by Angela Henry
I remembered a week or so ago when Bernie first told me about Raymond Hodge on Diane’s patio. She told me that if the police really wanted her to be guilty, they would find a way for her to have done it. Her theory was coming true.
“So this is the smoking gun that made you arrest Bernie? A note that isn’t even in her handwriting, doesn’t have Jordan’s name on it, and could have been written by anybody! Where did you find this?”
“In Ms. Gibson’s purse. We also found Mr. Wallace’s missing keys and half of a broken, bloodstained baseball bat, which we believe to be the murder weapon, in her gardening shed. Is that enough of a smoking gun for you, Miss Clayton?”
“You do realize that there must have been at least a hundred people in and out of Bernie’s house after Jordan’s funeral? Anybody could have planted that evidence. Why would Bernie hide this stuff on her property? And as for her purse, it’s always a mess. Someone could have slipped that note inside and she would have never known it was there!” I said vehemently.
“Be that as it may, Bernice Gibson has the strongest motive. We’ve yet to come up with any person who has a stronger one.”
“I just gave you two!” I was practically vibrating with anger. “And why did you decide to search Bernie’s house anyway?”
“I can’t tell you that,” Harmon said, glaring at me. “Now, unless you have something you’d like to confess, I don’t want to hear anymore. Stay out of police business, Miss Clayton.”
“Was it an anonymous tip, maybe a letter typed like the one I found?” She looked up abruptly, letting me know I was right.
“I don’t have time for this. Evidence is what we need, not speculation. And we have plenty of evidence against Ms. Gibson. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.” She bent over her paperwork without another word. Having been dismissed, I promptly got up to leave and almost ran into Charles Mercer carrying a box of doughnuts. He said something to me that I didn’t catch. I was so pissed that I didn’t stop to find out what it was.
I arrived at the Willow County courthouse later that morning for Bernie’s appearance in front of the judge. It took all of five minutes. She was led into the courtroom dressed in an orange jumpsuit. Her usually immaculate French roll was coming undone. She looked tired and more than a little scared. She was led over to sit next to her lawyer Emmett Palmer. The courtroom was packed. I was able to find a seat at the back. Diane was sitting in the row behind Bernie and her lawyer. Next to Diane I was surprised to see Trevor, who was looking more than a little bored. I scanned the room to see if Raymond Hodge would make an appearance. I didn’t see him. I did see Vanessa Brumfield, hiding behind a pair of dark sunglasses, slip into the back row, two seats down from me. She hadn’t noticed me yet.
When the judge asked Bernie how she pled and she answered with a clear “not guilty,” I quickly looked over at Vanessa and saw a look of smug disbelief on her face. After a few minutes of arguing over whether or not to grant bail, the judge set Bernie’s at five hundred thousand dollars. I knew Bernie would be able to pay. I turned to leave just in time to see Vanessa quickly slip out the door. I followed her out to the parking lot and caught up with her.
“I’m real surprised to see you here, Vanessa. Did you come to gloat?”
She gave me a look that could have frozen water.
“Look, I’m just as curious about this whole thing as anybody else, more so since it happened where I lived and I was questioned by the police. It’s obvious to me that someone was trying to set me up, and it was more than likely your friend.”
“If anyone was set up, it was Bernie. I have to wonder if maybe it should be you sitting in Bernie’s place. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars is a hell of a motive for murder in my book. What happened? Did Jordan want a piece of it to keep your affair secret from Daddy, or was there something else he knew about that would have blown your inheritance?” I looked pointedly at her stomach. She backed away from me, openly shocked at my blatant innuendo.
“You nosy bitch,” she practically spat at me. “Mind your own damn business!” She turned to walk away and I started to follow her; then she had a change of heart and turned back to me, smiling slyly.
“Okay, you want to know the truth. Yeah, I fucked Jordan Wallace. I fucked him every chance I got. So what! He wasn’t married, and I was on my way to being single again.”
“What about Dr. Adamson? Aren’t the two of you an item?”
“Ted’s a nice man but he’s no red-hot lover, and I’m not married to him either. I can do whatever I want with whomever I want. I let good sex cloud my judgment, and I mistakenly confided in Jordan about my inheritance and how I had to leave Carl to get it. Jordan thought he could blackmail me into giving him half my inheritance by threatening to tell my father about us. He was wrong, dead wrong!”
“Why all this honesty now? Is it because an innocent woman is in jail for something you did? Or maybe you had an accomplice.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t kill him, and if she didn’t do it, then she has nothing to worry about, does she? I can afford to be honest with you because I have nothing to lose now. Besides, it’s just your word against mine.”
This time when she walked away, I let her.
I worked at Estelle’s that afternoon. Things were better between Gwen and Alex. With Joy being in the hospital, the tension between them had melted, making it more pleasant for everybody. Alex had been to the hospital to drop off some flowers that we’d all chipped in for and reported that Joy had been moved from ICU to a regular room. I needed to talk to Joy about Jordan. I just hoped I got a chance to do it when her aunt wasn’t around.
I headed over to the hospital when I got off at six. Visiting hours were over at eight o’clock. As I was entering the hospital, I ran into Joy’s aunt. She didn’t look pleased.
“There’s nothing wrong, is there?” I asked warily.
“Nope, everything’s right as rain. Joy’s getting better, though her memory isn’t the greatest right now. But she’s awake and on the mend.”
“Oh, well is it okay if I go up and say hi?” She still looked grim despite what she’d just said.
“Of course. You go right on up. Joy’s not alone though. Her little friend Cory is up there with her.” She shook her head in disgust. “Try as I might, I just can’t understand it. Anyway, will you tell Joy I’ll be back in an hour?”
“Sure, Mrs. Mills.” I watched her walk off still shaking her head. She was going to have to accept Joy and Cory’s relationship if she wanted to remain in Joy’s life.
I found Joy’s new room and knocked a couple of times before I walked in. Joy was sitting up in bed. The swelling had gone down in her face, but her head was still wrapped in bandages. Cory was sitting on the edge of the bed, and I got the impression I’d just interrupted something. Cory instantly tensed upon seeing me. Joy just looked surprised and a little confused.
“You certainly look a lot better than when I was here last time,” I said softly as I approached the bed. “Do you remember me, Joy?”
Joy stared at me for a moment. “I work with you, don’t I?” She sounded unsure and looked over at Cory, who shot me an evil look. I ignored her.
“That’s right. How are you feeling?”
“Better. What’s your name again?”
“Kendra. Does that sound familiar to you?”
“I remember now,” she said, still sounding a little unsure. I never thought I’d see Joy Owens looking so vulnerable.
I started to ask her another question when Cory interrupted me. “Can I talk to you outside please?”
I reluctantly followed her out into the hall. She spun around to face me. Her face was contorted in rage. “You really think you’re slick, don’t you?”
“I’m just visiting Joy. What’s the problem?”
“No, you just want to grill her about that man her mom was engaged to. Can’t you see she barely remembers your name? How is she going to be able to remember anythin
g about that man? And didn’t they arrest somebody for his murder? It was all over the news yesterday.”
“They have the wrong person.”
“And you think Joy’s the right person?” Her hands were clenched at her sides ready for battle.
A nurse walked by and gave us a curious look.
“That painting proves she was at least in the house and saw the body. Maybe she saw something that she doesn’t realize could help the case.”
“Maybe she did but she’s in no shape to answer any questions now.”
“Has it occurred to you that maybe Joy’s accident was no accident and might have something to do with this? That Joy may have witnessed something that caused someone to want to kill her and that they might try again?”
“It was an accident, an accident! She was out on a dark country road late at night. It was a hit-and-run, pure and simple. Now go away and leave us alone!” She spun on her heel and went into Joy’s room, leaving me staring after her in shock.
I drove around for a while to calm myself down. I put a Sade tape in my cassette deck and let the mellow, mournful sound of her voice lull me into a calmer mood. Calmer not happier. I was pissed. How could Cory claim to care so much about Joy and not at least consider what I said?
I didn’t feel like going home. I stopped at Frisch’s Big Boy instead and got some hot-fudge cake to make myself feel better. Chocolate has a very therapeutic effect on me. While I ate, I started wondering where Raymond Hodge was. There are only a few places in Willow to stay. There was of course the Holiday Inn. I really couldn’t see him being there. The media would easily find him. There were a couple of bed-and-breakfasts that mainly catered to the rich parents of Kingford College students and visiting professors. Then there was the Heritage Arms. It was a swanky name for what was actually a roach motel at the edge of town.
I lost my virginity at the Heritage Arms the summer before I went away to college. It was the perfect place for illicit activity and for people trying to stay on the down low. I had a secret summer romance with the son of one of my mother’s friends. His name was Ricky Sanders, and it was a secret because he was older, engaged, and could have been arrested. I was too young and naive to have the good grace to feel guilty about helping him cheat on his fiancée. In the end, I went off to Ohio State and he got married. Ricky’s now on his third marriage and has six kids. I guess he’s going to keep doing it until he gets it right. Considering that Raymond and Bernie had an illicit affair of their own twenty years ago, I was betting Raymond Hodge knew the Heritage Arms well.
I headed over there. I hadn’t decided if I was going to try and talk to Raymond Hodge. I still remembered our last encounter. To be on the safe side, I tossed a can of pepper spray in my purse that Mama had given me a while back. She’d gotten it free for filling out a magazine survey on home security. It seemed a little too convenient that he had shown up in town to give a statement against Bernie. I wanted to find out why he’d come back to Willow and how he even knew about Jordan’s murder.
I pulled into the gravel parking lot and headed to the office. The motel itself consisted of two separate one-story buildings. It hadn’t changed much at all since I’d been there. The last time I was there, the buildings were painted a dingy white with blue trim. Now they were painted a dingy gray with black trim. The office was located in the first building, the one that faced the road. The second building was at an angle behind the first making an L-formation. Country music was blaring out of a radio on a shelf behind the front desk, which was manned by a scrawny teenaged girl with braces. She was chewing gum and bobbing her head to Shania Twain.
“Yeah, you want a room?” she asked after giving me the onceover.
“No, I just wanted to ask you a question,” I said loudly over the loud music.
“What?”
I glared at the radio until with great reluctance she finally turned it down.
“Can you tell me if a man named Raymond Hodge is staying here? He’s a tall, slim, black man in his fifties.”
“Nope,” she said with a loud pop of her gum.
“Nope he’s not here, or nope you can’t tell me.”
“Can’t tell. It’s against the rules.” I wasn’t surprised. A year ago, a woman caught her husband and his secretary at the Heritage Arms and shot and killed them both. Her husband had registered with his real name. The desk clerk on duty had told the man’s wife he was staying there. Hence, the new anonymity rule.
“It’s very important that I find him.”
“You a cop?” Her eyes narrowed just a bit.
“No, I’m not.”
“Sorry, can’t help you.” She turned the radio up and turned her back on me. That was the last straw. I wasn’t about to let this monosyllabic, gum-popping child be the fourth person in one day to tell me to beat it. I was going to get an answer to my question, and she was going to give it to me. Unfortunately, the only way I could think to do it was to burst into tears, loud, heart-wrenching sobs that got the clerk’s attention right away. Her eyes were as big as saucers as she quickly turned off the radio.
“Lady, are you okay?”
“No, I’m not.” Angela Bassett had nothing on me at that moment. “The man I’m looking for is my daddy and he’s an alcoholic. Every now and then he takes off and checks into a cheap motel and drinks until he blacks out. It used to only happen once or twice a year, but he’s getting worse. This is the second time this month he’s done this. I just want to make sure he’s okay. Can’t you please tell me if he’s here?” I even wrung my hands for a more melodramatic effect.
The clerk looked torn. She was clearly moved by my story, as her eyes were glistening just a bit. Maybe she, too, had a relative overly fond of alcohol. Most of us do. However, I could tell she was still reluctant to break the rules, so I made it easy for her.
“Just nod yes or no. Is a man that fits the description I gave you staying here?”
The clerk hesitated just a bit, then nodded yes. Bingo.
“Is he staying here alone?” Another yes.
“What room is he staying in?” A vigorous no.
“Okay, okay, is he staying in this building?” A slight no nod. I felt a little like I was playing charades. This was going to take forever.
“The next building...”
I finally found out that my drunk daddy was in room 10B. He had checked in on Sunday. He’d had at least one visitor since he arrived. The clerk didn’t know if it was a man or a woman, just that she’d noticed two shadows behind his curtained window as she left to go home. The clerk hadn’t seen him all day and hadn’t seen anyone go in or out of his room. Information gathering was hard. I didn’t envy private investigators one bit. I decided to have a chat with dear old dad since I was here. I felt around the bottom of my purse for the pepper spray.
Room 10B was the very last one on the end of the second building. I approached it warily. The curtains were drawn and I could see the dim glow of the TV. I thought I saw a figure go past the window. I knocked softly, fully expecting a shocked Raymond Hodge to be the fifth person that day to tell me to get lost. There was no answer.
“Mr. Hodge, are you in there?” Silence.
“Look, I know you’re in there. Open up. I need to talk to you. I’m a friend of Bernice Gibson, and I’m not going away until I talk to you.”
The door opened a crack.
“You alone?” croaked a raspy, disembodied voice from inside.
I said I was. It opened a bit more, and like a fool whose mother never taught her any better, I walked in. The fleeting images I remembered were of a darkened room that smelled like a distillery. I also caught a glimpse of a trashcan heaped with liquor bottles. The only light in the room came from the TV, which had been turned down and was casting eerie flickering shadows on the walls. The door slammed shut behind me. I turned my head just in time to see a shadowy figure moving quickly toward me. Before I could turn completely around, I heard glass breaking and simultaneously felt an explosio
n of pain in my head. I sank to my knees and fell forward into darkness. So much for the pepper spray.
When I finally woke up in the hospital the next day, I had a concussion and a cut on my scalp that took ten stitches to close. I’d been hit over the head with a bottle, probably one from the pile that I’d seen in the trash. Mama was sitting by my bed when I woke up. Her usual rich coloring looked washed-out. She looked old and tired and that scared me more than what had happened to me.
She helped me sit up in bed. My head felt huge and my tongue felt thick. I tasted blood and discovered that I must have bitten my tongue when I hit the floor. I had a bandage on the back of my head. Mama sat down on the edge of the bed and laid a cool, comforting hand on my forehead. The tenderness of her touch overwhelmed me, and hot tears spilled down my cheeks. Mama’s the only one I can be a complete baby around. I hated for anyone else to see me cry. Mama sat by silently, letting me get it all out of my system. When I was finished, she gently wiped my face. I gave her a weak smile. Then she let me have it.
“Girl, are you trying to give me a heart attack? What in the world were you thinking?”
I was thankful that she was speaking quietly in deference to my wounded head. I shook my head miserably and winced.
“I wasn’t thinking. That was the problem. I just wanted to talk to Raymond Hodge. I didn’t know he’d attack me.” But was I really surprised given our last encounter? The memory of his wild eyes in Joy’s apartment should have kept me away. I felt incredibly stupid.
Mama proceeded to tell me how the desk clerk had found me after seeing someone running from the room. When the ambulance and police arrived, the clerk had been babbling about how I’d been attacked by my drunken father. It took Mama forever to explain that my father was in fact living in Florida and didn’t drink at all. She looked at me expectantly. One good thing about a head injury was that I could always pretend that I didn’t know what she was talking about. She’d never believe me though. She knew all of my tricks.