by Angela Henry
“A little,” I replied truthfully. “Because you know how the police can get things wrong. They get stuck on one idea and don’t want to think about anything or anybody else.” I was not so subtly referring to the murder investigation that had first brought us in contact with each other last year.
Morris Rollins was one of the reasons the police had been looking in the wrong direction during that investigation. He’d had a good reason, at least as far as he was concerned, but I was still pissed at him for almost letting an innocent young man go to prison. It was something that still hung in the air between us like a thick fog.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked softly, leaning forward in his big leather chair. I nodded slowly, not really sure if I wanted him to ask me anything.
“Your sister found a dead body and your soon-to-be-married best friend has gone AWOL. So, why is it that you’re the one looking like your dog just died?”
His tone was serious, but his eyes were laughing at me. I smiled as I suddenly realized how tensed up I was, and I instantly relaxed. The Allegra/Carl/Lynette situation apparently had me more stressed than I knew.
“That’s better,” he said. “You have such a beautiful smile.”
“Thanks,” I said getting up from the love seat to make my getaway. It’s been my experience that whenever a man starts praising my attributes, some sort of proposition usually follows.
Rollins was a widower and free to proposition whomever he wanted. But even though my relationship with Carl was being put to the test, I’m a one-man woman. I didn’t need the kind of drama in my life that juggling men can bring. Plus, I knew if I ever gave it up to Rollins, it would be like taking a hit off a crack pipe. You think doing it one time won’t hurt you, but before you know it, you’re hooked and wandering the streets, strung out with crusty lips.
“Now, where are you running off to? At least let me take you out to dinner. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” he said, standing up and coming around to sit on the edge of his desk directly in front of me. I could tell by his amused expression that he knew I was trying to get away from him. So he grabbed my hand and pulled me gently toward him.
He was giving me such a warm smile I found myself hypnotized and didn’t resist as he wrapped his arms around me. My cheek was pressed against his chest and he was rubbing my back. This was not what I came here for, but I couldn’t move. Being in his arms felt just a little too good, which was horrible, not because I felt guilty, but because I didn’t. Clearly it was time for me to go.
“Maybe some other time, Reverend Rollins. I need to see if I can track down Lynette and make sure she’s okay,” I said softly and started to step out of his embrace, but he wasn’t quite ready to let me go.
“I hope you know I’m going to hold you to that,” he said, hugging me again and planting a warm, lingering kiss on my cheek.
His beard tickled and I giggled. He took that as encouragement and leaned down to kiss me on the mouth. But I quickly pulled away.
“Take care, Reverend Rollins, and please give me a call if you hear from Lynette,” I said, walking out of the office, leaving him staring after me looking more than a little disappointed.
I decided to drive around to see if I could spot Lynette’s car before calling Greg to report back on my visit to Holy Cross. I was sitting at the traffic light on Main Street when I spotted a young man with short dreads, wearing faded jeans and a tight blue polo shirt. He looked to be in his twenties. It was the same man that I’d seen sucking face with Noelle Delaney. I watched as he crossed the street in front of my car and walked into Denny’s.
There was something so familiar about the guy now that I’d gotten a chance to get a good look at him. I knew I’d seen him someplace other than hugged up in that Honda with Noelle. But I couldn’t put a finger on where it had been. It was now almost one and I hadn’t eaten. So I pulled into Denny’s parking lot and decided to kill two birds with one stone: My nosiness and my appetite.
Denny’s was pretty crowded with after-church folk. While I was waiting to be seated, I spotted Mr. Dreadlocks in a nearby booth sitting with a well-dressed older man who looked to be in his sixties, and a fortyish woman with long, bleached-blond hair. After indicating my preference for a table, I was happy when I found myself seated in the one right across from Mr. Dreads and his companions. I placed an order for a tuna melt and fries and sipped my water so they wouldn’t realize I was listening to their conversation.
“Quit your bitching, Kurt. Your mother’s dead and all you can do is bug me for money? I already told you I’ll buy you anything you need. But I’m not giving you any cash. You’re not snorting up, shooting up, or drinking up my money,” said the older man. The man was balding and had the sallow liver-spotted skin of old age. But he was dressed to the nines in an expensive looking gray pin-striped suit with a white shirt, red tie and diamond tie tack. I saw a gold nugget ring shining on his finger each time he took a sip of his coffee.
“Since when was Vivianne ever a mother to me? Hell, just ‘cause she’s dead don’t suddenly make her mother of the year. You sure weren’t talking that mother shit when she was alive and well,” said Mr. Dreadlocks, aka Kurt.
My ears perked up big-time. Were they talking about Vivianne DeArmond? Could Kurt be Vivianne’s son? I stole a glance and saw that Kurt was grim and unsmiling. He had gray eyes and freckles ran rampant across his face. I couldn’t see much of Vivianne DeArmond in him at all.
“Kurt, honey, don’t cuss at your father,” said the blond woman, rubbing Kurt’s arm. The woman was attractive. Her strong jawline and high wide forehead kept her from being pretty. But too much time spent in the sun, heavy makeup and over-bleached hair made her look hard, as well. The plunging neckline of her purple top revealed cleavage that was way too deep and her breasts in general had the big and unnaturally round look of surgical enhancement. Why any woman would want boobs bigger than her head was beyond me. She smiled at Kurt and it softened her face, but not much.
“Then tell him to stop picking on me,” Kurt said, jabbing a finger in his father’s direction. “Damn, I just got out of rehab last month. I’m finished with alcohol. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Kurt’s father laughed. It was a loud angry snort that didn’t have much to do with being amused.
“I’ve heard all this before, remember? The first time around it was cocaine. Then you moved on to prescription painkillers, this last time it was alcohol. What’s it gonna be next, Kurt? I bet if you could mainline Kool-Aid you’d do that, too, wouldn’t you?”
“Cliff, please,” pleaded the blonde in a whisper. She looked around, aware that they were causing a scene. “Can’t you see how hard he’s trying? Leave him alone.”
“Stay out of this, Stephanie. You’re part of his problem. You baby him too much. Twenty-five years old and never had to work hard a day in his life. I get him jobs and he messes them up then expects me to hand out money to him like it grows on trees in the backyard—”
“Aw, forget it,” Kurt said, cutting him off. “I don’t need this bullshit.” He slid out of the booth. “Soon as the funeral’s over I’m going back to L.A. and you won’t have to worry about me asking your ass for another dime ever again.” He stalked toward the door, but his father wasn’t finished yet.
“I’ll believe that the day I sprout wings and fly to the moon!” Kurt turned and flipped his father the finger before walking out the door. Cliff leapt out of the booth to follow him. Stephanie quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him back down into the booth. He angrily slapped her hands away.
Everybody in the restaurant stopped eating and stared at Cliff as though he had, in fact, sprouted wings, and Stephanie, who I assumed must be his wife, glared at him as if she wished he would indeed fly away.
“Was that really necessary? Why do you have to be such a bully?” Stephanie said. I watched as she got up and hurried after Kurt. I was doubtful she’d catch up to him in her tight white miniskirt and four-inch gold pumps.
>
I was looking out the window trying to see them when the server set my food in front of me. By the time I’d salted my fries and taken the first bite of my tuna melt, I glanced out the window again and saw Stephanie and Kurt talking. Cliff was watching, too, and made a disgusted noise as she slipped something into Kurt’s hand on the sly. The way Kurt’s face lit up, I knew it was money. He gave her peck on the cheek and then sprinted across the street. Seconds later, he was out of sight, and Stephanie came back into the restaurant. She’d barely sat down before Cliff starting bitching.
“How in the hell is that boy supposed to learn any responsibility when you keep babying him?” Cliff face was bright red and I feared for his blood pressure.
“What?” Stephanie replied innocently. Her heavily made up eyes widened in faux shock. She looked like a startled clown.
“I know you gave him money, Stephanie. For God’s sake, even Vivianne knew not to give Kurt any money.”
Uh-oh. I instinctively knew those were fighting words. Anyone with sense should know not to compare one’s former spouse favorably with their current spouse, at least not unless that person didn’t mind sleeping with one eye open. I peered over at Stephanie and saw her visibly stiffen.
“You’re absolutely right, Cliff. Vivianne never gave Kurt anything. Not love, time, attention or money. The only thing she loved more than herself was the damn camera. I’m the only mother that boy has ever known and I’m going to make sure he’s happy.” Stephanie buried her face in her napkin.
“Dammit, Stephanie, Vivianne’s dead. I didn’t mean it that way and you know it,” Cliff said sheepishly while stirring his coffee.
“Yes, you did,” she said blowing her nose. “I don’t care that she’s dead. And I’ll tell you another thing, Clifford Preston. I wouldn’t be so high and mighty if I were you, because you’ve had some filthy little habits of your own. Haven’t you?”
Now it was Cliff’s turn to stiffen. His hands curled into fists and Stephanie shrank back against the booth. Cliff stood up and tossed money on the table. “I’ll be in the car. Don’t be long.” I watched as he stalked out of the restaurant. Five minutes later, Stephanie left, as well.
I pondered what I’d just overheard as I was finishing my lunch. So Vivianne DeArmond had a son.
Interesting. I knew Vivianne had been married but hadn’t been enough of a fan to know she had a son. And apparently Vivianne and her son hadn’t been close. Did Kurt try and hit her up for money, too? And had he got mad when she’d said no? Mad enough to plunge a letter opener into her back?
Maybe I should mention this when I gave my statement to Harmon and Mercer. Then another big question came to mind. Why hadn’t Noelle Delaney mentioned her connection to Kurt? You’d have thought that at some point during all the madness of yesterday she’d have mentioned she knew Vivianne’s son. I didn’t remember seeing a wedding or engagement ring on Noelle’s finger or a wedding band on Kurt’s, so why the big secret? I intended to find out.
FIVE
It was after eight o’clock that evening and Allegra, Noelle and I were sitting on Mama’s porch drinking lemonade and digesting the huge Sunday meal of pork roast, sweet potatoes, macaroni and cheese, green beans and peach cobbler we’d just consumed. By the time I’d finally seen Carl and Allegra it was dinnertime. My uncle Alex and his girlfriend of the past eight years, Gwen Robins, were also present. We all crowded around Mama’s dining-room table. I knew it wasn’t the time to bring up the breakfast rendezvous. Plus, I’d calmed down considerably since that morning.
Still, I kept watching the two of them closely to try and detect any evidence of illicit activity: lustful looks of longing, lipstick-smeared collars, hickeys, wadded-up condom wrappers falling out of pockets. I even dropped my napkin on the floor on purpose to make sure they weren’t holding hands under the table. Nothing. It was almost as though they were ignoring each other on purpose. After dinner, Mama had gone to play bridge at a friend’s house and Alex, Gwen and Carl had gone to watch a Reds game at Alex’s place. That left just us girls. Good. Now, I had to figure out a way to bring up Kurt.
“Your grandmother’s an awesome cook,” Noelle said to no one in particular. Thinking back to the way she’d practically licked her plate I knew she was being truthful.
“Thanks,” said Allegra and I simultaneously. We looked at each other and smiled. Now that Carl wasn’t around I was more relaxed. Being paranoid is tiresome and takes up way too much energy.
“Have you heard anything more from Hollywood Vibe’s lawyers?” Allegra asked, turning to Noelle.
Allegra and I were sitting in the two wicker rocking chairs facing the street while Noelle was sitting on the porch’s wooden railing facing us with her tennis-shoe clad feet dangling over the side. All anyone had to do was push her and she’d fall ass-backwards into the bushes below. When Allegra asked her about the lawyers, Noelle abruptly stood up like she was aware her answer might earn her a shove into the bushes.
“No, I haven’t heard anything from the lawyers, but I did speak to Bob McLean.” I remembered Noelle saying Bob McLean was Hollywood Vibe’s executive producer.
“And?” Allegra asked when Noelle failed to elaborate.
“And Bob is very concerned about what effect Vivianne DeArmond’s murder and your involvement in it could have on Hollywood Vibe’s reputation. You know how hard he’s worked to make the show a legit source of entertainment news. After that whole Ross Abbott incident, he’s got a right to be concerned.”
Ross Abbott was a bad-boy actor, well-known for his roles in action-adventure movies, who got married as often as most people change their underwear. Usually stories in the press about Abbott concerned his exhaustive love life. But Hollywood Vibe, in a new-kid-on-the-block effort to scoop all the other entertainment news shows, had broken a story about Ross Abbott wearing a full set of dentures, a toupee and lifts in his shoes. Abbott had promptly sued the show for slander and had even gone so far as to have himself measured in his stocking feet during a press conference to prove that he was truly the five feet ten inches he claimed to be. He also made his dentist and his hairstylist, a flamboyant little man named Mr. Billy, sign sworn affidavits that his thick brown hair and big white chompers were indeed all his.
Needless to say he won his case. One of Abbott’s disgruntled ex-girlfriends, who was rumored to have been sleeping with Bob McLean, had given Hollywood Vibe false information and the show took a big hit. They became the laughing stock of the entertainment world. Late-night-talk show hosts joked that Hollywood Vibe’s, news coverage was short, bald and toothless. Now, a year later, they were just beginning to put the fallout behind them. Allegra looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to cuss, cry or throw up.
“Once the test results come back on your clothes, I’m sure that will be the end of it,” I said, hoping to put my sister’s fears to rest. Noelle nodded in agreement.
“Yeah. That’s what Carl said this morning. I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” Allegra stood up and headed into the house. She flung the screen door open a little too forcefully and it slammed shut behind her. Noelle stared at me awkwardly. I smiled to show I wasn’t mad at her. I wanted her in a good mood for her forthcoming grilling.
“This is so awful. You think she’ll be okay?”
Noelle asked, as she nervously sipped her lemonade.
“She’ll be fine once she can put this behind her,” I said.
“I can’t imagine why Vivianne DeArmond’s assistant didn’t know about their interview. I wonder why she didn’t tell her?”
“Harriet Randall’s a pretty forceful woman. Maybe Vivianne wanted to do an interview and Harriet objected. Maybe that’s why Vivianne didn’t tell her,” I said.
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to be on that woman’s bad side. She’s nuts.”
I certainly couldn’t argue with her on that one. After a few minutes of chatting about nothing in particular, we fell back into an uncomfortable silence. No sense in putting it of
f any longer. My curiosity was killing me.
“I didn’t know Vivianne DeArmond had a son,” I said casually. Noelle’s glass stopped halfway to her mouth. Her cheeks turned slightly pink and she took a big gulp of lemonade. I waited for her to say something, but she didn’t comment, just turned to stare moodily out into the street.
“He’s friend of yours, right? How’s he handling his mother’s death?” I persisted. Noelle turned and gave me a quizzical look.
“What makes you think I know Vivianne DeArmond’s son?”
“I saw the two of you in your rental this morning. The way you two were going at it, I got the impression you knew each other pretty well.”
She shook her head slowly and looked at me like she had no idea what I was talking about. For a split second I thought I might have been mistaken. Naw. I know what I saw. I’d fogged up plenty of car windows myself. The last time being with a certain sexy reverend.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Yes, I knew Vivianne DeArmond had a son. But I’ve never met him. So it couldn’t have been me you saw this morning. Coming here for dinner is the first time I’ve been over here today.” She was giving me one of those show-biz smiles. The kind that didn’t reach her eyes. Despite her attempt at acting nonchalant, I could tell she was pissed.
“Really? That’s funny.”
“Why?” The phony smile was gone replaced by an annoyed frown.
“Because I never said it was this street that I saw the two of you parked on. It’s amazing you’d know that if it wasn’t you I saw.”
By now her face had turned bright red and her lips were pressed together so hard they disappeared. She opened her mouth to say something. I knew it wasn’t going to be anything nice and leaned forward in my rocker ready for her verbal beat down. It didn’t come. Before Noelle could say a word, Allegra walked back out onto the porch. She had a big heaping bowl full of peach cobbler and ice cream. Now I knew just how freaked out she must really be. She ate a lot when she was stressed, which was another big difference between us. I never needed a reason to eat a lot. I just needed to be conscious.