Diva's Last Curtain Call (7 page)

Trish Harmon and I had butted heads before during two other murder investigations. She thought I was stubborn, obstructive and foolish. I thought she was humorless, cold and about as flexible as a corpse in full rigor. I figured we were about equal in our dislike of one another. I noticed she’d let her hair grow out a little from her normal mannishly short do. But she was dressed as drably as usual in a gray suit with a long pleated skirt that I’d seen her in before. Charles Mercer, her chubby sidekick, was looking pleasant, if a bit uncomfortable in his tight blue sport coat and tan dress slacks. I grabbed Allegra’s hand protectively and we both stood as the detectives walked up the porch steps.

“Miss Clayton, we need you to come down the station with us to answer some more questions,” Trish Harmon said, addressing my sister. Allegra squeezed my hand so hard it went numb.

“What’s this about?” I asked Harmon. She ignored me. No big surprise.

“You can either come willingly, Miss Clayton, or we can arrest you,” Harmon said to my sister when she failed to move. Allegra gave me a panic-stricken look as Trish Harmon grabbed her opposite wrist and started to lead her in the direction of the porch steps. I pulled my sister’s other wrist and Allegra was pulled between Harmon and me, arms and legs outstretched like a piece of caramel taffy.

“Hey. You can’t just drag her off with no explanation,” I complained, tugging her back toward me.

“Yes, we can. Your sister was told to make herself available for questioning and we’ve got lots of questions for her,” Harmon said, calmly pulling Allegra back to her. Uh-oh! What happened? What did they want to talk to her about?

“You don’t have to drag her off like a common criminal. Get your hands off her,” I snapped, holding my ground and tugging my stunned-looking sister back to me.

“We can always arrest you for obstruction. In my opinion, you’re long overdue for a jail cell and I’d love to fix that,” Harmon fired back through gritted teeth.

Mercer was watching the tug of war between his partner and me with amusement. But after a couple of minutes he finally decided enough was enough. He walked over and gently pulled Allegra free of our grasping hands.

“Your sister isn’t under arrest, Miss Clayton. We just need her to come down to the station to answer a few questions, that’s all. There’s no need to worry,” he said, leading Allegra down the steps to their car. I believed him like I believed in Santa. I started to follow but Allegra, who’d suddenly regained her composure, stopped me.

“It’s okay, Kendra. I haven’t done anything wrong. Call Carl and have him meet me at the station.” I watched helplessly as they ushered her into the backseat. Harmon turned and tossed me a venomous smirk.

“Don’t you say a single word to them until Carl gets there! Do you hear me?” I called out before they slammed the car door shut.

I went into the house and called Carl and told him to meet me at the station. What in the world could they want to talk to Allegra about now? Did Harriet Randall convince them that Vivianne hadn’t agreed to an interview? There was no proof whatsoever that Vivianne had granted Allegra an interview. She’d wiped the message from Vivianne from her car. She’d been the one who called Vivianne, not the other way around. Vivianne’s own assistant didn’t even know about the interview. Plus, Allegra had been picked-up for trespassing in Vivianne’s house. In light of the conversation I’d just had with my sister about how she was struggling to stay ahead of the pack, I was beginning to wonder just what Allegra was capable of if she were desperate enough. I knew my sister was no murderer. But in her quest to hold on to her job, had Allegra lied about Vivianne’s note on the car? Had she shown up at the award ceremony, hoping to catch Vivianne alone in the attempt to get an interview? And when she discovered her dead, had she had to come up with an excuse as to why she was there? I honestly couldn’t say I wouldn’t put it past her.

I’d been sitting in the near-empty lobby of the police station, with its beige linoleum floors and uncomfortable age-scarred wooden benches, for an hour when it dawned on me that I hadn’t touched base with Greg about Lynette. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed his number. He answered it on the first ring and his anxious-sounding hello answered my question about whether Lynette had come home.

“It’s me, Greg. Any news?”

“She called to check on the kids. But she didn’t sound good,” he said with a heavy sigh.

“Where is she? What did she say?”

“She said she needed some time to herself to think. She wouldn’t say where she was. She sounded weird, Kendra. I’ve never heard her sound like that before. I asked if she wanted to cancel the wedding and she started crying and hung up on me.”

I knew I should tell him everything about my last conversation with Lynette, but I could think of no comfortable way to do it. Even Lynette was having a hard time telling him about her sex hang-ups. What exactly was I supposed to say?

“Kendra, I need you to do me a huge favor.”

“What’s that?” I asked with dread. I had enough on my plate with Allegra.

“Please help me find her. The wedding is six days away. I’ll try and stall Justine as long as I can. You know what she’s like. I don’t want her to know Lynette has taken off. But we’ve got to find her. There’s all kinds of last-minute wedding stuff to take care of and the kids will be asking questions. I’m really worried about her.”

“So am I, Greg, so am I. Look, I’m off on spring break this week. I’ll see if I can track her down tomorrow, okay?”

“Thanks, Kendra. I’ll let you know if I hear from her.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

Wonderful. Not only did I have a sister who’d gotten mixed up in a murder, I also had to deal with my best friend, the runaway bride. Could this day get any worse? Yes, it could.

Two hours later, Carl and Allegra emerged from the interrogation room looking like they’d been through hell. Allegra walked straight past me into the nearby women’s restroom without speaking. Carl looked at me and shook his head.

“Out with it,” I demanded, not sure I really wanted to know.

“They found Allegra’s fingerprints on Vivianne DeArmond’s purse. They found the purse in the Dumpster behind the auditorium”

“Huh?” Not a very literate response, I know. But I was stunned. “How in the hell did her prints get on that purse?”

“Allegra said when she walked into the dressing room, she tripped over the purse, which was on the floor. She picked it up and when she walked around the corner, she saw Vivianne lying in a pool of blood. She said she was too shocked to move. Then when the fire alarm went off she dropped the purse and ran. She can’t explain how the purse got in the Dumpster.”

“Well, they didn’t arrest her so they must have believed her, right?”

“It would have helped if she’d have remembered picking up the purse in the first place when she made her original statement. Now, with her prints on the purse plus the fact that there is no evidence proving she was granted an interview, her story is sounding like bullshit.” Carl ran a hand over his face and sat down on the bench I’d just vacated.

“She didn’t have a purse when I saw her at the auditorium after the fire alarm went off,” I said. But truthfully, remembering back to seeing Allegra coming up the steps from the auditorium’s basement, I only recalled the terrified look on my sister’s face, not whether or not she was carrying anything with her.

“You’re her sister, Kendra. I don’t think what you saw is going to hold much weight with Harmon and Mercer. I just wish there was some proof that Vivianne had really consented to that interview.”

If Allegra had lied about the interview and now the purse and ended up going to jail, she wouldn’t have to worry about going alone because my foot would find a permanent home in her ass.

“But what about Allie’s clothes? Have the tests come back yet?”

“No. Their crime lab is understaffed and backed-up. They had to send the clothes to the state crime lab, which is even more understaffed and backed-up. I’m not sure when we’ll get those results.”

“So what is her motive supposed to have been for killing Vivianne?” I was talking to Carl, but my sister emerged red-eyed from the restroom and answered for him.

“They think I showed up at Vivianne’s dressing room uninvited to try and interview her. She told me no and threatened to call the police. When she turned and headed for the phone, I flipped out and grabbed whatever happened to be closest to me, which was the letter opener, and stabbed her in the back. They also think I was trying to make it look like a robbery by taking the purse and tossing it in the Dumpster. I swear I dropped that purse when the alarm went off. I don’t even know where the Dumpster at Cartwright Auditorium is.”

“The only reason why they haven’t arrested her is because her prints weren’t on the letter opener. It was wiped clean,” Carl said.

“Was there anything missing from the purse?” I was hoping that no money in the purse could point to someone desperate for cash, like Kurt Preston.

“They wouldn’t tell us,” Carl said. I told him about the argument I’d overheard between Kurt and Cliff Preston. Carl perked up considerably.

My cell phone rang and I answered without thinking. It was Mama. Just great! I’d been waiting to tell her about Allegra being taken in for questioning until after it was over. I knew she’d just rush down the station and be worried to death, and in the process, annoy the hell out of me. I knew she had a right to know what was going on with her granddaughter. But don’t I have a right to some peace?

“Is your sister with you? I’m about to go to bed and if she’s not here in the next twenty minutes, she’ll get locked out and will have to stay with you.”

“We’re on our way,” I told her. I wondered how ready for bed she’d be when we told her the latest news?

I spent the night at Mama’s. I had no choice. It was a weird night. After we arrived and told her all about what was going on, she was beyond pissed. I couldn’t tell who she was the maddest at: me for not calling and telling her what was going on or Allegra for getting herself into such a mess or Carl for not being able to do more to get my sister out of her mess. She ranted and raved for a while and then told Carl to go home and me and Allegra to go to bed. She must have forgotten I had a place of my own because when I started to walk out with Carl, she grabbed me and told me to go to bed in a voice I didn’t dare disobey. I had a switch-cutting flashback and hurried upstairs behind Allegra. If it wasn’t for the memory of Mama’s hissy fit ringing in my ears, it would have almost been like old times. Allegra and I were sharing the same room we’d stayed in years ago when we used to spend the night as kids. The twin beds even had the same spreads they’d had all those years ago, white, with little blue—faded now—cornflowers. Cute.

I couldn’t sleep and slipped downstairs to watch TV with the sound turned down low so as not to wake Mama. At three in the morning I was still awake. I decided to see if there was any peach cobbler left. The house was dark and quiet. So quiet that the sudden sound of a cat yowling from somewhere outside made me jump. I walked into the kitchen. The only light came from moonlight streaming in through the gaps in the closed curtains and the glow of the fluorescent light over the kitchen sink that Mama always left on.

I headed into the pantry and spied the foil-wrapped cobbler dish on the counter. My mouth started to water. I reached for the dish and detected movement to my left behind the curtains of the small window that looked out over the back porch. I turned and was frozen to the spot as the movement continued. Someone was on the back porch. I listened and could hear the creak of footsteps. I grabbed either side of the lacy curtains, yanked them open, and looked out. I was face to face with a black ski-masked face, pressed against the window. My heart jumped into my throat blocking the scream that was welling up inside me. The person in the ski mask turned and I could hear pounding footsteps running. For some unknown reason that still escapes me to this day, I flew across the kitchen toward the back door. My hands were sweaty and my fingers fumbled first with the deadbolt then the latch on the screen door. Once I had it unlocked, I raced out onto the empty porch, tripped over a pot full of tomato plants, smacked my head against the porch’s wooden railing and knocked myself out cold. Damn! And all I’d wanted was some cobbler.

M
ama found me conked out on the back porch. The too-tight nightshirt I’d borrowed from Allegra had ridden up exposing my cotton granny panties to the cool night air as I hung half-on, half-off the porch. Mama thought I’d been sleepwalking. I hadn’t walked in my sleep since I was a kid. My parents used to wake up in the morning and find me everyplace but in my bed: once in the backseat of our car, another time in the basement laundry room and one place that I’ve yet to live down—Duke, the dog next door’s dog house. But I hadn’t been sleepwalking. I’d startled an intruder.

“Just let me throw on some clothes and I’ll take you over to the E.R. You need to let them check you out,” Mama said, handing me a bag of ice.

“Forget the E.R. You need to call the police. Someone tried to break in here,” I pleaded. Mama wasn’t convinced.

“What do I have that anybody would want?” She made a sweeping gesture around the room with her hand.

“Maybe someone wanted to find out if there was anything valuable in here?”

“So someone tried to break in and you ran after them?”

“Yes!”

“In your nightgown with no shoes on?” she asked looking skeptical.

“Yeah,” I replied in a small voice.

“And if you’d caught the person what would you have done, spit on them?”

I shrugged. What would I have done? What in the world had I been thinking?

“I know you were up watching TV. What were you watching?”

I glared at her and mumbled the title.

“I didn’t hear you,” Mama said sweetly.

“Friday Foster,”
I said loudly.

“Hmm. Would that be that old Pam Grier movie where she gets caught up in some kinda murder conspiracy?” I nodded.

“Well, there you have it. You watched that movie, and with everything that’s going on with your sister, had some crazy dream you were chasing after some imaginary intruder in your sleep. You were sleepwalking and tripped and fell.”

“Mama, I swear I wasn’t sleepwalking. I know what I saw.”

“And I know what I heard,” she said, firmly.

“You heard the intruder, too?” I asked excitedly.

“No. I heard you snoring. You were asleep, Kendra. Now, do you want to go to the E.R. or not?” She gently placed a warm hand on my head making it feel instantly better.

“No,” I replied. Could I have really been asleep?

“Then I suggest you go back to bed. It’s almost four in the morning and I’d like to get a couple of more hours sleep. God only know what the morning will bring.”

How right she was.

Mama, Allegra, and I were eating breakfast when Noelle called with bad news. Until she was cleared of all suspicion in Vivianne’s murder, Allegra had been suspended from
Hollywood Vibe.
Little sister did not take it well.

“I cannot believe they are doing this to me,” she wailed, as big sloppy tears ran down her face. She pounded her fists on the table, almost spilling my milk.

Mama and I tried to console her but she pushed us away. She wasn’t about to let us ruin her full-blown tantrum.

“I bet that bitch Noelle didn’t even stand up for me. If they want to fire someone it should be her ass!”

“Watch your language, Allie. I know you’re upset but this isn’t helping. And they haven’t fired your butt yet. Try and see it from their point of view,” Mama said.

“This is just so unfair. I didn’t do anything. Why is this happening to me?” Allegra stretched her arms up over her head toward the ceiling and shook her fists. All she had to do was vow never to be hungry again and she could have put Scarlett O’Hara to shame. All this melodrama and it wasn’t even eight-thirty yet.

“What do you mean Noelle’s the one who should be fired?” I asked. Allegra sighed and lowered her arms, settling into a nice subdued funk.

“Noelle’s got a gambling problem, a serious gambling problem. Cards, slots, horses, sports, you name it. If there were two little kids racing on their bikes, she’d bet on it. She’s always broke. Once, she even came to work all bruised and beat up and I heard it was because she owed some guy a lot of money for a gambling debt she couldn’t pay. She’s already been to rehab a couple of times but I don’t think it took.”

“You think she’s still gambling?” Mama asked.

“She gave me a ride home from the studio a couple of weeks ago when my car was in the shop. Her car had old scratch-off lottery tickets all over the floor and backseat. I saw some betting slips sticking out of her visor.”

“As long as she does her job, why should
Hollywood Vibe
care about how she spends her private time?” I asked before Mama could.

“Because I suspect she’s been using money from her expense account to pay her gambling debts. She’s also been using her company cell phone to place bets. And it’s awfully funny that a lot of people at the studio have had money stolen in the past couple of weeks. Noelle’s probably resorted to stealing to feed her habit.”

Mama and I looked at each and shook our heads.

“I’m not going down without a fight.
Hollywood Vibe
is not gonna just kick me to the curb,” Allegra said getting up from the table. I didn’t like the sound of that.

“What are you planning on doing?” I asked.

“I’m going to let the public know I’m innocent. My fans need to hear the truth from my lips. I’m going to hold a press conference right here on the front porch.”

“Oh no you’re not,” Mama said, vigorously shaking her head. “You’re going to lay low and keep your mouth shut. Whoever killed Vivianne might think you saw something and come after you.”

In an effort to back Mama up and prove I hadn’t been sleepwalking, I opened my mouth to speak up about my encounter with the ski-masked intruder. But Allegra held up her finger to my mouth like she was shushing a child.

“Why would the killer do that?” Allegra said angrily. “I’m the one they’re suspicious of. If I was the person who killed Vivianne I’d lay low and let the police think I did it. Wouldn’t you?” she asked, turning to me. She did have a point. But I knew better than to say so in front of Mama, who was looking like she wanted to beat someone.

“As long as you are staying under this roof, you will do as I say. And I say there will be no press conferences held on my front porch, back porch or any point in between. Do you hear what I’m saying, girl?”

“Fine. I’ll go stay with Kendra then,” Allegra said, sounding very much like the spoiled child she still was. She turned to walk out of the kitchen.

Mama angrily reached out toward Allegra as she passed, as though she was about to snatch a handful of honey-blond hair out of her head, but a loud knock on the back door made us all jump. It was Carl. You’d have thought it was Santa finally bringing her long-awaited Oompa Loompa, the way my sister’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. She sashayed over to give Carl a hug. Now, I wanted to snatch her bald, too.

Even though I was on spring break that week from my job at the Clark Literacy Center, I still had to work at my other job as a hostess at Estelle’s, my uncle Alex’s restaurant. Estelle’s, with its exposed brick walls, black-and-white checked tile floor and antique jukebox in the far corner, was named after Mama and had been a popular hangout with the students, faculty and staff of nearby Kingford College since it had opened several years ago.

It was early afternoon and business was slow. Kingford College was also on spring break. You could tell this by the way the locals were out in force, happy to have their town back even for a brief time. There were only a few people in the restaurant and I spent most of my shift folding napkins and silverware together, and staring out the restaurant’s large front picture window, watching people who had to have fewer problems than me walk past.

“What’s your problem?” asked Joy Owens, one of the other hostesses who’d just arrived to relieve me.

Joy is all of four foot eleven and usually wears her burgundy-tinted hair pulled back into a knot at the back of her head with bangs that cover her eyes and make her look about sixteen. Not a shy, innocent, debutante sixteen, either. More like a worldly, hard-assed sixteen. Despite her teenage looks, Joy is actually a twenty-two-year-old art major at Kingford College.

“No problem, Joy. How about you? You having a nice day?” I asked with exaggerated politeness.

“I saw your sister on the news the other day. She’s sure got a big problem. Hope they don’t put her fine ass in jail. Do the words
prison bitch
mean anything to you?” she asked with a sneer.

“Do the words
kiss my ass
mean anything to you?” I responded, smiling sweetly. I wasn’t about to let her annoy me. Joy is easily the most unpleasant person I’ve ever known. To say she doesn’t live up to her name would be like saying King Kong was just big-boned.

“Now, see, I was about to tell you something about your girl Lynette. But since you got such a shitty attitude, you can forget it.” I watched as she started to stalk back to the locker room.

“What about Lynette?” I called out before she could get too far. She turned and gave me a Grinchlike smile that made me wonder what in the world she was up to.

“I saw her over in Springfield this morning looking crazy as hell,” Joy said, laughing spitefully.

“Where in Springfield? When was this?” I asked suspiciously.

“Downtown by the marketplace. She was sitting on one of those benches where people catch the city bus. I saw her this morning when I was coming from my girlfriend’s crib.”

“When did Cory move to Springfield?”

“Cory?” she said with an angry snort. “I cut her ass loose three months ago. You know that crazy bitch almost killed me.”

Joy’s ex-girlfriend, Cory, had accidentally, or so she claimed, backed over Joy with her car almost a year ago after a heated argument. Joy still walks with a slight limp as a result. I guess I wasn’t surprised they’d broken up. But then again, I wasn’t surprised anyone would hit Joy with their car, either. What did amaze me was that Joy, with her perpetually frowned-up face and less-than-sparkling personality, was able to get a girlfriend in the first place.

“Did you say anything to Lynette?”

“Why would I say anything to her ass? She ain’t my friend,” she replied, like I’d just asked her something completely unreasonable. “Look, you made me late clocking in,” she said in disgust, gesturing to the clock on the wall behind me. I ignored her as a group of people walked into the restaurant in search of a late lunch. After seating them, I grabbed my purse and was off to Springfield in search of my best friend.

Springfield was a small city located about a fifteen-minute drive from Willow. My father, Ken Clayton, is originally from Springfield but moved to Willow after marrying my mother Deirdra. Yes, my name is a combination of theirs. They moved to Florida five years ago after my father took early retirement from his job as mail carrier.

Once in Springfield, I headed down South Limestone Street toward downtown. I drove past South High School with its impressive white domed top, hung a left onto Spring Street, and turned right onto South Fountain Avenue. I decided to park my car at the marketplace, a massive three-story brick building built in the 1890s that used to be a farmer’s market and housed city hall’s offices. The old marketplace building certainly looked much better than Springfield’s current city hall building with its outdated 1970s architecture that reminded me of a giant parking garage. Much like Willow, Springfield had once had a thriving downtown that had become a shadow of its former self after some major businesses pulled up stakes and left town or went under altogether. The big, hulking, abandoned buildings littering Springfield’s downtown reminded me of the fossilized remains of huge prehistoric beasts. You could still see how grand they used to be, despite all the broken windows and graffiti making them look all the more sad and derelict.

I made a shortcut through the marketplace, ending up on the side that faced High Street. I spotted the benches that Joy had been talking about near the bus kiosks, and walk over to see if I could spot Lynette, though I was still doubtful Joy had actually seen her. What in the world would Lynette be doing in Springfield? I looked around for her or her black Nissan Altima. I saw about a dozen or so people lounging on or standing near the benches waiting for buses. Even though the buses had yet to arrive I thought I still detected a whiff of bus exhaust. Some of the people waiting looked like students, others were dressed in the uniforms of fast food restaurants and were obviously on their way to or from work, most were elderly people with shopping bags full of groceries. None of them was Lynette.

For the next forty minutes I walked all over downtown Springfield hoping to spot my best friend or her car with no luck. It was hot. Sweat was trickling down my back, and my feet were beginning to ache even though I had on my running shoes. I felt like an idiot for listening to Joy. She was probably still laughing. Having realized I’d wasted enough time on my fool’s errand, I headed back to my car, once again cutting through the marketplace to the parking lot. Numerous small shops had taken up residence inside the marketplace. You could find everything from handmade jewelry, antiques, leather goods and scented candles to decadent desserts, deli sandwiches and roasted peanuts. The smell of freshly baked brownies stopped me on my way out to the parking lot and led me into a bakery called Just Desserts. I bought a well-deserved—in my opinion—chocolate brownie with walnuts and thick chocolate icing and sat at a small table by the window to eat it. From where I was sitting, I could see people entering and exiting the building. I’d put the last morsel of the moist brownie in my mouth and was licking chocolate icing from my fingers when I noticed a white VW van pull up to the curb outside. A familiar-looking man got out and entered the marketplace with two equally familiar people greeting him as he walked in.

The man was white, middle-aged, balding and wore polyester pants in a revolting shade of avocado green. His yellow-and-red short-sleeved Bermuda shirt looked straight out of the fifties, as did his thick black horn-rimmed glasses. I recognized him as the man who’d tried to hug Vivianne DeArmond during the autograph session at the awards ceremony. Seeing the man wasn’t much of a big deal but it was the red-headed woman and the light skinned young black man with her that surprised me. They were none other than Noelle Delaney and her hot-lipped lover boy—or should I say lover dude, Kurt Preston. Kurt was holding a medium-sized box that Mr. Bermuda Shirt was looking at in much the same way as I’d eyed my brownie. He started to take the box from Kurt, but Noelle stepped in front of him and held out her hand. Bermuda Shirt looked momentarily confused then pulled out a wad of money from his pocket, peeled off several bills and handed them to Noelle. Noelle counted the bills quickly before stuffing them in her purse. She gestured for Kurt to hand over the box. Bermuda Shirt looked like he’d been given a key to the city.