by Angela Henry
“Miss Clayton, how do you feel about your sister being arrested for the murder of Vivianne DeArmond?” She shoved a microphone in my face. Another reporter, a large sweaty man in a tight suit, caught wind that I was a relative of the accused and brutally shoved Ripkey out of the way, practically sending her flying, and stuck his microphone in my face. It was too crowded for me to see where Ripkey had landed, but I was sure her big hair had probably cushioned her fall.
“Has your sister confessed to murdering Ms. DeArmond? What was her motive?” The sweaty man asked. Then a third reporter jumped in my face.
“What evidence do the police have against your sister, Miss Clayton?” I was surrounded by reporters and could barely move.
Tracy Ripkey, not at all pleased about being shoved out of the way, rushed up to the sweaty male reporter and stomped on his foot. His face went white with pain and he angrily elbowed her in the shoulder causing her to drop her microphone on another reporter’s foot. Soon it was a free-for-all with the lobby full of reporters punching and kicking each other like bikers in a bar fight. I ducked several punches as I eased my way out of the crowd and clung to a nearby wall. The two officers plunged into the brawling crowd in an attempt to restore some kind of order, leaving me free to rush past them into the main part of the building. I headed around the corner and down a long hallway until I spotted my family: Mama, Alex, Gwen and Carl. Alex and Gwen looked away as I approached but Mama and Carl greeted me with tight angry expressions. I hadn’t done anything. Why were they mad at me?
“Did you know?” Carl spat out at me. Mama was standing rigidly by his side with her arms crossed.
“That Allie’s been arrested? Yeah, Mrs. Carson told me. Where is she?” I asked looking around.
“No, Kendra. Did you know about that check Allegra took from Vivianne DeArmond’s purse? That they found the check in Allegra’s rental car?”
In her rental? That meant that Allegra had lied to me about the check being stolen. She’d had the check all along. I was too stunned to be angry, but my shock at being lied to didn’t keep me from feeling hurt and betrayed. I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach.
“How’d they find out about the check?” I asked meekly.
“They found out about Vivianne DeArmond’s book. They also found out that she’d been issued a check for an advance against royalties that they didn’t find among her possessions and that hadn’t been cashed. So they had the post office put a trace on it. It had arrived at her house the morning of her murder. Harriet Randall said Vivianne got the mail that morning and she saw her putting some mail in her purse. But no letter was found when they dug the purse out of the Dumpster. They got search warrants for every place Allegra had been staying, including your grandmother’s house and your apartment, plus they impounded Allegra’s second rental car. They found the check in the glove box of Allegra’s rental.”
“Where is she now?” I asked again.
“She’s being processed like a common criminal, having her mug shot taken and being fingerprinted,” Mama said stiffly. I reached out to touch her but she shook my hand off.
I told them everything that had happened after we’d found my apartment broken into and tossed and about Allegra confiding in me about the check. It was too little too late. They were all furious with me.
“Good Lord, Kendra, why in the world didn’t you at least tell Carl about that check? Do you know how this makes your sister look? She doesn’t have the good sense that God gave a goat, but I thought you’d have known better than this. Now, I’m going to have to try and track down your parents in Europe and tell them their daughter has been arrested,” Mama said, sounding close to tears.
She walked away from me, shaking her head, and went to join Alex and Gwen. Gwen put a comforting arm around her. Alex usually stays pretty neutral, but even he was looking at me like I was an idiot.
“I made a mistake. I’m sorry. But I swear Allie told me that check had been stolen during the break-in,” I said to Carl.
Since we’d been dating, I’d never had an occasion to see Carl truly angry, especially not at me. It was not a pretty sight. It looked like it was taking everything in him not to scream, which I would have preferred to him starring daggers at me and not speaking. Had I made a mistake in not telling Carl about the check? Yes. But, hell, I’m not the one who took the damn check in the first place, and I didn’t appreciate being made the scapegoat.
“You know, Carl, I’m really surprised Allie didn’t tell you about the check herself. I mean, you’ve probably seen more of her this past week than I have. In fact, the two of you have gotten quite cozy lately.” I could tell by the way his eyelid started twitching that it had been the wrong thing to say but I didn’t care. Being picked on tends to bring out the worst in me.
“I don’t believe this shit. I’m trying to keep your sister from spending the rest of her life in prison, so, yeah, we’ve been spending time together. She’s my client. At least you know who I’ve been with and why. But from what I’ve been hearing, you haven’t exactly been missing me, have you?” He was practically vibrating with hostility.
He’d heard the rumor about me and Rollins. Boy, this just kept getting better and better by the second.
“I haven’t been doing anything that you haven’t been doing,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“You need to grow up, Kendra. And while you’re at it, go home. You’ve upset your family enough and I don’t have time for your petty insecurities,” he said. He turned to rejoin my family, who were gathered around my visibly upset grandmother. No one looked at me.
They didn’t want me there? Fine. I was leaving. I headed out to the lobby and barreled my way back through the now calm and strangely subdued flock of reporters. A couple of the braver ones started to follow me until I whirled around and screamed at the top of my lungs, “No! Comment!” They fell back, looking at me fearfully, like whipped dogs. But one of the photographers snapped my picture midscream. I had a good idea who was going to be on the front page of tomorrow’s Willow News Gazette.
I headed for my car, hot tears of frustration and hurt feelings blurring my vision, and ran smack into a very tall man. I looked up. It was Morris Rollins. I clung to him and bawled like a baby while he held me and stroked my hair.
Rollins insisted on following me home even though I told him I was okay. Once at my place, I felt obligated to invite him in for coffee, and of course, he accepted. I just hoped Winette Barlow wasn’t lurking around in my bushes waiting to administer a Steel Magnolia-style beat down on me.
“Why’d you come down to the station?” I asked and handed him a mug of freshly brewed coffee. He was sitting at my kitchen table with his long legs stretched out underneath.
“I saw the report of your sister’s arrest on TV. I came to lend my support to you and your family. I knew you had to be very upset.” He didn’t know the half of it. I filled him in. He let out a low whistle.
“I wouldn’t take this too personally, Kendra. Your family is just upset and since your sister wasn’t around right then they were taking their frustrations out on you.”
“Maybe. But you have to admit I did make a big mistake in not at least persuading Allie to tell Carl about that check.” I joined him at the table.
“Why didn’t you?”
“You’ve never met my sister, have you? Her talent for getting her own way is only rivaled by her talent for flirting. She has my whole family wrapped around her finger. All she has to do is start whining and everyone bends over backwards to make her happy. I thought I was immune to it, but I guess not.”
“Are you jealous of your sister?” he asked bluntly. Was I jealous of Allegra? Now there was a loaded question. I thought about it for a few seconds before answering.
Jealousy implied that I resented my sister for all of her accomplishments and begrudged her her success, and that certainly wasn’t the case. On the other hand, I was envious of Allegra’s effortless charm, her model looks and her fearlessn
ess in pursuing her career goals even though her choices haven’t always been to my taste.
“I’m very proud of my sister’s accomplishments. I only want to see her happy,” I said simply, avoiding Rollins’s eyes. He let out his infectious laugh.
“Spoken like a true diplomat.”
I saw Rollins to the door about half an hour later. We stood in the doorway awkwardly. Finally, he bent down and gave me kiss on the lips. It started out a nice simple kiss. But it quickly changed into something else. Something deep and warm. An invitation to someplace we knew we shouldn’t be going. At least not yet. But as I thought back on Carl’s angry face and harsh words I found myself wrapping my arms around Rollins’s waist and pulling him closer, inhaling his wonderful scent. His hands were massaging my lower back, pressing me tightly against him. I started sucking on his tongue and heard a low groan escape from the back of his throat. His hands found their way underneath my shirt and felt hot against my skin. I could feel his erection pressing against my stomach and was mere seconds away from pulling him back inside my apartment and tearing his clothes off when we were hit by a bright blast of the car’s headlights.
A car was stopped at the corner across the street. The high beams were on us, blinding us momentarily. We pulled apart just in time to see the car make a turn in front of my duplex and speed off down the street, tires squealing. I caught a glimpse of an angry woman’s face. Her eyes were shooting me the dirtiest look I think I’d ever been given. It was Winette Barlow. Had she been out here the whole time? Well, I sure couldn’t say I hadn’t been warned. Winette had told me to stay away from Rollins, and what did I turn around and do? Had myself wrapped around him like Saran Wrap on a tuna casserole. Talk about more drama I didn’t need.
“I think we just pissed off your girlfriend,” I said sarcastically, putting some distance between us. Rollins sighed heavily.
“Winette and I have been out a few times. But it’s not serious. She’s looking for a husband. It’s been less than a year since I buried Nicole. I’m not looking to get married again just yet. Looks like I’m going to have to have a little talk with her,” he said sheepishly.
“Make it soon,” I said sincerely. But I knew it was only a matter of time before Winette made good on her threat.
Later that evening I was lounging in hot lilac-scented bath water, hoping my phone would ring and one of my family members would be on the other end telling me what the heck was going on with Allegra. But I knew it wasn’t going to ring. I wondered what in the world my sister could have been thinking, holding on to that check, and why lie to me about it? Then I realized if she had lied to me about the check being stolen, had she also lied about having told Noelle about the check? I hadn’t seen Noelle since the day I saw her and Kurt with Donald Cabot. Where had she been all this time? Gambling? She wasn’t at the station when Allegra got arrested. Did she even know?
I called the Holiday Inn and had them connect me to Noelle’s room. There was no answer. Why did I have such a bad feeling? Did someone Noelle owed a gambling debt to show up to collect? Had she been beaten up, or worse, killed? I reluctantly left my hot tub and threw on sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. When I got to the hotel I asked which room Noelle was staying in and, of course, they wouldn’t tell me. Our Holiday Inn is nice but very small. Only one story and about fifty rooms. The front half of the building was the oldest. An addition of about twenty luxury suites had been added off the back. The new rooms were bigger and much nicer, complete with Jacuzzi tubs and big-screen TVs. They were also more expensive. I couldn’t imagine a producer for a Hollywood news program staying on the cheap.
I had an idea of a way to find Noelle’s room, but I had to get back to the area where the suites were in order to pull it off. Unfortunately, the door that led back to the rooms was located near the front desk and, for security reasons, was locked. Hotel guests used their room key-cards to open the door. I sat in the lobby as though I was waiting for someone. The hotel clerk, a snotty-looking woman whose features were crowded into the middle of her face, making it look permanently pinched, kept eyeing me suspiciously. It was after ten at night on a Thursday. It wasn’t as if there was much else for her to do except watch me. But what did she think I was going do—make off with the ashtrays? Every once in a while the phone would ring and she’d answer it, but she still kept one eye on me.
I was half-asleep in one of the lobby’s comfortable leather chairs when a party of six men entered the hotel laughing, singing and talking loudly. It was apparent they were very drunk as one of the men was playing matador and had taken off his suit jacket to use as a cape while one of his companions was doing an impersonation of a bull with his index fingers held up next to his head as horns. The bull stumbled around, chasing the matador in front of the desk. The other men roared with laughter. The hotel clerk did not look pleased and had come out from behind the desk to chastise the men. She was addressing the matador, shaking a bony finger in his face, when the bull rushed up behind her and gored her in the butt with his horns, sending her almost sprawling to her knees. Maybe if she’d been nicer to me I wouldn’t have giggled my ass off. Predictably, she didn’t see any humor in it at all. She lost it.
“If you gentlemen do not settle down this instant. I’m calling the police,” she hollered.
The men laughed and the matador threw his cape/ jacket on her head and twirled her around in a circle. I got up to go help her when she suddenly threw off the jacket, spun around, and landed a roundhouse kick in the middle of the matador’s chest. He let out a surprised, “Oof,” similar to the sounds let out by villains on the old Batman series who were getting their asses kicked, and went toppling backwards over a couch in the lobby, knocking the couch over in the process. The men fell silent and looked from their fallen friend to the smug-looking clerk.
“I’ve got more if you want it,” said the clerk with her hands up in a karate stance. The men didn’t want any more and rushed over to pick up their friend. They helped him to his feet and headed to the door leading back to their rooms. I fell in line behind them as the clerk went to pick up the couch that had gotten knocked over. It took a long minute for the man with the keycard to negotiate the slot. Once they got the door opened, they all lurched through it, muttering angrily that the “bitch of a clerk just needed to get laid,” assuring the matador, who’d just got punked, that he could have taken her if he’d really wanted to and asking who among them still had some beer in their room. I silently crept in behind the group, until they were all through the door, then walked quickly past the inebriated men, ignoring their invitations to party with them, and headed back to the new section.
I could tell by the newness of the carpet when I’d reached the addition. I walked down the hall until I figured I was about in the middle and pulled out my cell phone. I dialed the front desk and asked the Karate Clerk to connect me to Noelle’s room again. I listened closely until I heard the phone ringing in a room three doors down from where I was standing. I pressed my ear to the door. The phone rang and rang but no one answered it and I could hear no movement behind the door. As I pressed myself closer to the door, it swung open abruptly and I went sprawling onto the carpeted floor of Noelle’s room, which apparently was also Kurt’s room, as he was the one who’d opened the door and was now frowning down at me.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. Kurt was dressed only in a white towel that was almost slipping off his slim hips. His skin looked damp and there were beads of water in his hair. His eyes were glazed and bloodshot. I wondered which he was: drunk, high or both.
“I was looking for Noelle,” I said, averting my eyes when Kurt’s towel slipped south of the border. He grabbed it just in time and secured it more tightly.
“You the one that just called?”
“Yeah. Why didn’t you answer the phone? Where’s Noelle?” I asked suspiciously.
“Your guess is as good as mine. I got here about an hour ago and crashed. I just got up a few minutes ago
and hopped in the shower. What do you want with Noelle?”
“I have something important to tell her about my sister.” Obviously Kurt had no idea an arrest had been made in his mother’s murder. Would he even care?
“Like I told you before, I haven’t seen Noelle since we got that money from Cabot.” He rubbed his eyes and looked at me bleary eyed. He must have really had a rough night.
“Aren’t you worried about Noelle?” If my man disappeared I’d sure be worried. That is, if I even still had a man.
“She’s done this before. She’ll take off and get in on some private card or dice games. She’ll be back when she runs out of money.”
“I’m surprised you and your family are even still in town.”
“Ole Vivi’s will gets read tomorrow morning. My pops seems to think she left him something. I think he’s a fool.”
“Maybe she left you something,” I said. He considered it for a moment. I could see the conflicting emotions flitting across his freckled face.
“Naw. I don’t think so. The woman barely gave me the time of day when she was alive. Why would she leave me anything in her will? And even if she did, I don’t want it,” he said unconvincingly.
“You sure about that? You’ve been stealing stuff from her to sell for years. Least if she left you something you’d have come by it legitimately.”
“I only took junk. Stuff that she wouldn’t miss. It wasn’t like I was ripping off expensive jewelry and shit. What do you care anyway?” He took a step toward me and I realized being alone in a room with a man who could have killed his mother wasn’t a good place to be.
“Can I leave Noelle a note in case she comes back?” I asked quickly.
