Murder Takes A Bow - A Betty Crawford Mystery (The Betty Crawford Mysteries) (9 page)

An article at the bottom of the page caught her eye.

"Lofton Resident, Ex Sitcom Star Claims Career Murdered." She clicked on the link, only to huff in disgust as Walter Payone’s face loomed up.

Walter Payone, best known for his leading role as Officer Ray Frank in eighties sitcom "Staking Out," raised allegations that his career was deliberately sabotaged by his co star Harriet Rayne. "She was always jealous," he said. "So when the show ended she trash talked me to everyone. I couldn’t even get a job as an extra for months! She murdered my career I tell you. Murdered! But I still do alright"

Payone now makes a living touring for conventions and making cameo appearances in television shows and movies. He is currently performing as a lead for the Lofton Community Theater. Unfortunately, a recent injury to his shoulder has left Payone unable to raise his arm above his head. "This will seriously hurt my career," he said jokingly. "No more fight scenes."

Whether or not Payone will return to star in another sitcom remains to be seen. "Do I miss it?" the former star asked. "Of course I do. The question is, with all of Rayne’s trash talk, does television miss me?"
 

What a complete and utter load of crock. The man was delusional. Of course no one wanted to work with him! He was a scumbag, plain and simple. His capacity for being a jerk stood out even among sitcom and soap opera stars    which was really an accomplishment to feel proud of.

Betty had twenty minutes before she had to leave. Visiting hours opened at nine at the station, and she wanted to be sure that Clarise had some basics. Luckily, Clarise slept over so often that she usually just left a change of clothes. Betty rummaged through her things until she found Clarise’s clothes: a changes of jeans, a loose shirt, underwear and a bra. She threw everything into a bag and added two pairs of warm socks, a blanket, a hairbrush, some soap, an extra toothbrush and some toothpaste. She had no idea what Clarise would be allowed to keep, but it was worth the effort if there was any chance at all that Clarise could use them. She had an image in her head of Clarise in an old time jail cell out of a Western, with a large round ring to hold all the keys and a rusty metal bed that creaked whenever an inmate shifted on its straw mattress.

To be honest, until yesterday she hadn’t even known that Lofton had its own holding cells, let alone what condition they were in. Hopefully, the reality was somewhat better than her imagination portrayed it.

Ding Dong.

Male voices sounded up the stairs—her father’s and—

"BETTY!" her father hollered. "THE NEW CHIEF’S HERE! HE SAYS TO CALL HIM BILL AND WANTS TO KNOW IF YOU NEED A RIDE TO THE STATION!"

Well, that was a welcome surprise. She grabbed her purse and lugged the bulging bag for Clarise down the stairs. And there Bill was, standing in her doorway and looking neat and comfortable. Betty had an odd sense of de ja vue. They’d driven to plenty of practices together in college. She remembered him standing in her dorm doorway with just the relaxed expression on his face. This time, though, he was wearing a police uniform.

It was strange, to say the least.

Well, she was in far too good a mood to let a little strangeness put a damper on her attitude.

"Morning Bill!" she said, hopping down the last few steps.

"Morning Betty." He tipped his hat at her. "I thought you might want a ride to the station this morning."

Betty almost laughed at him. He actually tipped his hat? The last time she’d seen anyone do that had been in a production of Oklahoma! Well, if he was going to play the gentleman, the least she could do was play the damsel. She propped her hands on her hips and scowled, channeling her inner Scarlet O’Hara. It was a character she’d used often in college to annoy the extreme feminists. "Bill Owens, what do you mean, showing up here unannounced?"

"Beg pardon ma’am." Then Bill laughed, a full sound that seemed to absorb into the wooden walls rather than echo. He leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms. "Betty Crawford, I forgot just how ridiculous you are. I’m on my way in to work—do you want a ride or not?"

Betty grinned and dropped the act. "A ride would be great." She pecked her father on the cheek. "I’ll see you tonight, Dad."

She hefted Clarise’s bag and followed Bill to the driveway.

"I don’t want people thinking I’ve arrested you too," Bill said. He held the door to the front seat open for her. "So this morning, you ride in style." Betty squashed her instinct to huff and complain that she could open the door very well by herself, thank you very much. After all, he was just being polite.

The had barely pulled out of the driveway before Bill asked, "So, how do you know Clarise?"

Any fond, reminiscent feelings that Betty had been indulging fled. So, that was why he’d shown up this morning. He wanted to question her about Clarise.

"We were friends in high school," she said shortly.

He looked over at her, seeming to notice the shift in her mood. "Really?" he asked, keeping his voice light. "I thought she was older than you."

"She is. She was the guidance counselor."

"You were friends with your guidance counselor?"

"Yes," Betty said. "She was the only one who encouraged me to pursue drama. Are you done with the third degree?"

"I was just making conversation," Bill protested.

"Sure you were," Betty grumbled. She stared out the window. After a moment of silence, he turned on the radio. Betty couldn’t look at him. Her cheeks burned. They had been friends. Maybe not very close friends, but friends nonetheless. Now… now he was Chief of Police, and her best friend was behind bars for murder. She should have known better.

CHAPTER 14

Inside the police station was surprisingly business like. In fact, if it weren’t for the "Emergency Contact" and "Wanted" posters or the armed employees it was hardly different than any other shared office space. Officers and clerks sat at open air desks with pile of papers. Phones rang. People swore at copy machines.

"I’ll have Clarise moved to a visiting room. You can check your stuff in at the front desk."

Betty lifted the bag. "What about these? Do I have to have them checked before I give them to her?"

"Let me see."

He walked over to a table and rifled through the contents of the bag. He put back everything but the change of clothes and socks. "You’ll have to take back the blanket and toiletries," he explained. "We provide those already. But I’m sure she’ll appreciate the clothes. Come with me."

He walked her over to a room on one side of the office area. It had one glass wall. The rest of the walls looked to be solid concrete, except the door where people entered. That was metal, with a small barred window two thirds of the way up. There was a long, wooden table with a couple chairs on each side.

"We’ll bring Clarise in here," Bill said "It shouldn’t be too long."

"Thanks," she said. Bill shut the door as he left. The sound echoed.

For the second time in as many days, Betty found herself waiting in an office. She studied the grain on the table, tracing its whorls and lines with her finger. She’d probably been a bit too short with Bill. That really wasn’t fair to him. For all she knew, he’d really just been trying to make small talk.

She’d have to remember to apologize to him.

The door swung open and Clarise came into the room, flanked by two guards, Betty stood immediately. She examined her friend as the guard swiped a metal detector over her and patted her down.

Clarise’s eyes were red, her hair mussed, and her clothes wrinkled. She was wearing some sort of horrible grey sweat suit that exaggerated the bags beneath her eyes. She looked as though she hadn’t slept at all.

"We’ll be right outside," the guard said.

The moment the door clicked shut behind them Betty launched forward. She wrapped her arms around Clarise, holding her tight. Clarise hugged her back, squeezing her tightly. It was a long moment before Clarise pulled herself away.

"I’m fine Betty, really." Betty raised an eyebrow. There was no way Clarise was getting away with that statement. She opened her mouth to refute the statement.

"Well, maybe not fine," Clarise interrupted. "But I’ll live."

"I can’t believe they haven’t let you go yet," Betty said. "This is ridiculous!’

Clarise sat down. She leaned back into the chair, keeping her eye on Betty. "They’ll let me go soon enough." Her voice wavered. "They have to. I’m innocent. You know that I’m innocent, right?"

"Of course!" There was no doubt of that in Betty’s mind. None at all.

"Good." Clarise laughed. "You know, Sergeant Bundy doesn’t believe it either. He’s visited my cell a few times already, making sure that I was comfortable."

"Oh really?"

"Mmhm. He’s vowed to clear my name. It’s rather sweet."

"Maybe you just had to be behind bars for him to make his move?"

"That would be one for the grand kids." She mimicked a storyteller’s voice. "You see, I’d just been arrested. And your grandfather was a big cop at the jail…"

The two guards outside looked in when they heard Betty’s laughter. She waved at them.

To be honest hun," Clarise said, turning serious. "I’m more worried about you right now. What was with the melt down yesterday?"

Rats. So much for keeping the focus on her, Betty thought. "You noticed?"

Clarise snorted. "Honey, I think everyone on the whole block noticed. What happened?"

"Well…" Betty started. "I thought you were dead. And then you it turned out you were alive, but you were being arrested for who knew what. And…" she paused, trying to think of the right words to use. "I may have flipped out just a little."

Clarise glared at her. "I might have been arrested but that didn’t make me stupid. What’s going on?"

Sometimes, Betty really, really hated that Clarise knew her so well.

"You might as well just tell me," Clarise continues. "Otherwise, I’ll have to spend some of our visiting time wearing you down, and that would annoy me. I’m already tired and cranky. So spill."

Betty leaned forward and lowered her voice. She eyed the guards, wondering for the first time if they could hear everything they were saying.

"You have to promise not to say anything," she said, her voice barely above a murmur. "Not one word. Not to my parents, not to Sergeant Wes, not to anyone."

"Of course," Clarise said.

Betty took a steadying breath. "Before I met you for lunch, I had a doctor’s appointment."

Clarise straightened with a snap, panic crossing her face. "Are you okay? You don’t have cancer or something do you - are you pregnant?"

"Sssh! Calm down! No, I don’t have cancer and I would need a man in my life for - and you would already know about him."

"Oh good." Clarise smacked Betty’s shoulder. "Don’t do that! So?"

"I…" This was Clarise. Clarise, who never judged her. Her best friend, who was looking at her with concern even while there were handcuffs on her own wrists. She could trust Clarise. She could. "I have diabetes," she said in a rush, not meeting Clarise’s eyes.

"Oh…" Clarise seemed to be at a loss for words. Betty didn’t blame her. How could someone react to a revelation like that? "Have you told your parents?" Clarise asked.

"I already told you! No!"

"Let me rephrase that. Why not?" Clarise asked. "They’ll need to know sooner or later."