by Angela Henry
“Now, you really need to thank me for that one, Morris. That boy was rotten to the core. He was selling drugs. I knew when we went to Detroit for the Midwest conference you’d go and see that boy. I followed you and watched him loud-talk you and treat you like crap in front of all his lowlife friends. I watched them laugh at you. It was a disgrace. Then you left and I followed him around in my rental. I saw him selling that poison to people left and right. Some of them were just kids. I waited for my chance and then I saw him running after some poor guy. Yelling that he was going to kill him. So, I let the Lord work through me. I ran him down in the street just like the animal he was. And I couldn’t believe it when you got the biggest insurance payout for the most worthless child. That money helped our scholarship fund, didn’t it? We were able to send some kids to college. More good came out of that boy’s death than in all of his miserable life,” Rondell screamed.
“His name wasn’t ‘That Boy.’ It was Ricky. And he was my son, you bastard!” Rollins cried as he lunged at his brother.
Rollins and Rondell grappled like wrestlers. They both fell to the floor and rolled around, punching each other. Rondell seemed to have the upper hand and was alternating between punching his brother and hitting him with the butt of the gun. Bonita was flapping her arms and running in circles around the two of them, like a headless chicken, pleading for them to stop. Inez and I just stared at the brawling men while the nurse, who’d been silently taking everything in, ran for the cordless phone, which was sitting on the dining room table.
Rondell lurched to his feet, kicked his brother hard in the stomach, and pressed the barrel of the gun against Rollins’s forehead. Bonita let out a blood-curdling scream and threw herself on top of her brother-in-law, shielding him from her husband. Rondell looked at his wife and started to sob.
“See, man? They all want you. It’s all about you.” He put the gun to his own temple.
After that, everything seemed to move in slow motion. Inez raised her arms and ran forward screaming, “Uncle Rondell! No!”
Morris grabbed Bonita and threw her off him in an attempt to get to his brother before he pulled the trigger. But it was too late. A loud explosion filled the room and I turned away, but not quickly enough to miss the gush of blood and brain that splattered the foyer. I was vaguely aware of the wail of rapidly approaching sirens as I vomited in a nearby planter.
“You know, Kendra, I never would have let your friend go to prison,” said Morris Rollins as we sat in his car parked in front of my duplex.
It was hours after Rondell’s suicide and Rollins had given me a lift home from the police station, where we’d all told and retold our stories to the police. As it turned out, the truth had come out just in time. Timmy had surrendered earlier that day. That was the reason I couldn’t reach Harmon and Mercer when I’d called. They were busy interrogating Timmy. Apparently, Timmy had been hiding in my landlady Mrs. Carson’s basement. The person I’d heard snoring the night I’d been in Mrs. Carson’s kitchen had been Timmy, and not her son, Stevie, which is how Timmy had known I’d been attacked by Vaughn. Mrs. Carson had told him.
When the police had pulled up in front of my duplex earlier that morning, it was because Mrs. Carson had urged him to turn himself in. She had known him since he was a kid and used to babysit him occasionally for Olivia. She convinced him that if he were really innocent, he’d be exonerated. I was glad the police hadn’t been there for me. But that didn’t keep me from feeling like a complete fool for doing a tuck and roll out the window and running like I stole something.
I didn’t respond to Rollins’s statement. I sat staring out the window. I didn’t trust myself to speak. I didn’t have any children so I didn’t know how I would have handled the situation if it had been me. But, thinking back on everything Timmy, Olivia, Inez, and I had been through the past couple of weeks, I was still angry.
“I hope one day you’ll believe me and forgive me,” he said softly, squeezing my hand.
“I’m not the one you need to be asking for forgiveness,” I said, pulling my hand out of his. I started to get out of the car but stopped and turned to him. “Can I ask you a question?”
He nodded.
“Why was your name listed as the father on Joseph’s and Gina’s death certificates?”
“Because I couldn’t stand the thought of those kids going to their graves fatherless. Rondell never did right by them when they were alive and he had no intention of doing so when they died. Joseph’s grandmother and Melvina were too distraught to deal with all the details when Joseph and Gina died. So I took care of everything for them, and I told the coroner I was their father. And in a lot of ways, I was. No one ever questioned it. They just figured I’d finally owned up to fathering them.”
“What did you mean when you said you’d been cleaning up after Rondell since you were kids?” I ventured.
“Rondell and I are half brothers. We had the same mother. Our mother had been madly in love with my father, so I was always her favorite. But, Rondell’s father was a real piece of work, a career criminal who abused her and was in and out of jail. He died in a bar fight. My mother took out all of her rage and hatred for him on Rondell. When Rondell would mess up, she’d really come down hard on him. So I took the blame whenever he screwed up because all I’d get was a lecture. Rondell got beat with whatever she could get her hands on. It was like she was afraid he’d turn out like his father and she was trying to beat the devil out of him. Even after we grew up, I never got out of the habit of covering for him. I guess I couldn’t protect him from himself, could I?”
“So, now what?” I asked. He leaned his head back against the car seat and shook his head.
“God only knows,” he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head.
I watched him for a few minutes. I was mad at the man for what Timmy had been through. But I felt sorry for him, too. Here was a man who had taken care of his responsibilities to not only his own children but his brother Rondell’s illegitimate children, as well. That had to count for something. On impulse, I leaned over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. He turned to say something and our lips met. What was supposed to be a peck on the check turned into a minute of tongue wrestling that left us breathless and staring uncomfortably at each other. We’d even fogged up the windows.
“Take care, Reverend Rollins. Thanks for the ride,” I said finally, and jumped out of his car before he could respond. I ran up my steps and opened my door. I looked back before stepping inside my apartment and was happy to see he was gone.
EPILOGUE
It was the last day of classes at the literacy center before Thanksgiving. I looked around the classroom and smiled, happy to see it so packed. Dorothy was back from Michigan and everything was back to normal. Her mother still hadn’t healed as fast as she’d hoped, so Dorothy brought her home to Willow to recover at her house. Inez’s ex-nurse was caring for her while Dorothy was at work. Noreen retired to Florida, which was just fine by me and everybody else. It seems the students, led by Rhonda, walked out in protest after I left and refused to come back until Noreen was gone. After spending two days in an empty classroom, and getting reprimanded by the superintendent for overstepping her authority, Noreen conceded defeat and left with her tail between her legs. Touchdown, Kendra.
Inez planned to open her own beauty shop calledThe House of Braids sometime next year. I heard she renewed her relationship with her father. No charges were ever filed against her for Nicole’s death. The police determined that she’d acted in self-defense. There was a new funeral for Nicole, which I didn’t attend. I decided it was best I put some distance between Morris Rollins and myself. Besides, he had more than enough on his plate. He managed to dodge the bullet on obstruction and insurance fraud charges. But even if he hadn’t, the members of his church would still see him as a hero. He was more popular than ever, still packing them in every Sunday. Donations were at an all-time high and plans were in the works for a new community center for th
e church. There’s even talk that his show The Light and The Way could be headed for syndication.
All of the charges against Timmy were dropped. He passed his GED exam with flying colors and was planning to enroll in the local community college at the first of the year. He was currently taking care of Olivia, whose recovery from her breast cancer surgery was going well. Luckily, the cancer hadn’t spread to her lymph nodes so she didn’t have to undergo chemo. I finally got Timmy to tell me what he’d stolen from Ricky Maynard. Turns out Timmy had stolen Ricky’s electronic Rolodex. Timmy had been after Vaughn out of revenge for his ex-girlfriend’s death from a drug overdose. But while Vaughn was very discreet in his drug dealings, Ricky ran his operation like a true businessman and had all of his drug clients’ and contacts’ numbers programmed into his Rolodex, including Vaughn’s. Timmy had been planning on handing the Rolodex over to the police in the hopes of implicating Vaughn. But at some point while Ricky was chasing him, Timmy tripped and the Rolodex flew out of his hands into the street and got run over.
Vaughn hadn’t been so much interested in revenge for his friend after all. He’d been heavily snorting his own supply of cocaine and had become extremely paranoid knowing that Timmy was out to get him. Vaughn set Timmy up to get rid of him. It was determined that Rondell Kidd’s gun was the same gun that had killed Vaughn Castle. The theory was that he’d beaten and killed Vaughn after finding out about his relationship with Shanda. But, thinking back on Rondell’s obvious shock when I’d told him about Shanda and Vaughn, and knowing that Timmy was the one who beat Vaughn up, I knew that wasn’t true.
Shanda was taking time off from school to care for Bonita. The strain of Rondell’s suicide and the knowledge that he’d murdered three people, coupled with the realization that she was inadvertently responsible for Nicole’s death, had taken a hard toll on Bonita. And even though Rollins forgave her, he also told her there would never be anything romantic between them. Bonita took that harder than her husband’s death. She almost had a nervous breakdown. Shanda would not believe that her uncle could be her father and adamantly refused to take a paternity test. She also never would admit to her part in helping Vaughn set up Timmy. It was almost like she convinced herself it never happened. Since there was no evidence, no charges were ever filed against her.
Oddly enough, I was thinking about Shanda when I ran into her at the grocery store after work that day. I almost didn’t recognize her. She was no longer wearing her hair in braids and had gained some weight. I had to chase her down in the parking lot to get her to talk to me.
“How’s it going, Shanda?” I asked breathlessly once I caught up with her. She looked at me suspiciously and shrugged.
“Aside from my father being dead and having his good name dragged through the mud, and my mother falling apart and spending every day crying in her bathrobe, I’m just peachy. How about you, Kendra? Still chasing down evildoers in the name of justice?”
“I’m really sorry about your parents, Shanda. And if you’d been the one in Timmy’s shoes, I’d have helped you, too.” I did feel sorry for Shanda over the loss of a father she loved but I wasn’t about to tell her I was sorry about Vaughn. I was sure he was probably slinging dope in hell right about now. Time and the absence of Vaughn’s influence still hadn’t ignited any sense of responsibility or remorse for what she’d done to Timmy. She was definitely Rondell’s daughter as far as I was concerned.
“Whatever, Kendra. I gotta go,” she said, turning away.
“Look, Shanda. I know I’m not your favorite person but I do know how much you enjoyed working at the literacy center. I know you’re taking time off from school to take care of your mom. But if you’d ever like to come back and volunteer at the center, we’d love to have you back. I know the students would love to see you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, turning away from me and opening her car door.
I happened to glance in her car and saw the infamous blue scarf, the one Vaughn had used to strangle Aretha Marshall, tied around the rearview mirror. The same scarf I’d stuffed in Vaughn’s mouth when Timmy and I had tied him up. There was only one way she could have gotten the scarf. Shanda noticed me looking at it. She smiled and winked at me before starting up her car and driving off, leaving me staring after her in shock. I walked back to my car, determined to forget what I’d seen. Though I couldn’t quite shake the images that popped into my head of a distraught Shanda sneaking out of the house with her father’s gun after getting home from the hospital, going to the wooded area in back of Briar Creek, where she used to have sex with Vaughn‚ to see if he was there with another woman‚ and finding him tied up in his car. I could imagine Shanda breaking the window and pulling the scarf out of his mouth only to have Vaughn berate her and call her names, and an already fragile Shanda snapping, and shooting him. I didn’t need any more drama in my life. I went home.
A few hours later, I arrived at the Red Dragon dressed to kill in a clingy, low-cut cranberry sweater dress and black, knee-high high-heeled boots. I was meeting Carl for dinner. He said he had something to tell me that he was pretty excited about. I couldn’t wait to find out what it was. Carl was already seated when I arrived.
“All right, what’s this big news?” I asked, snuggling up next to him in our booth and inhaling his warm scent of Obsession.
“Well, I’ve been thinking for a long time about ways I can give back to the community. I do pro bono work. But I’ve still been feeling like I could do more. Recently, I was approached about the possibility of helping provide legal aid to low-income people in need of legal assistance. And the best part is, it’s an organization right here in Willow. We can spend more time together.” He was so excited it was hard not to get caught up in his enthusiasm.
“So, what is this wonderful organization?” I asked. I took a sip of my water and saw someone walking towards our booth out of the corner of my eye. I looked up, thinking it was our server, and almost choked.
“It’s Holy Cross Ministries. Kendra, you know Reverend Rollins, right?” Carl asked, oblivious to my discomfort, and gesturing towards the tall, handsome figure standing in front of us.
“Yes, I know Reverend Rollins,” I said, my throat suddenly tight.
Morris Rollins looked down at me like a wolf eyeing its prey. And I felt like a big fluffy sheep.
DIVA’S LAST CURTAIN CALL
A Kendra Clayton Mystery
ANGELA HENRY
Copyright © 2016 Angela Henry
All Rights Reserved
PROLOGUE
Vivianne DeArmond couldn’t contain the nasty little smile that spread across her face as she dragged the box out from its hiding place under her bed. She felt a little like Pandora as she opened the box and ran a trembling hand over the stack of papers inside, tracing the letters with her fingertip. She wasn’t trembling with fear but anticipation, because she couldn’t wait for what was in the box to cause the chaos and damage that it inevitably would. She just hoped she’d have a front-row seat when the drama unfolded. After all, she certainly deserved it.
She pulled out the plastic square that was wedged between the stack of paper and the inside of the box and looked around her room for a hiding place. Pulling open the double doors of her closet rather dramatically, Vivianne peered inside the cavernous space. She spied an old box of junk on the top shelf and grabbed it, a little too enthusiastically, and felt a twinge of pain in her lower back as she lowered the box to the floor.
Harriet, her assistant and friend of more than fifty years, had warned her she was playing with fire and would end up burned, too. And on some level, Vivianne knew it, but just didn’t care. What did she have left to lose? Her career? That had been over for years. No one cared about seeing Vivianne DeArmond in a movie anymore. All anyone wanted to see these days were bleached-blond airheads with surgically enhanced bosoms and IQs to match their shoe sizes who couldn’t act their way out of a wet paper sack. If she were still acting, the only role Cliff, her e
x-agent and ex-husband, would be able get her would be playing someone’s grandmother and what fun was that? Vivianne was still a very beautiful woman and felt she could easily pass for forty-five.
But it was damned hard for a forty-five-year-old white actress to find good parts, so a sixtyish black actress, no matter how fine she still might be, who didn’t want to play a granny, was basically shit out of luck. Cliff wanted her to read for the part of Glenda the Good Witch for a big-bucks remake of The Wiz. Vivianne wasn’t interested. The last time Cliff had talked Vivianne into coming out of retirement and auditioning for a role it had been for the part of Dominique Deveraux on the prime-time soap opera Dynasty. Vivianne had nailed that audition. She owned that part. When the producers had decided on Diahann Carroll, she’d been devastated, especially when she’d found out that she’d never really had a shot at the role and had only been given a chance to audition as a courtesy to Cliff.
Vivianne’s acting days were over. But at the height of her career, she’d really been something. She’d had a mutual love affair with the camera that had ended in the late seventies with her small role in a low-budget horror movie. Cliff had called it a cameo. Vivianne knew it was just bit part. She’d even had to share a trailer with her stunt double. The humiliation of that experience had been enough to send her into retirement. Nevertheless, she was about to reinvent herself in a move that would serve two purposes: a much-needed career change and sweet revenge. She’d make her big announcement when she received her award at the Starburst Film Festival. She couldn’t wait.
Vivianne rummaged through the box until she found an object that offered the perfect hiding place. She slid the plastic square inside, returned the object to the box, and slid the box to the back of her closet. Pleased with herself, she pulled the necklace of rectangular squares from inside her dress and squeezed it so hard the rectangles’ edges almost cut her palm. Harriet didn’t have a thing to worry about, Vivianne thought. Because Vivianne had all the insurance she needed to shield herself when the shit hit the fan.