Murder Takes A Bow - A Betty Crawford Mystery (The Betty Crawford Mysteries) (12 page)

"Walter," Betty interrupted from the door in a sing song voice. "How many fingers am I holding up?" She held up three fingers, clearly spread apart and high over her head so that everyone could see.

He glanced in her direction. "Two. What’s this about Betty?"

Betty reached into the crowd and pulled a young man out. He was skinny and a good five inches taller than her.

"Stand right here please," she said, pointing to a spot right next to her. The boy did as he was told, grinning. She recognized him as one of the crew, and knew that he had already guessed what she was doing. She smiled at him. Walter shifted in place. The reporters murmurs to recording devices or jotted down notes.

"So," she said, "the auditorium is about forty feet from Clarise’s office. And we’re about…" she gauged the distance. "Twelve feet from you. So, if you saw Clarise kill Jarvis from forty feet away, this should be easy. She raised her hand. "Am I raising my hand, or is it the young man?"

Walter paled.

"The  " he cleared his throat. "The young man?"

Gotcha you bastard. "Nope!" Betty said cheerfully. "Walter, I think you hurt your arm by falling over something you couldn’t see. I bet you’re just too vain to get glasses. And if you couldn’t see me, how could you have possibly seen Clarise?"

The crowd erupted. Reporters rushed Walter. He flinched away.

"Mr. Payone, why did you try to frame the director?"

"Mr. Payone, what’s the name of your eye doctor?"

"Can I get an exclusive?"

Let him try and get out of that one, she thought, turning to head back inside. Bill stood behind her, leaning against the door. She wondered idly if she ever met him on open terrain would he fall over?

"Well," he said, "That was interesting. Thinking of taking over my job, Betty?"

Betty shook her head. "Nope." She looked over at the gaggle of reporters surrounding Walter. "Aren’t you going to go save him?"

Bill shook his head, smiling wickedly. Betty felt her cheeks heat. "Nah. We’ll let him fry a little first before we arrest him for obstruction of justice. Coming back in?" He held the door open for her.

CHAPTER 18

"All taken care of!" Betty burst out, throwing open the door of the room where Clarise and Sgt. Wes still waiting. Clarise straightened up with a snap from where she’d been resting, her head on Wes’s shoulder. Wes removed his arm from around her slowly.

At least some good came of this, Betty thought. It’s about time.

Clarise eyed Betty’s smug expression. "What, exactly, did you do?"

Betty hummed, twiddling her thumbs and drawing out the giddiness that had come with putting Walter in his place. "Well…" she said.

"Betty…" Clarise glared at her. Betty tried not to squirm. She was having far too much fun.

"What?"

"Betty!"

She shrugged. "It’s nothing really. I just made Walter’s little press conference work against him." By the time she’d finished sketching out what had happened outside, even Wes was smiling.

"This I have to see," he said. "Maybe Bill will let me arrest him." He looked over at Clarise. "If you’re okay, that is…?"

Clarise shooed him out the door. "Go! I’ll be here when you get back." Her eyes followed him out before she turned back to Betty.

"So, how did practice go?"

"Maybe you can coach by webcam?" Betty asked. "I don’t seem to be cut out for it. I can’t even bring snacks!"

Clarise shook her head in sorrow. "My poor girls. What was I thinking, leaving them to a barbarian like you?" Betty smacked her. "What? You’re the one who forgets snacks, not me! Speaking of…"

Uh oh, Betty thought.

"Have you told your parents yet?"

"About what?" She really didn’t want to talk about this. She really, really, really didn’t want to bring down the mood. They were laughing! Why did they have to turn all serious?

Clarise gave her the look, the one that mothers and best friends the world over used to let someone know that didn’t buy a word of the crap spewing from your mouth.

"Oh, fine." Betty sank back into the chair in defeat. "No, I haven’t." She held up a hand to stop Clarise from speaking. "If you want me to talk, be quiet." Clarise nodded. Like she had so many times over the past few years, she sat in front of Betty, waiting. It didn’t matter that she was sitting across a table in a police station, or that anyone could walk in at any moment. Somehow, that particular look, an attentive, non judgmental, steady gaze that only Clarise seemed to perfect, always cracked Betty’s resolve to not say a word. Unbidden, everything she’d tried to put aside in favor of helping Clarise came tumbling out.

"I have no idea how they’ll react," she began. "What if they’re angry at me? Or disappointed? What if they think it’s my fault? Or worse, what if they decide they have to change their entire lives to fit my new diet? They’re like that, you know." She looked at Clarise for confirmation, and her friend gestured for her to continue. "I don’t want them to feel guilty having sweets or things I can’t eat while I’m around, and I don’t want to make their lives any harder than they already are. Isn’t it enough that they’ve taken me in? Now I have diabetes on top of it? It’s not fair."

"So?" Clarise asked.

Betty looked at her incredulously. "So what?"

"So what if it’s not fair? It’s what is. Your parents aren’t going to cut you out for being sick. And if they want to help you be healthy, that’s their choice to make. You should let them make it."

Betty had to admit, put like that Clarise had a point.

"Are you sure it’s them you’re scared of disappointing?" Clarise continued, with the typical unnerving insight of a best friend.

Betty looked down at her hands. No. She wasn’t scared of her parents. She was afraid of having her own doubts confirmed. Because then they would be right.

"I just can’t tell them right now Clarise."

"Can’t or won’t?"

"Does it make a difference?" Betty looked up at Clarise. Her firend was still watching her with that patient gaze. "I’ll tell them eventually, when I’m ready."

Silence stretched between them. The sound of the offices right outside the door filtered in.

"I think you’re making a mistake."

Betty nodded. She could respect that. But she still wasn’t about to let Clarise’s disapproval dictate the way her life went. She loved her, she really did. But some decisions Betty had to make in her own time, and no amount of well meant advice would change that fact. The weight of Type Two Diabetes crashed down on her. If not telling her parents was a mistake, then it was a mistake. She’d deal with the consequences when they came.

The door opened on the silence in, letting in a burst of noise. Sergeant Wes came in, his smile dying as he looked around at them. "What gives?" he asked, taking the seat next to Clarise.

Clarise took his hand, leaning into his shoulder. "Nothing," she said. "Just girl talk."

CHAPTER 19

Betty arrived home to the wonderful smell of a dinner she could eat. The pamphlets she'd received at CVS had suggested that those with diabetes didn’t need to completely cut carbohydrates from their life, just lower them by doing simple things like using low fat and low carb recipes and watching her portion size. Macaroni and cheese didn’t seem like something to fit the bill, but in the morning Betty had come up with a recipe that used skim milk and low fat cream cheese instead of butter or margarine, with shrimp and Dole’s Broccoli Slaw tossed in to lower the carbohydrate count, add vegetables, fiber and protein. She’s left the recipe on the refrigerator as an idea for dinner. From the wonderful smell in the house, her mom had followed the recipe to a T. Given that she hadn’t eaten anything since that omelet so far back, Betty was more than willing to give it a taste test.

Her mother stood in from of the stove, dishing ladles of dinner onto three plates. "Oh good, you’re right on time," she said. "Can you get drinks? Your Dad wants a beer, and I’ll take water."

Betty pulled the beer from the fridge, looking at it longingly. She’d love a beer right about now: cold and fizzy and oh so slightly mind numbing… exactly what she needed after a day like this one. But, no. She’d be good. She poured a glass of water for herself and brought the drinks over to where her parents were already sitting down to dinner. She took her seat silently, reaching out for her Mother’s hand for the customary meal blessing.

"Lord," her mother said, head bowed, "Bless this food, which we have received through your bounty. Amen."

The same words, the same blessing, over every meal they ate for as long as Betty could remember. She never said grace on her own, but feeling the hands of both her parents steady in hers, hearing the ritualistic words, had a calming affect on her. Some things didn’t change, and that comforted her as nothing else had all day. All day she’d been pushing her emotions back, trying not to face the reality that her life had irrevocably changed. The conversation with Clarise hadn’t made her feel any better, it had just forced her to feel. But this, this simple act, was the first bit of comfort she’d had in hours. Not for the first time, Betty was intensely aware of how lucky she was to have her parents in her life.

She really was being stupid when she thought they would ever kick her out or be angry at her for being sick. These were the parents who still let her eat breakfast in their bed, who had taken her in without a second thought when the Wall Street crash had forced her out of her job. They still brought her soup in bed if she was sick. And they already ate fairly healthy. Surely it wouldn’t be too great of a change if their family meals were to become more diabetes friendly?

Telling them might be okay. Maybe.

"This looks delicious Betty," her mother said. "What inspired the recipe?"

Well, maybe didn’t mean she had to say anything quite yet. Betty quickly concocted a story.

"I tried to make this once for my friends in college. They wouldn’t touch it."

"Why not?" Her mother asked, reaching for the bread and butter.

Betty shrugged. "It grossed them out to see shrimp and broccoli slaw mixed in with boxed macaroni and cheese. Lucy called it ‘a sacrilegious corruption of a timeless poor college student classic.’"

"Their loss!" Her father said, mouth full.

"I thought college was all about trying new things," her mother added.

That’s not exactly true, Betty thought to herself. College was more about scrambling to meet deadlines and please eight or nine bosses (teachers, employers, directors, volunteer coordinators, deans…) at once in a mad dash to avoid a nervous breakdown, with occasional parties and drunken stupors scattered throughout the year. Trying new things usually came with one of the previous two, and you almost always regretted it in the morning. Not that she was planning on telling her parents any of those stories.

"Well, I guess my friends were chickens," she said instead

"Oh! I saw Fannie today. She said Walter caused a scene at the theater. Betty, were you there?"

Betty stared at her plate, torn between amusement and annoyance. A scene? That was one way to put it. She’d describe it more like ‘Walter made a gigantic ass of himself.’ She shrugged .

"He was just being Walter."

"Yes, well, she said that…"

Listening to her mother recount the latest gossip around the murder wasn’t exactly Betty’s favorite way to spend the meal, but she listened anyhow. At least she knew what people were saying. Ironically, it was almost all accurate. No fact bending for the Gossiping Grannies! Not when the facts made such a good story.