said, handing her the form. “Things got so crazy after that fire alarm went off. I didn’t even realize it was gone until later that night.”
“Girl, crazy is right. We get the auditorium all emptied out after that alarm went off. Then next thing I know Ms. DeArmond’s assistant comes running up to me screamin’ for me to help Vivianne. I thought maybe she had a heart attack or somethin’. I go runnin’ down there like a fool ready to perform CPR and there was blood everywhere. I didn’t know somebody had killed her. Lord Jesus, if I never see a sight like that again it will be too soon.” She pulled a piece of pizza from the box and started eating it to calm her nerves. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one using food for therapy.
So Harriet had been the one to discover Vivianne’s body after the dust cleared. I wondered where she’d been up until that time? What was she doing when the alarm went off? Cleaning blood from her clothes perhaps? Or maybe tossing Vivianne’s purse in the Dumpster. Donald Cabot had said she stuck to Vivianne’s side like glue that morning. Could Vivianne have sent her on some fake errand to get her out of the way so she could do her interview with Allegra? Or is Harriet the one who killed her then pulled the fire alarm to distract everyone?
“Did you ever find out who pulled the alarm?”
“No one pulled the alarm. Someone was smoking in the men’s room and set off the alarm. We found some cigarettes in the trash can.”
“What kind of cigarettes? Were they black and milds?” I asked. I felt a little lightheaded. Had Blackie Randall come out of hiding to silence Vivianne? Could he have been the older black man seen going into Vivianne’s dressing room? Joyce Clark just shrugged.
“No idea,” she said. She looked over my form and set it on top of the pizza box. “I’ll have my staff look around for your bracelet, but like I said, mostly we just find junk. We post it on that lost and found board behind you and after a month we pitch it.”
I thanked her and got up to leave and saw the lost and found board propped against the wall by the door. There was an assortment of objects tacked to it: two sets of keys, nail clippers, a tarnished hoop earring, dog tags, a watch with a broken strap, a man’s tie. She was right. Just a bunch of junk but something else caught my eye. There was a framed painting hanging on the wall by the door. The picture showed a group of cowboys gathered around a campfire at night. The skill of the painter was nothing remarkable. It was the subject matter that had gotten my attention. Camping! I suddenly realized I knew where Lynette was.
John Bryan State Park was in Yellow Springs, home of Antioch College, Glen Helen Nature Preserve and children’s author Virginia Hamilton. It was also a mere fifteen-minute drive from Willow. When Lynette and I were Girl Scouts we’d gone camping several times with our troop in John Bryan Park. Lynette used to love it. I didn’t. I remembered her staring at the picture of us as Girl Scouts when I’d gone to her house on the morning of Vivianne’s murder and talking about how our lives had been so uncomplicated back then. I was banking that she was trying to relive that time by going camping again, though she’d have to really be in love with camping—or just plain crazy—to be out in the cold, dreary weather we were currently experiencing.
I arrived at the park. Not surprisingly the parking lot was empty save for two cars, a brown Buick Regal and a familiar black Nissan Altima. Lynette’s car. Hallelujah! I parked next to her car and got out. It was raining again and I rooted around in my trunk, finally finding an old, raggedy umbrella that wasn’t going to offer much protection from the rain but was better than nothing. I also found a lint-covered blue sweater and pulled it on. It smelled moldy, and there was a rust stain on the sleeve from where my tire iron had been lying on top of it, but I didn’t care. It was warm.
I headed back to the campgrounds. It had been years since I’d been to the park, but everything still looked much the same as it had long ago. The rain seemed to make everything look more lush and green, but I could hardly appreciate my surroundings under the circumstances. I squelched through mud in some spots, staining my running shoes, and twice I almost slipped on the wet grass in my haste to find Lynette. The campground was, not surprisingly, empty. No tents were pitched and no one appeared to be in any of the cabins. I walked on, eventually giving up on the useless umbrella and tossed it in a nearby trash can. I clutched my sweater close around me and wiped the rain dripping through the tree branches hanging overhead from my face with the sleeve. Finally, I saw a canvas teepee pitched on a wooden platform in the distance. I hurried toward it and called out Lynette’s name. Nothing. I called out again, louder this time, and finally the flap of the teepee opened and Lynette stuck her head out.
“How’d you find me?” she said when I reached her. She held open the flap and stood aside so I could enter. She was dressed warmly in a gray sweat suit and a jean jacket. The teepee wasn’t exactly toasty, but it was sure better than being out in the rain. I saw a pot of coffee and a pan of what smelled like beef stew warming on top of a propane stove. Lynette actually looked not only happy to see me, but a lot happier than when I’d seen her last. I, on the other hand, was cold, wet, miserable and in no mood for any mess.
“That’s all you have to say to me? How’d I find you? How about saying you’re sorry you ran away and made me, Greg and your mother worry? And that you’re sorry me and your mother almost got into a fistfight in the grocery parking lot? Or that you’re sorry that I went looking for you at the Heritage Arms with Morris Rollins and now everyone in town thinks I’m screwing him, including his girlfriend, Winette Barlow, who tried to kill me with a paper cut!” I snapped indignantly. Lynette’s eyes got big.
“Morris Rollins is kicking it with Winette Barlow?”
“Lynette!” I bellowed.
“Okay. Okay. I’m so sorry, Kendra. I truly am. I just had to get away for a few days, that’s all.”
“Well, your vacation is over. Pack this mess up and let’s get going. Your mother is threatening to cancel your wedding if you’re not back home tonight.”
Lynette laughed. I could see no humor in the situation at all.
“Yeah, right. She can’t cancel anything. She was just bluffing.”
“She sure seemed to think that she could.”
“Kendra, you know how my mother is. She can’t stand it when she’s not in charge. I let her help me make all the wedding arrangements, but my name is on all the reservations that were made. She can’t cancel anything without my consent.”
“So you do plan to marry Greg on Saturday?” I asked cautiously.
“Does he still want to marry me? Because I love Greg. Being away from him for the last few days made me realize just how much I do love him. I just hope I haven’t ruined it,” she said looking at her feet.
“Of course he still wants to marry you, fool,” I said and grabbed her hand. “And what about that other issue? You know, the sex thing—”
“I think it’s going to be okay, Kendra. I was under so much pressure and my mother wasn’t making it any better constantly throwing my marriage to Lamont in my face every time I turned around. I started second-guessing myself. I really needed a break to think without the kids and my mother breathing down my neck. But now I know things with Greg will be different. I didn’t mean to make you all worry. I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”
I hugged her to show that all was forgiven.
“You need me to help you pack up?” I asked, reaching for a nearby cooler.
“I’m not going back tonight,” she said simply.
“Huh? I thought you just said—”
“I al
ready paid for this teepee for the night. I’ll go home first thing in the morning.” She looked like an excited little girl and I had a hard time not smiling.
“You look hungry, Kendra. Let’s have some stew. And then for dessert, guess what I have?”
“I can’t begin to imagine,” I said sarcastically. Like I said before, I hate camping. I watched Lynette as she rummaged through a grocery bag. She turned to me beaming and waving a bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers and a giant Hershey Bar.
“S’mores!” We both said in unison
A couple of hours, a bowl of stew and a half dozen s’mores later, I headed home. I called Greg from my cell on the way and told him his runaway fiancée would be home first thing in the morning. I’d leave it up to him to inform Justine. After I hung up with Greg, my cell phone rang and I saw that it was Mama’s number. I didn’t answer. I just wasn’t up to getting a singed eardrum from her ranting and raving over me and Morris Rollins. My cell phone beeped, indicating that she’d left me a voice mail message that I was in no hurry to listen to, either. Instead, I headed home so I could get out of my still slightly damp clothes and take a hot bubble bath. But when I turned onto my street, all thoughts of a bath flew right out of my mind. There was a group of neighbors on the front lawn of my duplex. My landlady, Mrs. Carson, was smack in the middle of the crowd talking and gesturing wildly. I parked and got out. Mrs. Carson came rushing up to me.
“Where you been, missy? Everybody’s lookin’ for you.” I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong is they just arrested your sister for murdering Vivianne DeArmond. They carted her off in handcuffs ’bout half and hour ago.”
Great!
CHAPTER 12
When I arrived at the Willow police station I had to fight my way through the crush of media crowded into the lobby. Two officers were keeping the press at bay, preventing them from proceeding beyond the lobby. I tried to explain I was a relative of Allegra Clayton’s, but they wouldn’t let me through. News reporter Tracy Ripkey spotted me trying to shove my way past the officers and decided to get a statement. Bad idea.
