by Angela Henry
“Knock yourself out, and make sure you pull the door shut behind you,” he said and headed back to the bathroom where I could hear the water in the shower running.
I grabbed a notepad from beside the bed and jotted down my name and phone number with a brief message to please call. As I was tucking my pen back in my purse, I spied a brown stain on the beige carpet by the bed. It was about the size of a dime. I got on my hands and knees and ran my index finger over the spot. It was stiff and dry. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked very much like dried blood to me. Was it Noelle’s? I wondered how Kurt could have not noticed the stain. I could hear him humming tunelessly in the shower and decided to look around. The king-size bed was unmade and Kurt’s clothes, a pair of white dress slacks and a gray-and-red patterned silk shirt had been tossed on the floor at the foot of the bed. I checked the clothes but besides reeking of marijuana, they were blood-free. No wonder he hadn’t noticed the stain and didn’t seem worried about Noelle. He was too busy having fun with Mary Jane. I crossed the room to the closet by the door and opened it slowly, half expecting Noelle’s dead body to fall out. But all that was in the closet were a few articles of men’s and women’s clothing.
I looked around on the floor for more bloodstains. Nothing. There were more dirty clothes piled in a chair in the small sitting area in front of the TV. I picked through the clothes and discovered they weren’t stained with blood, just in need of washing. But as I turned to leave, I saw a torn piece of white paper lying in front of the big-screen TV. I picked it up. It was the top section of a sheet of typing paper that read: Onyx Man/ DeArmond. It was a piece of Vivianne’s manuscript. Allegra hadn’t lied about telling Noelle about the check and Vivianne’s book after all. How had Noelle got a hold of the manuscript? And more importantly, where was Noelle now?
I was still holding the scrap of paper when Kurt emerged from the shower again, naked this time. We stared at each other, and Kurt put his hands on his hips and smiled widely at me before I stuffed the scrap of paper in my pocket and quickly left.
I was at the Willow County Courthouse bright and early the next morning for my sister’s arraignment. I saw my family file into the courtroom and sit in the seats behind the table where Carl and Allegra were seated. I was sitting in the back of the courtroom. I didn’t want to be a distraction, plus I was still feeling hurt and sulky about last night. I’d talk to Carl afterwards about what I’d found. I watched my sister. Even though I was mad at her I was still worried sick about the possibility of her going to jail for murder. I was amused to notice that Allegra had even managed to make her jail-issue orange jumpsuit and slip-on tennis shoes look good. Her honey-highlighted hair hung in a long glossy ponytail down her back and her lack of makeup only made her look younger and more vulnerable. I watched as Carl leaned over and whispered something in her ear, and she turned to the back of the courtroom and gave me a solemn wave. I returned it and gave her a smile and a thumbs-up. Carl and I nodded to each other like strangers. Mama didn’t turn around at all. And Gwen and Alex appeared to be doing what they did best—arguing. I saw Gwen shaking her finger in my uncle’s face and Alex turning his back on her.
The judge entered the courtroom and the bailiff commanded us all to rise for the Honorable Judge Peter Franklin, a dapper little man with white hair and a thick salt-and-pepper mustache. When Judge Franklin asked Allegra how she pleaded, she dramatically replied, with hands on heart and head held high no less, “I am innocent, Your Honor.” A few people in the packed courtroom giggled.
“Glad to hear it, Miss Clayton,” Judge Franklin replied drily. “And to the matter of bail?” he continued, looking both at Carl and the prosecuting attorney on the other side of the room, a pleasant enough looking middle-aged woman in a plaid skirt and ruffled blouse. She looked more like an accountant than a lawyer.
“Your Honor, this was a particularly vicious crime. We ask that the defendant be denied bail and remanded to jail pending the outcome of the trial.”
“Nonsense, Your Honor,” Carl piped up. “My client has strong ties to this community and poses no flight risk. May I also add that my client has never been in trouble with the law before and is a popular television personality easily recognized all over the country, which would severely hamper any attempts to flee the area. She looks forward to defending herself against these charges.”
Judge Franklin set bail at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Yikes. I knew Mama would probably have to put up her house to raise bail. Allegra was led away and I reluctantly made my way to the front of the courtroom. Alex whispered something in Gwen’s ear and they both turned to look at me. I waited until the prosecuting attorney had left the room before speaking.
“I’m sorry about not telling anyone that Allegra had that check. I don’t know what I was thinking,” I began before Alex cut me off.
“Don’t sweat it, kiddo,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. I was doing good to get that bit of affection from Alex. He’s not big on public displays of affection, but Gwen is.
“Yeah. Everyone was upset last night. We were all trippin’,” said Gwen, putting her arm around my shoulders and pulling me tightly to her side. Gwen’s five-ten, in heels, over six feet. I felt dwarfed by her embrace but grateful for it all the same.
Two down, two to go. I peered over at Mama who was talking to Carl, probably about arranging bail for Allegra. She turned to look at me and gave me a neutral look. Not mad, but not exactly welcoming, either.
“Soon as I bail Allie out, I’m having a cookout,” Mama announced. “No need for any of us to be hanging our heads. I have faith that this foolishness will all be resolved soon enough and we can all put this behind us.” She breezed past me without speaking and then turned back.
“Kendra, you’re going to help me get everything ready.” It wasn’t a question at all. It was a command to be obeyed.
“Of course,” I said, quickly bringing a satisfied smile to her face. Work was apparently going to be my penance for stupidity. And if that was the case, I wondered what she had in store for Allegra.
Mama, Alex and Gwen left, leaving me alone with Carl, who was shoving papers into his briefcase with his back to me.
“I have some information that might help Allegra’s case,” I said timidly. He turned around. He looked tired. I wanted to give him a hug, but I didn’t know if he’d let me.
“Well, I need all the help I can get because, to be honest, Kendra, this isn’t looking too good for your sister,” he said quietly.
I told him about Noelle and finding a piece of the manuscript and my theory that the title The Onyx Man could be referring to Harriet’s husband, Blackie, who could have had something to do with Vivianne’s murder. I was happy to see he looked somewhat pleased.
“Allegra told me she told Noelle about the check and Vivianne’s book. I’ll see if I can subpoena the publisher into handing over a copy, but right now I need to make bail arrangements.” He snapped his briefcase shut.
“Carl, we need to talk,” I said, when he still wouldn’t look at me.
“I know, Kendra. It’s just that now’s not the right time.” He walked away, leaving me standing in the empty courtroom.
I was headed to my car and a nice big pancake breakfast when my cell phone rang. It was Greg and he wasn’t happy.
“So, where is she?” he asked, sounding highly fed up.
“Who?” I was still feeling a little off balance from my conversation with Carl, and not really thinking.
“Lynette. Who else? Is she with you?” he asked. I’d forgotten all about Lynette returning from her camping trip that morning. I looked at my watch. It was only nine-thirty.
“No. I haven’t talked to her since last night. But it’s still early, Greg. She’s probably on her way home now.” I’d reached my car and noticed someone had placed a flyer under my windshield wiper. I reached across and grabbed it, intending to throw it away.
“She’d better be. I’ve tried to be patient and give her her space
but I don’t know how much more she expects me to put up with.”
“Why don’t I ride out there and hurry her up? Will that make you feel better?” I said to appease him.
“I’d appreciate it, Kendra. I’d do it myself but my parents are here and I don’t want them to know anything is wrong.”
I hung up with Greg and was looking around for a trash can to the throw away the flyer, when I finally looked at what I was holding. It wasn’t a flyer at all. It was one of Greg and Lynette’s wedding programs. Except Lynette’s face had a big red X through it. I frantically looked in the back of my car and, sure enough, the box was open and the programs were strewn across my backseat. Someone had been in my car. Not only was the box of programs open but my glove box was hanging open, the contents spilling out onto the floorboard. I turned the program I was holding over and on the back, written in the same red ink, was a message: You have something that I want and I have your friend. Go home. I’ll call at noon. Tell no one or she’s dead! The word dead was underlined so heavily it had almost broken through the paper.
Oh my God!
CHAPTER 13
I felt like I was going to be sick. I had something someone wanted? What could I possibly have that someone would kidnap Lynette to get? This couldn’t be happening. And after I took a few deep breaths to calm myself down, I’d pretty much convinced myself that it wasn’t. This had to be joke, right? I’d just head on out to the John Bryan Park and check on my friend and hurry her on her way to her fiancé’s waiting arms. Yep. That’s just what I’d do. My hands were shaking so badly it took me three tries to get my key in the ignition and start my car.
I flew down the highway, making it to the park in just under ten minutes and wondering how I hadn’t gotten a speeding ticket. Today the parking lot had a few more cars than yesterday. By the end of the day it would most likely be packed since it was the start of the weekend. Lynette’s car was still parked in the same spot and I didn’t know whether to be relieved or not. I looked through the driver’s-side window. Lynette kept her car spotless and nothing looked amiss. No bloodstains and nothing indicating the car had been searched. All the doors were locked. I headed on back to the campground and spotted the teepee Lynette had rented in the distance. I approached it slowly. I called out her name tentatively.
“Lynette, are you in there?” My voice was hoarse from my dry throat. No sound was coming from inside the teepee.
In one quick fluid motion I lifted the flap and peered inside. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. The teepee was empty. No Lynette. No sign of a struggle. But Lynette’s sleeping bag and grocery sacks were sitting neatly inside the teepee’s entrance as though she’d been just about to go. I went back outside on the off chance she was somewhere outside.
“Lynette!” I screamed so loudly she could have heard me back in Willow. No response. Just the sound of birds chirping and a squirrel scrambling up the side of nearby tree. No Lynette. Shit! I walked a few feet from the teepee and called again. Still nothing. I leaned against a tree and buried my face in my hands as tears threatened to spill. What was I going to do? Then I noticed something at my feet. I bent down for a closer look. It was two black and mild cigarette butts. Blackie Randall. Had he been here? Did he have Lynette?
I hurried back to my car and pulled my cell phone out of my purse. I started to call 911 but stopped. The message had said to tell no one or Lynette was dead. The memory of the word dead, underlined in red ink, burned itself into my brain. I quickly put down my phone. I looked at my watch. It was ten o’clock, two hours before whoever had Lynette was going to call me. I started up my car and headed for the home of the one person I knew could tell me where Blackie Randall was: His wife…Harriet.
I headed down Troyer Road until I came upon a lone farmhouse with a large barn in back. Vivianne’s farm was the only one around for several miles. I turned into the gravel driveway that led up to the plain, white, two-story, Shaker-style house with green shutters. I didn’t see Harriet’s silver Cadillac. I got out anyway and walked up on the porch and rang the doorbell. I heard it chime through the house. No one came to the door. I got back in my car, intending to wait for her when I remembered what Kurt had said about Vivianne’s will being read that morning. I figured that’s where Harriet was. At the lawyer’s office. If I knew where the office was I could go there and wait for her. Willow had dozens of lawyers. The office could be anywhere, even out of town. I looked at my watch. It was almost twenty after ten. I still had time to track Harriet down. Then I remembered the old woman Harriet visited the nursing home in Park Hurst. Maybe she could help me.
My cell phone rang as I headed to Woodlawn Nursing Home. It was Greg’s number. I didn’t dare answer it. What could I tell him? Sorry Greg, I got your bride-to-be kidnapped because someone thinks I have something they want. And just what was it I was supposed to have anyway? I hope this person didn’t want money. Anyone with eyes could take one look at my raggedy Nova and thrift-store wardrobe and tell I barely had two sticks to rub together. The cell phone stopped ringing and I turned it off.
Woodlawn Nursing Home may have had a beautiful lawn but the inside smelled just like every other nursing home I’d been in. A mixture of disinfectant, food and urine. They must bottle this scent and sell it to nursing homes all over the country to mask the odor of decay and sadness. I walked up to the front desk and stood in front of the surly-looking nurse’s aide, who was filing her nails while watching a small color TV, and who I’m not sure I’d trust a pet with, let alone a family member. She finally looked up at me, annoyed, like I was interrupting something important.
“Can I help you?” she asked, as her eyes reverted to something more interesting on the TV screen.
“I’m Harriet Randall’s niece. I’m her to see my grandma, um, Perkins,” I said quickly thinking back to Rollins’s mention of Harriet’s maiden name. “Can you tell me which room she’s in?”
The woman’s face frowned up like she smelled something bad, though there wasn’t much that smelled worse than parfum de Nursing Home.
“Who?” she asked.
“Mrs. Perkins? Her daughter, my aunt, Harriet Randall, is here all the time visiting.”
“Oh, Mrs. Randall,” she said, finally recognizing the name. “She is here all the time but it’s not to see her mother. And if you’re really her niece you’d have known that wouldn’t you? What are you, a reporter?”
Great. I watched her reach under the counter and press a button. A big, black, burly, bald male nurse’s aide rounded the corner. His white uniform strained to contain his muscles and he looked as if he was allergic to smiling.
“You got a problem here, Candy?” he asked, giving me the once-over.
“No big deal,” I said backing away. I already had enough problems. I didn’t need to add broken bones to the mix. “I just got my nursing homes mixed up that’s all. Grandma must be in Sunnyvale across town. Y’all have a nice day.”
I beat it out the door just in time to see Harriet Randall’s Cadillac pull into a parking space. Talk about perfect timing. I marched right up to her as she was slamming her car door shut.
“I want to know where Blackie Randall is hiding, Harriet. I know you know where he is.” I caught her off guard. She looked startled and jerked back like I’d hit her. Her mouth was hanging open and I could tell she was scared. It was the only time I’d seen her at a loss for words.
“Everything okay, Ms. Randall?” yelled the bald nurse’s aide from the doorway.
“Just fine, Cookie,” Harriet replied giving him a friendly wave. Cookie and Candy? I’d rarely seen two less sweet people in all my life.
“Blackie has my friend Lynette and is holding her for ransom. If you don’t tell me where he is I’m calling the police.” I pulled out my cell phone. Harriet looked at me and her eyes narrowed.
“I remember you now. You’re that Clayton woman’s sister. You crashed Vivianne’s funeral. I knew I’d seen you before. If anyone needs
to call the police it’s me.”
“Go ahead and call them. Then you can tell them how you killed Vivianne because she wrote a book revealing where your bank-robbing husband has been hiding all these years. Or maybe you killed her because she and Blackie had an affair. Is that how you got those scratches on your neck? Did she fight back?”
Harriet looked dumbfounded. Her fingers flew to her neck. Then she started laughing so hard she had to lean against the hood of her car for support. Somehow I’d imagined this going much differently. I glanced at my watch. It was eleven o’clock.
“Please,” I pleaded. “I really need to know where Blackie is. He has my friend.”
Harriet wiped her streaming eyes. “Oh, my. You’re serious aren’t you?”
I nodded instead of speaking, afraid I’d start crying. She was eyeing me strangely, as though she was trying to make up her mind about something, then let out a heavy sigh.
“Go wait for me over by the fountain. I’ll be right back.”
I watched her walk into the nursing home. I walked across the grass and took a seat on one of the wooden benches by the fountain to wait for her. Minutes later, she emerged pushing the same elderly woman with long white hair she’d been visiting before only this time, as she got closer, I could see it wasn’t a woman at all. It was a man. She parked the wheelchair right in front of me and the elderly man looked at me with blank eyes. He was breathing heavily through the oxygen tube wrapped around his head. Harriet looked around to make sure we were alone. Then made the introduction.
“I’d like to introduce you to my husband, Elgin Randall. Blackie to his friends,” she said in a low whisper.
My mouth fell open, and it was a several long seconds before I could speak. “But, how?” I asked, looking at the frail man in the chair.
“He showed up at the farm five years ago when he found out he was dying. He has emphysema. He’d been homeless and on the streets for fifteen years and didn’t want to die alone. Vivianne and I did the best we could to take care of him, but it got to be too much for us. We weren’t young women anymore,” she said, stroking Blackie’s long hair.
