“Gretchen, I was just reading your email. I’m so glad we’re going with Edward and Vanessa. I think they’re perf—”
“Patty, does your father still own that condo?”
“The one he was screwing his mistress in?”
“Yeah, that one,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“He doesn’t, but my mother does. She got it in the settlement. She rents it out. It’s furnished, so I hang out there sometimes. It’s vacant right now. Why?”
“I need a place to hide out.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“Too much to explain over the phone. My life, my family’s lives, and Regina’s life have been threatened.”
“You’re scaring me. How can I help?”
“Do you still have the red wig, the one you wore when we were each other for Halloween last year?”
“I have it.”
“Bring it to my house. Meet me there in twenty minutes, and I’ll tell you what to do after that.”
“Got it. I’ll be there.”
“Thanks, Patty.” I hang up and drive home, thinking about doing something wonderful for Patty. She’s always wanted to go to Europe. I laugh out loud imagining the look on her face when I surprise her with a roundtrip ticket. It’ll put a dent in my savings, but I have to do something special for my BFF.
******
Patty, primping in the standalone mirror in my bedroom, runs her hands through the red wig that cascades off her shoulders and down her back. I walk around her and straighten my blue Patriots jersey she’s wearing.
“You look just like me, especially from behind,” I say.
“And you look like me.” She pats the pixie wig I have on, then pulls on the strap of the orange overalls I’m wearing.
We sit on the bed, and she takes my hand. “Gretchen, this is serious. It’s dangerous. I know you want to find out who killed Robert … you. But you could be killed again. It’s obvious a rival gang didn’t murder Robert. Someone with a lot of power killed Robert. They’ve gotten away with it for more than two decades, and they want to continue getting away with it.”
I rise and stand in front of the dresser, peering into the mirror at my red-rimmed eyes. “I want to stop. I want to let it go. I want to live. But I can’t. It’s like Robert has taken over.” Patty looks at me, questioning. “I know he hasn’t literally taken over. It’s his spirit, his soul, that now exists within me.”
She stands beside me. “Why don’t you go to the police?”
“I told you what that freak said. And it’s the truth. He’s working with Buford Barnes and god only knows who else. The police are the last people I need to go to. Regina and I are getting close. Once we finger the killer, we’re going to the FBI. Screw the police. I know the majority of them are good, but unfortunately, we’re dealing with the few that are rotten.”
“Where is Regina?”
“She called me right before you got here. She’s in Gurber Village. She found the neighbor, the last person to see Robert alive. She’s going to call me after she talks to the lady. I think this is the break we’ve been waiting for.”
“So what’s your plan?”
I go to the closet, get two suitcases, and place them on the bed. “We’re going to trade places.” I take my car key off the nightstand and hand it to her. “I know that prick is watching my every move. You’re going to pack, and then you’re going to leave here in my car and check into the Dancing Hills Hotel.”
Patty’s eyes widen.
“I know. It was the only hotel I could find on such short notice. A lot of people are in town for Thanksgiving. I’ve already reserved a room for you. You’re going to use my I.D. He’s most likely going to follow you. He’ll think I’m scared and running away, but he won’t know where I’m going, because he’s going to think I’m you. While he’s following you, I’ll already be at your mom’s condo. I’ll have my tablet, but it would be nice to have Wi-Fi and a working computer.”
“There’s a computer with a large monitor. Wide-screen TV, DVR.”
“Great. I plan to keep working on the case from there. After a day or two, when he sees you’re no longer trying to contact the police, he’ll go on his way. At least I’m hoping that’s how this’ll play out.”
“This is kind of exciting. I feel like I’m in an espionage movie.”
“This isn’t a movie, Patty. It’s real life—my life, Robert’s life.”
“I know,” she says, grabbing the duffel bag she brought. She dumps her underwear and pajamas into one of the suitcases and gives me several pairs of overalls. In turn, I give her several of my jerseys. She reaches into her purse and hands me her keys. “The round one is to the condo. And the gold one is for the ignition. You have to jiggle it to start my Jeep.”
“Good to know,” I say.
“What about Lance? Are you going to tell him?”
“No. I have enough to worry about.” I consider the clock on the nightstand. “I want to leave after it gets dark. We’ll have a better chance at fooling him under cover of darkness.”
“What about Thanksgiving?”
I fall onto the bed, once again wishing it were in January. “Patty, I’m sorry. Were you planning to spend it with your mom?”
“I was, but this is more important. What about you?”
“I’m going to tell my parents I’m ill. And the goon will think I’m too afraid to go home. Feel free to order a Thanksgiving dinner from room service.” Guilt pricks my insides. “That sounds horrible.”
“It’s okay, Gretchen.”
“Maybe we’ll be able to find Robert’s killer before Thanksgiving. Then we’ll really have something to be thankful for. But I know one thing I’m thankful for right this moment.”
“What?”
“That you’ve been putting up with me, Patty. You’ve gone above and beyond. And I don’t want to hear about me saving your life or about all I’ve done for you over the years. I’m not keeping score. You don’t owe me anything.”
My ringing phone startles us. Patty grabs it off the dresser.
“Is it restricted?” I say.
“No, it’s Lance.” She hands me the phone, and I debate whether I should answer. “Talk to him,” she urges.
I answer while she zips the suitcase and admires herself in the mirror, tossing the long hair over her shoulders. “Hey, Lance.”
“Hi.”
Silence.
“Are you still at school?”
“We got out early. What are you doing?”
“I’m talking to Patty.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Lance, wait. Why are you calling like everything is okay with us? You moved out.” I listen to his heavy breathing, wishing he’d talk. “Lance?”
“I miss you.”
“Lance, we need counseling or something. We can’t get back together without talking to someone. I know my situation with Robert has a lot to do with what’s going on, but we have other issues we need to resolve.”
“What other issues?” I imagine his blue eyes narrowing and his lips pursing.
“You’re too controlling.”
“No, I’m the other C word. I’m caring. I care about you.”
“I can’t debate this with you right now. I have something serious going on that I hope will be resolved in a few days. I’ll get back to you—”
“What’s wrong?” Patty says.
“He hung up on me.”
My phone rings again. “See, he got disconnected. He’s calling back,” Patty says.
“He’s not. It’s Regina calling.”
Chapter 30
Regina
Standing across the street from Gurber Village Community Baptist Church, I grip my phone, waiting for Gretchen to answer. I still can’t believe how things went from good to horrible in a matter of minutes. Every time I think about it, I get dizzy all over again. After I said my prayer, I sat on the bench, waiting for Harry to come back upstairs with Bertha. But that never happen
ed.
******
The sound of footfalls climbing the stairs made my stomach flutter. Just the thought of talking to Bertha and finding out what happened during the last minutes of Robert’s life made me anxious.
Harry reappeared, and the deep creases in his forehead and his eyes narrowed in suspicion concerned me. The man who’d welcomed me must have been left in the basement. I didn’t know who the hell this new Harry was.
“Uh, ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I said as I stood.
“You have to leave.”
“Did you talk to Bertha?”
He averted his eyes and pointed to the door. “You have to go, ma’am.”
I didn’t want to leave. I looked past him, and for an instant I thought about knocking him over and running down the stairs to confront Bertha, to ask her what lies she’d told this man. But the rage in his face and his clenched fists made me slow my row.
“I just need a minute of her time.”
“Do you want me to call the police?”
“Bertha! It’s Regina Parker. Are you there? I need to talk to you!” I screamed. I continued yelling, even when the man grabbed my arm and pushed me out of the church. I stood outside looking in, wondering what Bertha had told him and why she was hiding. I went back to my car and called Cookie. I needed to talk to someone, and I knew Gretchen was meeting with the detective.
“Hey, Gina. I’m at work. Hurry and tell me what’s up, before my supervisor comes back.”
“I found the neighbor, but she’s hiding out in her church. She told some guy who works there that I’m a nut or something, because he threw me out.”
“Where are you now?”
“In my car in the church parking lot.”
“Girl, drive around the corner or something. Do like your mother. Sneak up on that heifer. She can’t stay in the church all night. Wait in the cut, and then jam her up.”
“Cookie, you are so gangster.”
“You have to be. I got your text about Gretchen’s tires. Let me know if I need to call Willie and them.”
“Are you still messing with those gangsters?”
“My supervisor’s here. Gotta go.”
“I bet,” I say, hanging up. I did what Cookie suggested and parked around the corner.
******
I’m now standing between two houses across the street from the church, waiting for Bertha to make an appearance. Gretchen finally answers the phone.
“Regina, where are you?”
“I’m still in Gurber Village.” I scan the block, taking in the weather-beaten streets and the low-income houses flanking the church. I nearly twisted my ankle when I in tripped on a pothole. A man pushing a cart full of cans rakes his eyes across my face and down to my breasts, where his gaze lingers. I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to see through my thick blouse. I’m still wearing my audition clothes, and nothing is sexy about my DMV worker outfit.
“Did you talk to Bertha?”
“Bertha is hiding from me.” The church door opens, and my stomach drops. It’s just Harry, with a black garbage bag flung over his shoulder. He tosses the bag into the back of the pickup truck and goes back inside the church.
“Hiding from you? Why?”
“I think they threatened her—Buford Barnes and that fool who jammed you up at the park.”
“You’re probably right.”
“But I’m not going to let that stop me. I’ll think of something, come up with a plan. Is Patty on board?”
“Yeah. After you meet with Bertha, I need you to go to the hotel. Be there at 6:30 p.m. That’s what time Patty will arrive. It’ll be dark by then. The goon will think you’re visiting me there. He’s probably memorized your license plate, so he’ll know your car. I don’t think he’s going to try to do anything to you yet but be careful.”
“Okay,” I say, looking over my shoulder. “Then what?”
“We need to have a meeting. Do you think you can spend the night in Dancing Hills? Something tells me that time is running out. The person who shot Robert might panic and have us all wiped out. We have to move fast if we’re going to find Robert’s killer.”
“I agree. I’m already out this way. Let me call Cookie, see if she’ll cover for me.”
“That would be great. I’m going to have a Flash Ryde driver meet you at the back of the hotel. He’ll bring you to the condo where I’ll be staying. I’ll also call Kate and ask if she’ll join us. She has good insights.”
My eyes lock on Bertha stepping outside. She raises her meaty hand to her forehead to block the sun, then she swivels her head, looking up and down the block. I duck behind a tree. She wouldn’t recognize me anyway. She probably thinks I’m still skinny. “Gotta go. Bertha just came out of the church. I’ll call you back.”
“Okay. Be careful.”
I hang up, eyes still glued to Bertha’s dark-complexioned face. She’s gotten heavier, and her hair is gray. But she still has puffy cheeks and wide-set eyes under a thick unibrow. She yanks her purse strap into place, then waddles out of the parking lot. I cross the street and walk behind her, keeping enough distance that I don’t raise suspicion. I turn at the sound of footsteps. My eyes meet the man’s behind me. A mail bag draped over his shoulder, he walks past me, his calf muscles flexing with every step. I wonder when mail carriers started wearing shorts in the winter. Well, it is warm today, and winter’s still a few weeks away.
“Bertha, wait up—I have that letter you’ve been waiting on.”
Bertha turns toward the mail carrier, and I face the opposite direction. I slowly walk while the two of them exchange pleasantries. After he moves on, I continue following her. She stops at a yellow house, the fourth one away from the church. She walks toward the porch, and I run up to her. Shock fills her eyes, and she starts backing up.
“Bertha, it’s me, Regina Parker—Robert’s sister. I’m not here to hurt you.”
She stumbles to the front of her house, fumbling with her key, trying to unlock the door. I need to convince her to talk to me before she gets inside and shuts me out. “Buford Barnes is dead. He had a heart attack. He can’t hurt you.” Thank goodness for all those improv classes.
She freezes, then turns toward me, her face softening. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Can I talk to you? It’s important.”
She looks me up and down. “You’ve put on weight. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
I want to tell her that she’s put on weight too, but I need to stay on her good side. “Can I talk to you?”
“Come on in.”
She unlocks and opens the door, then motions for me to follow her into the matchbox masquerading as a house. I do so. Standing in the living room, my eyes travel to the pictures on the wall. They’re the same ones she had back in Shady Grove. A black-and-white print of an elderly couple sitting on a porch—her parents in Mississippi. A dignified-looking woman in a nurse’s uniform—her sister. A church choir, and numerous other photos, chronicle her modest life. My gaze dips to her thick, bare ring finger. She appears to still be single. When Curt started courting my mother, Bertha told her to give him a chance. Bertha said she’d let the love of her life get away, and she’d always regretted it.
“Have a seat.” I flop down on a lumpy floral sofa, and she sits across from me in the matching chair. “Can I get you anything?”
The truth. “No thanks—I’m good.”
She crosses her bare, age-spotted legs, and on a small table next to the chair, she sets the letter the mail carrier gave her. “That’s from my folks. There’s no return address. I tell them never to include it just in case somebody gets a hold of my mail. I don’t want nobody knowing where my people live.” She looks off into the distance and then back at me. “Are you sure that big-nosed cracker is dead?”
“Bertha, what did Buford do to you?”
“How did you find me?”
“Through a Be
rtha Winter in Dancing Hills.”
Her face lights up with pleased recognition. “That’s a good lady there. She almost hired me, but she already had help. I work at the church now.”
I look at the wall clock near a tall lamp in the corner. It’s almost 1:00 p.m. I still have to contact Cookie. “Bertha, I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Buford was there the night Robert was killed.”
“At the scene?”
“Before the scene. Before anyone even knew Robert was shot.”
I grip the sofa arm and press my UGG boots into the matted, stained carpet. “Are you saying that Buford killed Robert?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” She rises and goes to the only window in the room. She pulls open the blinds and looks out as though she’s trying to make sure Buford hasn’t risen from his fake grave. After a few beats, she closes the blinds, but not all the way. Sunlight seeps through the slats, casting stripes across the pictures on the wall. She slumps down into the chair and says, “Somebody else shot him.”
“Who?” I say, rising.
“I don’t know.”
I again sit and fold my hands together, trying to remain calm. The flicker of hope I was experiencing just died. “Bertha, what happened that night?”
“I was at home watching the Times Square New Year’s Eve countdown. I had taped it. I remember it because that famous football quarterback, Terry Bradshaw, was the host, and I was imagining Robert hosting it one day. It was around 12:45 a.m. A lot of fireworks were still going off. So were gunshots. Fools in the ’hood love having a reason to shoot off guns. After a few minutes it got quiet. Then I heard a car pull up and its doors slamming. I went to the window, and I saw a limo. People started getting out of it. I saw Robert, your folks, and you and some other people. More cars came, then loud music started playing. It sounded like y’all was having a good time.
“Around 1:30 a.m., I heard voices outside. I went to the porch and saw Robert and your stepfather talking. We spoke, and I went back inside and got me some eggnog. When I went back to the living room, I saw a pretty firework display through the window. So I went back outside, and Robert was standing next to a white Mercedes. I was wondering who in the neighborhood, besides Robert, could afford a fancy car like that. I noticed it was a rental, and a white man was behind the wheel. Robert seemed happy to see whoever it was. He told him he couldn’t believe the man was here. Then Robert asked him if somebody named Nan or Nanny or something like that was with him. My phone rang, and I went back inside. My cousin Tilly was calling to wish me a Happy New Year. Then I got me some more eggnog, and while I was closing the refrigerator, I heard a loud blast. I was angry because it scared me. I just wanted all the fireworks to stop. That, and the loud music, was too much. I was so mad I felt like that man in that movie that came out in the 70s. He screams and tells everyone how mad he is. I was going to go outside and say the same thing. Network—that’s the movie. So I rushed outside and …” Her face tightens in outrage and disbelief.
The Truth About Gretchen Page 24