“Frayley went ballistic,” Ellen said with a grin. “For a moment there, I thought we’d have to call 911.”
“Looks like you’re going to have hip-hop poets after all. Here’s to changing times and better rhymes,” Bertie said, raising her glass in mock salute. “You going to be at the South Side Gala tomorrow night?”
“Bought a dress from Nubian Paradise just for the occasion,” Ellen said with a wink. “Gonna be a lot of celebrities there. Wouldn’t want those players from the Bulls to see me lookin’ raggedy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Saturday, November 18—8:00 PM
Bertie Bigelow stood near the wall, awaiting her cue. The ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel was packed. As her students lined up in rows on the makeshift stage in the front of the room, Bertie stole a glance at the glittering array of well-heeled Chicagoans who’d turned out to support the South Side Museum. Dwyane Wade from the Chicago Bulls basketball team was in attendance, as promised. So were Mayor Davis, several members of the Chicago City Council, a state senator, and a representative from the governor’s office. As tuxedo-clad waiters hurried from table to table, clearing away the last dishes from an elaborate three-course dinner, the guests looked expectantly up at the stage, eager to be entertained.
It was a big moment, and a less seasoned choral director might have been terrified. But Bertie was not the least bit nervous when WGN–TV announcer Jeff Sable stepped up to the podium to kick off the evening’s concert. Away from the limelight, Bertie Bigelow was a modest person, given to self-deprecation, diffidence, and attacks of acute embarrassment. Once she stepped out onto the stage, however, Bertie’s inner performer took over. She was ready. Her choir was ready, and nothing was going to keep them from giving a stellar performance.
Taking a deep breath, Bertie Bigelow walked onstage and bowed deeply.
“Thank you so much, ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “My students and I are proud to represent Metro Community College at this outstanding event. Tonight, we’ll be performing a medley of songs made famous by three of Chicago’s most famous singers: Dinah Washington, Nancy Wilson, and Nat King Cole. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.”
Half an hour later, the entire audience was on their feet, clapping their hands and swaying to the beat as the Metro College Singers roared into the final measures of “Route 66.”
Chancellor Grant greeted Bertie as she walked off the stage.
“Professor Bigelow, you are a veritable wonder worker,” he enthused. “Mayor Davis wants your group to perform in Millennium Park next summer. You have put Metro College on the map!” As he pumped Bertie’s hand vigorously, the chancellor continued to scan the crowd. “Is that Alderman Gordon standing by the bar? I’ve been trying to get in touch with him for weeks. Please excuse me.”
As the chancellor bustled off to collect compliments from the politicians who oversaw the college’s annual budget, Bertie spotted Charley and Mabel Howard by the bar. In honor of the occasion, the Hot Sauce King had forsaken his customary overalls and checkered shirt in favor of an Italian tuxedo. Mabel wore a flowing chiffon gown that reminded Bertie of a Hawaiian sunset.
“That was one fine shindig, little lady,” Charley said. “I’m not much of a music critic, but I’d say your students hit it out of the park.” After looking down at his shoes for a moment, the Hot Sauce King cleared his throat. “I owe you an apology, Bertie. What I said about you being the worst detective ever? I didn’t mean it. To show you there’s no hard feelings, I want you to have this.”
To Bertie’s absolute amazement, Charley pulled a crumpled wad of hundred dollar bills from his pocket, thrust it into her hand, and walked away.
In response to Bertie’s bewildered shrug, Mabel said, “I never doubted for a minute that you would solve these murders. After all, you’ve got Capricorn rising and your ninth house is in Taurus. You’re naturally dogged, determined, and practical.” She gave Bertie a peck on the cheek. “To let you know how much I appreciate what you’ve done, I’m giving you a discount on your first three visits.”
“Visits? What for?”
“Psychic readings, of course. Penny Swift is bringing me to Kenilworth next week for a special seminar on Psychic Self-Defense. After that, I’m booked solid until Christmas.”
When Bertie gave her a skeptical look, Mabel smiled. “I know what you’re thinking, Bertie. But I am as normal as you are. The doctors at Northwestern University Hospital went over me with a fine-toothed comb.”
“I have to say, I was worried about you.”
“I was worried about me too,” Mabel said. “Spending all that money on Sister Destina when I had The Gift within me the whole time. Isn’t that funny? Anyway, here’s my card. Take it. You never know when it might come in handy.”
Mabel’s card was silver and edged with gold glitter. Printed in the center in elaborate gold letters were the words:
Mabel Howard
Psychic Medium
“The future is yours for the asking.”
Bertie tucked the card and Charley’s money into her purse. Uncertain what to do next, she surveyed the room. A large group from Metro College chattered excitedly at the other end of the room next to the stage. Even at this distance, Ellen Simpson, decked out in a magnificent orange and blue dress from Ghana, was easy to spot.
As Bertie crossed the room to join her friends, she noticed David Mackenzie standing alone in the corner. His tuxedo was not the most expensive in the room. And while he was a decent-looking man, Mac was too bear-like to be considered handsome. All the same, the man had a presence—the air of someone completely at home in his own skin.
In spite of her best efforts to remain calm, Bertie felt her heartbeat accelerate as she tapped the burly lawyer on the arm.
“Hello, Mac,” she said softly. “I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight. It’s good to see you.”
“Great show,” he said, bending down to kiss her cheek. “Your students did an amazing job.”
Angelique Mackenzie, turned out in a form-fitting sequined gown that must have set her back at least five thousand dollars, materialized next to her husband.
“I had no idea your choir was that good,” she said, taking Mac protectively by the arm. Apparently, the on-again, off-again Mackenzie marriage was back on. Bertie masked her disappointment with a smile.
“We had a lot of obstacles this semester,” Bertie said. “But we managed to pull it off. I’m very pleased.”
“That’s nice,” Angelique said with a distracted nod. “Is that Graciella Bowman over there? I need to ask her about the Octagon Society Ladies’ Luncheon. Excuse me, Bertie.”
As Angelique hurried away, Mac and Bertie surveyed each other in silence. Finally, the lawyer cleared his throat. “Always good to see you,” he said, giving her hand a plaintive squeeze. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”
As Mac walked away, Bertie surprised herself by laughing out loud. Life is one damn storm after another, she thought wryly. But the sun is bound to come out eventually.
At the far end of the room next to the stage, the Metro College contingent continued to celebrate. Nyala Clark and Maurice Green exchanged fist bumps as their parents looked on with pride. Jack Ivers thumped TyJuana Barnes enthusiastically on the back. Even George Frayley looked pleased. Maria Francione, dressed for the occasion in a low-cut scarlet gown and matching six-inch heels, blew Bertie a kiss.
“Brava, Bertie! Bravissima!” Her theatrical soprano carried easily over the noise of the crowd. “Come join us. Take another bow.”
Whistling the chorus of “Be Positive” under her breath, Bertie Bigelow grinned and pushed her way through the crowd.
~ The End ~
Acknowledgements
Many wonderful people helped me to bring this book to life. My mother, Elizabeth, shared her insider’s perspective on the Chicago City College system. My brothers David and Timothy patiently answered my (many) questions on legal procedure. My brother Stephen provided a
boots-on-the-ground perspective of life and politics on the South Side. My beta readers—Rachel Greenberg, Eve Shalpik, Pat Murray, and Sarah Ritt—offered valuable writing advice.
A special thank-you goes to Duke and Kimberly Pennell, Meg Welch Dendler, and the rest of the Pen-L publishing team for all their hard work. And a big hug goes to my wonderful husband, John—my toughest critic, my cheering section, and my rock.
About the Author
Carolyn Wilkins is a Professor of Ensembles at Berklee College of Music and the author of popular fiction and nonfiction, including Melody for Murder, the first Bertie Bigelow Mystery, as well as They Raised Me Up: A Black Single Mother and the Women Who Inspired Her, Damn Near White: An African American Family's Rise from Slavery to Bittersweet Success, and Tips For Singers: Performing, Auditioning, Rehearsing.
An accomplished jazz pianist, composer, and vocalist, Carolyn's performance experience includes radio and television appearances with her group SpiritJazz, a concert tour of South America as a Jazz Ambassador for the US State Department, performances with the Pittsburgh Symphony as a percussionist under Andre Previn, and shows featuring Melba Moore, Nancy Wilson, and the Fifth Dimension. Born and raised on the South Side of Chicago, Carolyn now lives in Cambridge, MA.
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