Kendra Clayton Mystery Box Set

by Angela Henry

  “Do you remember what time she came back?” I asked, interrupting Iris.

  She looked at me for a few seconds. “No, not really. I mean, I was in the gym helping set up tables and chairs. You were there yourself, Kendra, remember? When I got back to my desk to go to lunch at eleven thirty, my car keys and the programs were on my desk. Not that I was very hungry. I was in and out of the bathroom every five minutes. I didn’t come back after lunch. Just between you and me,” she said, leaning close to me, “Dorothy said she understood about me being sick, but she’s been acting funny toward me ever since I came back to work. She was telling me about that awful sub that worked for me. You’d have thought it was my fault the woman was so horrible the way she’s acting.”

  “Iris, did the police talk to you?” I asked, then wished I hadn’t when I saw the shocked look on her face.

  “The police! Good God, no! Why would they want to talk to me?” Her cheeks were positively flaming. I didn’t think she had that much color in her.

  “No reason, Iris. I just wondered with all that’s happened with Bernie if maybe they talked to anyone else at the center.” I wasn’t doing a very good job of cleaning it up. But Iris seemed to buy it. Her normal sallow color was returning.

  I excused myself and went to look for Bernie. I found her in the kitchen talking to Diane. Diane was wearing a black Ann Taylor coatdress that surprisingly came to her knees, instead of two or three inches above, and a beautiful triple-strand pearl choker with a diamond clasp in the shape of a butterfly. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail with a mother-of-pearl barrette. She and Bernie were standing with their backs to me and didn’t see me when I came in.

  “This isn’t the time, Diane. We can talk about this later. The business isn’t going anywhere. It’ll still be here when I get back,” Bernie said with a sigh. She sounded pissed.

  “Well, we need to get this taken care of pretty soon, Bernie. They’re not going to wait around forever. We’d be fools not to take them up on this offer. You’ve never had any interest in Gibson Realty. I can’t understand why you’re dragging your feet on this.”

  Bernie spun toward Diane to give an angry reply and spotted me in the process. Diane also turned and they both gave me an annoyed look. Between the two of them and Joy, I was really starting to get a complex.

  Without even speaking to me, Diane announced that she had to find Trevor and his tramp and left the room in a wake of Opium perfume.

  “I seem to be developing a talent for coming in at the wrong time.”

  “No, actually you saved me from giving that bitch a piece of my mind. I knew she had a reason for wanting me to stay with her that didn’t have anything to do with wanting to be there for me and all that other bullshit she’s been feeding me.”

  “I wondered about that myself,” I said, slightly amused at the fact that Bernie was turning into such a potty mouth. Or maybe I was just seeing the real Bernie.

  “We’ve had an offer from a larger real estate company in Columbus to buy Gibson Realty. Diane and I are co-owners. Neither of us can sell without the other’s consent. I’m not ready to give mine yet, and Diane’s been bugging the hell out of me for days to sign the papers.”

  “You thinking about selling real estate?”

  “No, not at all. It’s just that it’s the only thing I have left of my mother and brother. They both loved that business and put so much of themselves into it. It’s not going to be easy to let it go. I can’t seem to get Diane to understand that.”

  “Diane’s never struck me as being the sentimental type,” I said. Knowing Diane, she was probably mentally calculating how many little short tight skirts she could buy with the money.

  “Didn’t Ben leave her provided for? Why’s she so hot to sell the business?”

  “Ben left Diane more than enough to live on. But Diane’s always been foolish with money. Most of it goes on her back or to spoil that rotten nephew of mine. You should see the Jeep she just bought that boy. If I were him, I wouldn’t want to go to college either. Why should he when his mama will buy him anything he wants?”

  “I overheard you say ‘when I get back.’ Are you going somewhere?”

  “A college friend invited me to visit her in Seattle. I was thinking about going just as soon as this business with Jordan’s murder is wrapped up. I just hope and pray it’s soon.”

  This was the most Bernie had talked to me in days. I knew I had to bring up the umbrella but I hated to. It almost seemed like old times for a minute. I decided it was now or never.

  “Iris wanted me to return your umbrella to you. She said you left it in her car last Friday when you used it.” I held my breath and watched closely, praying that any expression or reaction might give me the slightest clue. I was disappointed. She looked right back at me completely unfazed.

  “No big deal. I have plenty of umbrellas. I didn’t even miss it.” We stared each other down for what seemed like an eternity. Bernie looked away first.

  “I hope you didn’t think I was going break down and confess, did you?”

  “I didn’t—” I began. She held up her hand and stopped me.

  “Before you even ask. Yes, I used Iris’s car to go pick up the programs at the printer’s. Yes, I drove past the house on Archer. Yes, my car was parked outside. No, I didn’t stop. No, I didn’t kill Jordan.” She crossed her arms and stared at me with a self-righteous look that I wanted to slap off her face. If she was hoping I felt stupid, she’d be disappointed. I had a right to know, a right that was given to me when she asked me to go along with a lie. Instead of slinking off embarrassed, I asked, “Why didn’t you stop?”

  “Because I thought or hoped he was there telling Vanessa it was over between them and that he and I were getting married. I gave him an ultimatum: either give up his chick on the side or get the hell out of my house. That’s why he moved into the guest bedroom. He sulked around the house for a few weeks acting like a man falsely accused. Then a couple of days before he died, he did a complete turnaround.

  He was really nice to me and he apologized. Said we should get married. I told him he’d have to tell Vanessa ‘cause that was the only way I’d believe he was sincere.”

  I didn’t have the heart to suggest that maybe his needing to use her car had something to do with his turnaround. “Did he say he was going to tell her that morning?”

  “No, he just said he’d see me later that night at the recognition program. I didn’t plan on going past the house that morning. I just ended up there. When I saw my car parked in front of the house, I was hoping against hope that he was breaking things off with her.”

  “That’s why you didn’t want to leave Friday after the recognition program?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “I was so sure he’d show up. I guess when he didn’t, I just couldn’t believe he’d lied. How do you think I feel knowing that when I drove by he was either already dead or being murdered?” Her eyes were filled with tears that were threatening to spill.

  I was always amazed at Bernie’s capacity to love a man who’d treated her the way Jordan had. I knew love caused people to do strange things. I just hoped that it was really love that had caused Bernie to act the way she had after the recognition program and not guilt. As mad as I’d been at her for the past couple of days, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. I hated to see her so miserable.

  “Hey, I know something that might cheer us both up,” I said, putting my arm around her shoulders and giving them a squeeze. “Let’s go out and get a drink later, okay.”

  “Yeah, let’s go to the Spot,” she said, perking up considerably.

  My heart sank. The Spot was a local watering hole called the Spotlight Bar and Grill. The Spot had been an institution in Willow since before my parents were born. It was located in a seedy little building that wasn’t much bigger than my apartment. I’d only ever been there once—with Bernie when we first became friends. I hadn’t been impressed with the expensive, watered-dow
n drinks and all the cigarette smoke. I’d vowed that it would be my last visit. But, I could stand it just this once if it would cheer Bernie up. Famous last words.

  I met Bernie at the Spot a few hours later. I was still in my funeral clothes, but Bernie had changed into a gold Capri pantsuit. I felt dowdy by comparison in my black skirt and gray silk blouse. When we opened the door, we were greeted by a thick cloud of cigarette smoke and loud laughter. Marvin Gaye’s “Got to Give It Up” was blasting from an ancient jukebox in the corner. It was crowded and we had to squeeze our way up to the bar. There was no place to sit, and after paying for our drinks we stood by the bar sipping them. We practically had to scream at each other in order to have a conversation. My eyes were watering and my throat was getting scratchy from all the smoke, but Bernie looked like she was having the time of her life, bobbing her head to the music. She gulped down the last of her drink and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me toward a small table by the bar that had just been vacated. It felt good to sit down, and I slipped my pumps off under the table and looked around.

  The Spot attracted a very diverse clientele. Aging players trying to mack and party girls who looked like they’d stayed at the party too long were elbow to elbow with Spandex-encased sweet young things looking for their next baby daddy and junior thugs doing their best to look and act hard.

  “Damn, it’s good to get out. I’ve felt like a prisoner all week long,” Bernie said, smiling and looking more relaxed than I’d seen her since before Jordan’s murder. I noticed that everybody was looking at us and figured they were wondering if a murderer was in their midst. Thankfully, Bernie didn’t seem to notice the attention we were attracting.

  “I’m glad you’re having fun. If you want, we can go to some other places too,” I said hopefully.

  “Oh this is just fine, Kendra. This is just what I needed.” Great, it appeared I was stuck there for the evening.

  I excused myself and went to stand in the long line to use the one dingy little restroom that was for both men and women. When I got back to our table, about twenty minutes later, Bernie had been joined by a chubby, orange-suited, gold-chain-wearing man with processed hair who looked about her age. The two of them were laughing like they were old friends, so I figured they must know each other.

  “Kendra, this is Lewis Watts,” Bernie said, introducing us. I shook Lewis’s hand and sat down.

  “What’ll you two beautiful ladies have to drink? I’m buying,” Lewis asked us, although he was staring at Bernie the whole time.

  “I’ll have a whisky sour,” said Bernie.

  “Rum and Coke,” I said. As Lewis headed up to the bar, I noticed he wasn’t much taller than the garden gnome in Mama’s backyard.

  “It’s nice you ran into a friend,” I commented to Bernie.

  “Girl, I just met him five minutes ago. He’s sharp, isn’t he? I’ve always been a sucker for a man who knows how to dress.”

  She couldn’t be serious. Sharp? The man looked like a pumpkin with a perm. I was starting to get an uneasy feeling. Bernie had just buried her fiancé. The last thing she needed was to get caught up with some new man. Before I could comment, Lewis was back with our drinks.

  “That was quick,” said Bernie, beaming at Lewis.

  “I spend a lot of money in this joint, baby doll. They know they better serve me quick if they want to keep me coming back,” he said smugly.

  “So, Lewis, what do you do for a living?” I asked, trying to make conversation.

  “I’m on disability. Got a bad back. But don’t worry. It don’t keep me from handlin’ my bidness, if you know what I mean,” he said, winking at Bernie who giggled like a schoolgirl.

  Talk about too much information. It occurred to me that all this time I had been wondering how a woman as nice as Bernie could become involved with a man like Jordan. She wasn’t just a sucker for well-dressed men. Now I knew that Bernie was just a sucker for any man who showed her the slightest bit of attention. I watched her for the next hour as she flirted and acted like a bubblehead.

  We listened as Lewis told us how all he needed was a good woman to take care of him and how he was worth it because he was a good man. Bernie was mesmerized. I could almost see the wedding bells in her eyes. At one point, I bent under the table to retrieve one of my pumps and saw that Lewis’s big meaty hand was massaging Bernie’s knee. Bernie didn’t appear to have learned any lesson from the whole Jordan fiasco. I had to get her out of there before she ended up engaged to this fool too.

  It didn’t take much effort on my part, as I was starting to feel queasy. I’m not much of a drinker, and the drinks I’d had were not mixing well with all the food I’d eaten after the funeral. Plus, all the secondhand smoke I was inhaling made me feel like I was about to toss my cookies in Lewis’s lap.

  “Ooh, Kendra, you don’t look so hot. Are you all right?” Bernie asked, rubbing my back.

  I was afraid to open my mouth, so I just shook my head no. Bernie gently pulled me to my feet.

  “Lewis, it was nice meeting you, but I better take Kendra home. You take care and thanks for the drinks.”

  Lewis gave Bernie a big grin and told us to have a nice evening. However, when I waved good-bye to him, he glared at me like I’d farted in church. By the time Bernie got me to the door, I looked back and saw that Lewis had wasted no time in scouting a new conquest and was now grinning at a well-preserved matron holding court at the bar. Once outside, I felt the cool rush of fresh night air on my face and promptly threw up in the bushes.

  SEVEN

  B&S Hair Design and Nail Sculpture was packed as usual. I sat in the crowded reception area along with a dozen or so other women who were waiting for their turn to be beautified. The familiar scent of chemicals filled the air. There was a TV set mounted on the wall in a corner above the receptionist’s desk. A talk show was on and those who weren’t reading Jet, Ebony, or Essence were watching Nadine tell her husband Earl how she wasn’t sure their daughter Misty was his child. The topic of this particular show was “I’ve Got Something to Tell You.” It should have been called “I Want to Humiliate Myself and Loved Ones on National TV.”

  Curtained doorways flanked opposite sides of the reception area. Through the black-curtained doorway to the left was the hair salon run by Bruce Robins, Gwen’s nephew. Through the silver-curtained doorway to the right was the nail salon run by Bruce’s wife Sheila. My nails were what had brought me to the shop on a dreary Friday afternoon. I wanted a manicure for my date with Carl Brumfield later that night. At least that was the official reason. I really wanted to talk to Natasha Woods about the woman she’d seen Jordan arguing with. Since Natasha hadn’t yet built up a clientele, it wasn’t hard to get a last-minute appointment.

  As I sat there pondering just how I could get Natasha to tell me what she’d seen, the curtain to the hair salon parted and out stepped Bruce Robins with his fine self. I couldn’t help but notice the almost audible crackle of electricity as every woman in the room took notice of Bruce. He was dressed casually in faded jeans and a black T-shirt. Even his feet, which were shod in leather sandals, looked good. Bruce always looked like he needed a shave. On most men that would have been real raggedy. On Bruce it was sexy as hell. I’ve actually known more attractive men, but Bruce exuded a charm and sensuality that made every woman who sat down in his chair feel as if he were all theirs—that is as long as they were getting their heads worked on.

  He spotted me and frowned slightly.

  “Didn’t I just cut you?” he asked, running a caressing hand over my hair. Warmth spread through my body that made me feel very needy. He had indeed cut my hair a week earlier, the day before the recognition program.

  “I won’t be visiting your side today. I need to get my nails done.”

  “Really, I didn’t think you were into nails. You’ve never struck me as the two-inch-long-nails-with-glitter type,” he said, sitting down next to me.

  “You’re right about that. I’m not up for the care an
d feeding of any nail tips just yet. A simple French manicure will do for now.”

  “Who’s your appointment with?”

  “Natasha Woods.”

  “Tasha’s cool,” he said, running a hand over his scruff. “She likes to run her mouth a little too much, but Sheila says she’s good.”

  That’s just what I wanted to hear. I wanted her to run her mouth, the more the better. Five minutes after Bruce led his next appointment away, a heavyset girl came through the silver curtains and called my name. I walked back just as a tearful Earl was telling Nadine that he’d always suspected Misty wasn’t his child and this suspicion had lead him to an affair with Nadine’s mother, Wilma. Whoever had coined the phrase the truth is stranger than fiction had unknowingly predicted TV talk shows of the future.

  Natasha gestured me toward the table in her booth and sat down on the other side.

  “So what we doin’ today?” she asked and looked very put out when I told her that all I wanted was a French manicure. “We’re runnin’ a special on acrylic nails this week,” she said hopefully.

  She finally got to work on my nails after I explained that I was a simple woman who didn’t live an acrylic-nails lifestyle. Simply translated, this meant that I was too poor and too lazy to be bothered with my nails on a regular basis. As long as they were clean and trimmed, I was happy. Besides, I’d rather spend my money on the other luxuries in life like food and shelter. She seemed a little put out but she’d get over it.

  Her own nails were about three inches long and were painted metallic silver with black zigzagging stripes. They matched the silver smock that she and the other nail technicians wore. Her hair was styled in a French roll that was almost conical with long tendrils that framed her face and hung almost to her shoulders. The tendrils were dyed blond and looked a little strange in contrast to her dark brown hair. I noticed a gap between her two front teeth, making her look like someone else I’d met recently.