by Logan, Kylie
Chapter Eleven
I fell asleep that night with the sounds of distant drumbeats pounding in my head, but at least that wasn’t what woke me up before the sun the next morning.
It was my phone, and startled, I glanced at the clock on my bedside table and groaned.
Right before I sat up like a shot.
A phone ringing in the dark will do that to a person. Especially when that person has even half an ounce of imagination and envisions all the worst things possible.
My blood pressure spiked through the roof and my hands trembled when I groped for the phone.
“Josie, I’m so sorry to bother you this early.”
It took me a moment to realize that it was Laverne on the other end of the phone. It took less than that for me to collect myself and ask, “What’s wrong?”
“I think you better get down here,” she said.
“Down—”
“I’m sorry to be so unclear. I’m a little . . .” She drew in a long breath and let it out in a whoosh. “I’m a little upset. Down here to the church, of course. You’d better get down here to the church.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer, but I asked anyway. “Is there another body?”
“Body? Oh, no. Nothing like that. At least not that I can see.”
“Are you in any danger?”
When it took her a heartbeat or two to answer, my throat squeezed. “Laverne?”
“I . . . I don’t think so. I’m here in the gallery. I think . . .” I pictured her looking around the interior of the church. “I’m pretty sure I’m alone.”
“I’ll tell you what . . .” I was already out of bed, and I reached for my jeans and slipped into them along with a yellow T-shirt and my sneakers. “There can’t be much traffic this early in the morning. I’ll drive over. But it’s going to take me at least twenty minutes.” I pictured the huge church with its infinite hiding places and shadowy corners. “Wait for me in your office. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” I think there was something about having a plan that gave her courage. She sounded more sure of herself, more in control. “I’m on my way there now.”
“Good. Stay there. And Laverne, lock the door once you’re inside and if you need to, call the cops.”
Inside her office was exactly where I found Laverne and it was less than twenty minutes later. But then, like I said, there wasn’t much traffic at that time of the day and luckily, I didn’t pass any cops. I don’t think they would have appreciated me making an attempt to break land-speed records on Chicago city streets.
“What’s going on?”
There was a coffeemaker on top of a filing cabinet in the corner and Laverne had a mug of coffee poured for me practically before I was inside the door and had it closed—and locked—behind me. She handed me the coffee and gestured over to where there was sugar and powdered creamer. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said.
I wrapped my hands around the mug. It was going to be a hot, sticky day; I knew that the moment I walked out of my apartment. But the warmth of the coffee still felt good, comforting. I savored the aroma that drifted off the mug and closed my eyes, hoping for a calm I hadn’t felt on the drive over.
“What’s happening?” I asked Laverne. “And what on earth are you doing here so early?”
She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I saw all the buttons and I just naturally thought of you and I didn’t know what else to do and . . .” Laverne was in a tizzy and she’s clearly not the tizzy type. She squeezed her hands into fists and held her arms tight against her sides while she drew in another long breath.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. One of her fists beat a staccato rhythm against her hip. “I tossed and turned most of the night, thinking about everything that happened around here and wishing it could all be different, and feeling so sorry for poor Mr. Parmenter and for poor Reverend Truman, too. The reverend, he’s being badgered by the media and it’s taken so much of his focus away from our congregation. We’re a people of prayer and community action, and yet last Sunday, all anyone could talk about before and after the service was the murder, and Reverend Truman, he’s going to have a time of it getting everyone to give their heads and their hearts and their hands back to the Lord.”
Her fist beat faster, and I knew if I didn’t try to rein her in, I was in for trouble. “So you couldn’t sleep,” I said.
Laverne nodded. “That’s right. I kept thinking of everything I had to do today and then I realized that it’s Thursday, and just one week ago, I remember hopping out of bed and thinking how exciting it was to have a real art show at the church, and how it would help us draw in people and build our congregation. And then I thought about how all that came crashing down around us. And then . . . well, naturally, since it’s Thursday, I remembered that the reverend, he always works on his Sunday sermon on Thursday, and I knew he’d need my help with doing that more than ever this week. He’s a good man, and this murder has thrown him for a loop. I was thinking maybe I’d suggest that he base this week’s sermon on a quote from Psalm 34. You know, the one that goes, ‘Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it.’ And I was so pleased with myself for thinking of that. It’s perfect, don’t you think?”
She didn’t give me a chance to answer. Laverne barreled right on. “And that’s when I had another thought. About pursuing peace. Our church, with what happened here last week, our peace was shattered. But that doesn’t mean it has to be gone forever, and that’s the message we need to get across to the world. And so I thought that once Mr. Parmenter’s exhibit is packed up and shipped out of here, we could do a prayer meeting up in the church. You know, as a way of starting over.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.” It was, and besides, I had to interrupt Laverne so she’d take a breath.
Once she did, she plunged back in. “And I thought about how we’d invite everyone from the neighborhood in, and the media, too, and how we’d have a candlelight vigil with prayer and music. Then for sure I was so excited, I couldn’t sleep.” She had a cup of coffee on her desk and she picked it up but she didn’t drink it. “And that’s why I came in a little early.”
Understatement. The clock on the credenza behind her desk said it wasn’t even five yet.
“And I stepped into the church,” she continued. “You know, just to sort of imagine all the people who would gather and how we could light candles all around and where we could put flowers and how the reverend, he could use that Psalm as a way of reminding not only our congregation, but everyone in the neighborhood that there are better ways to live our lives than with violence. Peace, that’s what we need to pursue. Just like the Psalm says.”
“And you walked into the church and . . .”
“That’s right.” Laverne set down her coffee cup. “I walked into the church. And that’s when I saw it. Oh, there’s no use trying to explain. Come on.” She grabbed my arm and led the way.
A minute later we were standing in front of Forbis’s exhibit. When Laverne came in earlier, she hadn’t turned on the spotlights over each of the art pieces. The only light in the place came from a hanging fixture above the door that led to the hallway and the dim light of the streetlights that seeped in through the stained-glass windows. Still, it didn’t take me more than a half a second to see what Laverne had seen when she walked in.
I flinched.
She patted my arm. “I’ll get the lights,” she said and she did, the better to illuminate the Congo Savanne statue.
This time, even the ugly, looming loa couldn’t keep me at a distance. I hurried over and looked at where the front of the box that held the statue was completely torn away. “It’s gone!”
Laverne glanced around the exhibit. “I sure don’t see it anywhere. Somebody must have broken in during the night and taken it. But why . . .” Her shoulders rose and fell. “Why take part of the box?”
Good question, and I didn’t have an answer. “We
’ve got to call the police,” I said.
“I know that. I should have done it first thing except when I saw it had to do with the buttons, all I could think of was you.”
This was a compliment, and I appreciated it, but I didn’t have a chance to tell Laverne. I was already on the phone with the police dispatcher.
• • •
Three cheers for the two cops who arrived within fifteen minutes. They called in backup so they could thoroughly comb the church and make sure whoever had vandalized the box—and taken all the buttons on it—wasn’t hiding somewhere, and they stopped in Laverne’s office briefly to let her know that they found how the burglar got in. A basement window was broken.
“We’ve been saving to have glass block installed,” Laverne told me when the cop left. “Looks like we should have made it a priority.”
“At least nothing else was touched.” This was a consolation of sorts even if it did bring up another whole question.
Laverne knew it. That’s why she asked, “Why would anyone make off with part of a box covered with buttons and leave everything else, like computers and such? There’s a flat-screen TV downstairs. You think he would have taken that.”
Don’t think I hadn’t thought the same thing.
Don’t think I wasn’t already thinking I had the answer.
“I saw a button on that box the night of the murder,” I said. “A button that wasn’t like any other button I’ve ever seen before.”
Laverne latched onto my arm with both hands. “And you think that’s why somebody broke in and stole the box. To get at that button! Josie, you’re a genius.”
“Not so much.” Before she could get too carried away, I unhitched her fingers from my arm. “The button was already missing a couple days after the murder when I came back to the church.”
“But not right after the murder?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. That morning we found Forbis’s body, I didn’t even think to look for it. I noticed it was gone when I came back the next time.”
“So the killer could have taken that button.”
“Yes.”
“But we don’t know for sure.”
“That’s right.”
“So what are you going to do?”
What I should have told her was that I wasn’t going to do anything. That murder investigations were up to the police and that Nev was in charge of this one and he knew what he was doing.
What I said instead wasn’t something I intended. It just sort of popped out. “You didn’t go out for coffee with Richard last Thursday after the art exhibit.”
Laverne pulled in a sharp breath. “Don’t be silly, Josie. I told you—”
“I know what you told me, but I know it’s not true. Richard was with Victor Cherneko that night.”
Her eyes widened just enough for me to realize this was news to her.
“You don’t know what they were doing together?” I asked her.
Laverne didn’t answer my question. Instead, she twined her fingers together. “I can imagine what you think. About me.”
Since I hadn’t had a chance to finish that first cup of coffee, I’d poured another when we got back to Laverne’s office and I drank down the last of it. “I think that an old friend asked you for a favor and you obliged him. I think you did it because you didn’t imagine that it could make any difference.”
“That’s right.” She hung her head. “I should know better, shouldn’t I? You think a woman my age would. But you see, when Richard came back into my life . . .” She rounded her desk and sat down behind it. “Back when Richard and I were in college, a lot of people didn’t approve of us dating. White man, black girl. You can imagine.”
I could, and I didn’t like it.
“When I got that call from him saying he was going to be in Chicago, asking if I’d like to get together . . . well, things are different these days, and I thought . . I thought maybe our relationship could be different, too.”
“Is it?”
“It’s . . .” She took a moment to find just the right word. “It’s nice,” she said. “Oh, I know he’s not a cutie pie, not like that policeman boyfriend of yours. But then, that’s never why I liked Richard in the first place. He was considerate, kind, fun to be with. He still is.”
“And when he asked you to lie, did you think he was being considerate, kind, and fun to be with?”
Her shrug said it all. “I didn’t know what to think. But like you said, I didn’t think it would make any difference.”
“Did he tell you why it was important?”
“He told me that after everything that happened at the show, what with Forbis running away and everything being ruined, he told me all he wanted to do was go back to his hotel room, grab a shower, and hit the hay. I had no doubt that’s exactly what he did.”
“If you thought that’s where he was, why do you suppose he’d ask you to lie about it?”
“Because once we knew Forbis was dead . . .” Laverne gathered her thoughts. “Once we knew Forbis had been murdered, Richard said the police were bound to ask us about our alibis. He said that because I went home myself and he went to his hotel room himself, neither of us had an alibi and that would make us both look fishy. He said if we covered for each other, no one would be the wiser. I figured, no harm, no foul. I knew I went right home after I locked up the church that night, so obviously, I wasn’t the murderer. And I had no reason not to believe Richard. He surely didn’t kill Mr. Parmenter.” As if she’d been punched in the stomach, Laverne winced. “Wait a minute! You think he did!”
“I never said that.” I didn’t, so I made sure I kept my tone even and my words non-accusatory. “I’m only trying to get the facts straight. Where Richard was and who he was with, those are facts. And I need to verify them.”
Laverne sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, he didn’t do it.”
“You know that for a fact.”
“I know he’s not the kind of man who would kill another human being, then glue buttons on his eyes and mouth.” She shivered. “That would take some freaky thinking, and Richard, he’s not like that. He’s ordinary, just a regular guy.”
I slipped into her guest chair. “Any idea what this regular guy was doing with Victor Cherneko?”
She shook her head. “I doubt they even know each other. Are you sure your information is right?”
I thought about my three sources: Gabriel, Victor himself, and the bartender at Remondo’s. “What kind of package could Richard have been delivering to Victor Cherneko after the art show?”
Laverne ran her hands through her hair. “Now you’re making me crazy with all these questions! Richard gave Cherneko a package? You saw this? Here at the church?”
“I didn’t see it. But other people did. And no, it didn’t happen here. It happened after. When Richard told you he was at his hotel.”
“Richard never mentioned any sort of package to me.”
“Maybe he didn’t want you to know too much. In case someone came around and started asking questions.”
“Someone like you.” I don’t think Laverne held this against me. She was far too practical for that. “Truth be told, I didn’t believe Richard, not completely. Oh, I know he ended up back at his hotel. I have no doubt of that. But I thought on the way, he might have gone out looking for Mr. Parmenter. He cared about the man very much, you know.”
I had only seen Richard and Forbis together once, in that one brief encounter before the show. The way I remembered it, Richard was overly friendly and Forbis was downright snippy. That may have been artistic temperament talking, but I didn’t think so. “I don’t think they liked each other,” I told Laverne.
“Don’t be silly. They’ve worked together for a couple of years and they always got along. Ask Richard.”
“I intend to.” I glanced at the clock and yawned. It was nearly time to open the Button Box, and I was in serious need of a couple more hours of sleep that I knew I wasn�
�t going to get. I rose from my chair. “Would you do me a favor, please, Laverne. Don’t tell Richard we had this talk.”
“I don’t know if I can—”
“Please.” I wasn’t especially good at pleading but I gave it my level best. “You’re not doing him any favors by trying to cover for him. Not until you find out why he thinks he needs an alibi in the first place.”
She bit her lower lip, thought about it, nodded.
“Thanks.” I moved toward the door. “I’ve got a lot to think about and I should call Nev and tell him what happened here.” Not that it had changed a whole lot, but I looked at the clock again, anyway. “I’ll wait a bit. No use disturbing his sleep, too.”
“What do you make of it, Josie?” Laverne followed me to the door. “Why would someone break in and destroy the artwork? And if that was his goal, why not destroy more of the pieces?”
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t care about the art. I think this has more to do with the buttons.”
“Like that unusual one you said was on the box.” Laverne pressed her lips together. “Why didn’t this fellow just take the buttons the night he killed poor Mr. Parmenter?”
I had asked myself that question, too, and the answer wasn’t all that hard to come up with. “Remember,” I said, “the person who killed Forbis took the keys from Reverend Truman’s office. Have you had the locks changed here at the church since the murder?”
Laverne grimaced. “We talked about it. And I know we should have done it. But we looked at the budget and that sort of extra expense is something we can’t afford. It’s our fault, isn’t it? If we had done that, the exhibit wouldn’t have been vandalized.”
I could understand how her thinking got all mixed-up. There was a lot to think about, it was early, and neither of us had had enough sleep. I put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you see, it’s just the opposite. The murderer stole Reverend Truman’s extra keys the night he killed Forbis. And you haven’t changed the locks since. That means that if the murderer came back here and took the front off that loa box, he wouldn’t have had to break in through the basement.”
