by Beth Duke
“Ma’am, I’m an officer of the law,” Rick drawled. “I would never think of anything like that. My friend Ronni needs to ask you a few questions about your late brother, Chet.”
Bettina stiffened and inhaled sharply, her manicured hands twisting and turning before her. “I don’t know much about my brother. My mother took me from our home when I was very young. Chet grew up with my father, and I hardly knew either of them.”
“Did you ever hear from Chet as an adult?” I asked.
“He knew who I was, and he respected my privacy. He understood the last thing I’d want is for anyone to know the sad and sordid story of bedraggled CeeCee Wilson. I left CeeCee behind long ago. I have never looked back. My name is Bettina Hughes now.” She looked to the ceiling. “So yes, I had an occasional letter from Chet, but he kept my secret. I appreciated that, and communicated my gratitude via annual checks.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, Miss Hughes, how did you end up as one of the most famous news anchors in the country?” I glanced at Rick and hoped he hadn’t just gotten us kicked out.
Bettina smiled and said, “I came to Atlanta with nothing. Absolutely nothing, except a great body and a pretty face, plus a fierce determination to be somebody. It was through sheer luck I met a very powerful man who owned a television station and found me irresistible. He sent me to school, he paid my way, and he set me on a path that worked out rather well. Classic love story.” She paused for us to appreciate her sarcasm and met my eyes. “What is it you want to know about Chet?”
“I was wondering if you could tell me about his relationship with Violet Glenn Thompson,” I answered.
Bettina crossed her arms over her chest. “I have nothing to say about that woman. She destroyed my brother’s life. He was obsessed with her from a very young age, and she did everything she could to string him along, right up until his death.” She glared at me. “Yes, I know all about her dying in his bed, the old...bitch. You won’t get that story from me. My secretary will show you out, and I trust I can count on your discretion. This is a waste of your time and mine.” She started to rise, nodding at Rick and turning to me.
I leaned forward. “Miss Hughes, I am so sorry we’ve upset you. If you have anything of your brother’s, or could share any memory that might tell me more about Violet’s life, I’d be very grateful. You see, I’m writing a book about her.”
“Why would you do that?” Bettina said. “She was about as interesting as a bathtub ring.”
I detected, for the first time, a trace of CeeCee’s erased Alabama accent. She picked up a pen and flipped it over and over on the desk between her thumb and index finger, staring at it.
Rick put his hand atop mine and pressed down. He offered Bettina his knee-melting smile and said, “Of course she was nothing like you, Bettina. You’re one of the most beautiful and successful women in the world, and all of America loves you. Ronni became very attached to poor old Violet when she took care of her in the nursing home, that’s all. She likes writing about her patients and the lives they led.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes at Rick’s “poor old Violet.”
“You’re a nurse?” Bettina smiled, but coated the word to drip with condescension.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve worked in a nursing home for years. I love my patients.”
Rick sought Bettina’s eyes and announced, “We didn’t mean to trouble you, Bettina. I am sure you’ve forgotten about most of this. It was long ago.” He waited until she softened in the chair under his gaze. “We are sorry to take up your valuable time.” He held out a business card. “Please let us know if there’s anything you can remember to tell us about Chet.”
My mouth hung open. Was he really giving up this easily?
“It’s not that I’ve forgotten anything, Mr. O’Shea. I remember it all in perfect detail. I am a reporter at heart, you know.” Bettina looked indignant at the suggestion her recall might be questioned. “Tell me, though, why I would help you write a book associating me with a past I’ve carefully hidden for my entire career?”
“I’d never use your name in print, Miss Hughes,” I assured her. “No one would have any way of knowing your identity as CeeCee or Bettina.” I meant it. I’d make up a new name for the manuscript. I’d identify her with another network in Atlanta. “If you will help me,” I added after a beat. I held her gaze and tried to look like someone threatening to expose her.
Bettina bit her lower lip with perfect veneers. “Chet made a choice—a stupid, childish choice—to stay with my father when we left. He did it so he could be near Violet. I never forgave him for that.” She took a deep breath, considering her pink nail polish. “I’m disgusted by my brother’s lifelong infatuation with that woman. Violet thought she was so much better than we were...” She caught herself and stopped midsentence. “Even after he married Loretta he’d talk to me about her, asking me to use my resources to update him with news of Violet, whether she had children or was helping with some fundraising event or bought a new car. It was ridiculous. He knew she was married to a successful doctor in Birmingham. He’d even sneaked into their wedding somehow, though he wasn’t old enough to drive.” She threw her eyes to the ceiling at the memory. “I don’t know what more I could tell you. There’s only one thing. It’s no doubt a syrupy, nauseating declaration of eternal love. Chet gave it to me years ago, sealed in an envelope, with the request I get it to Violet after his death. Of course, she was gone, too, so I put it away somewhere.” She walked to a filing cabinet in the corner of her office and unlocked the bottom drawer. Bettina stood and shrugged after digging for a minute. “It’s not here. Maybe I have it at home.”
“Please, please, Miss Hughes,” I said, “if you could find it and mail it to me I’d be so grateful.” I handed her a piece of paper with my address and cell number.
Bettina Hughes reached for Rick’s hand and then mine, giving us a firm and dismissive shake. “I really must get back to work now. I will look when I get home later, and I’ll mail the letter to you if I find it. Please excuse me.” She swept gracefully back to her chair and began reading some sort of paperwork without another glance.
thirty-four
VIOLET
Violet traded Tolly’s beloved Corvette and Coupe deVille in on a shiny new white Cadillac Eldorado convertible and spent most of her days shopping and lunching while Beatrice cleaned. She was a bird with new wings, tossed into a clear blue sky. She hired another investigator to find her daughter and planned the wonderful reunion they’d have. She allowed herself a new diamond brooch and a mink stole. She glowed as soon as it was decent to do so in public, her heels higher and skirts tailored to show off her legs. Every few days she joined Genny and Bitsy and Theresa for cards and a cocktail or two at the club.
Men swarmed like bees around honey wherever she went, but Violet didn’t pay them much attention. She thought about Chet all the time, especially in her lonely bed. She wondered where he was, what he was doing, and most of all if he ever thought of her.
The attendant was filling her car with gasoline and checking the oil level while Violet filed her nails. She had no particular plans for the afternoon and thought maybe she’d enjoy a drive to Cheaha Mountain to admire the fall colors. It was crisp and cool, her favorite kind of weather. Then she spotted the Superior Electric truck parked across the street, obviously servicing a dentist’s office. Her heart lodged in her throat and Violet found herself checking her hair and makeup before she realized what she was doing. The attendant knocked at her window for the money she owed, startling her with his cheerful, “Everything looks good, ma’am!” She paid him and drove off slowly, uncertain how to find Chet. Surely he’d want her to stop and say hello?
She parked within view of the office and waited for over an hour. Men came and went for supplies from the truck, but Chet wasn’t among them. She gave up and drove home, suddenly too tired to go anywhere or do anything.
“Beatrice,” she called. “I’m going to lie dow
n for a bit. You take the afternoon off and I’ll see you tomorrow.” She heard the heavy front door close and lock a few minutes later. Violet tossed her clothes onto a chair and slipped into a satin nightgown. If she could just nap for a little while, she was sure she’d feel better. If she could only stop crying.
She woke, wild-haired and red-eyed, to a dark sky. It was about six o’clock, and Violet was stunned she’d slept so long. She made her way to the kitchen and found leftover chicken casserole. She ate it from the dish, in her peach negligee, sitting in front of the television. Violet caught her reflection in the window of the den and thought she looked like a finely-dressed lunatic. Tomorrow she would do better. Tomorrow she would actually take a step forward instead of killing time.
She arrived at the dentist’s office by eight o’clock, wearing her best red silk dress and perfectly made up. There was no sign of Chet’s company truck by ten, and Violet concluded he’d finished work yesterday and wouldn’t be back. She pounded her fist on the steering wheel and cursed herself for chasing after a man she had no right to. She should go home and write. She should call Genny and meet for lunch. She should check with her private detective in Florida.
Violet put her car in gear and drove an hour to reach Anniston instead. She stopped at a phone booth and located the number for Superior Electric. She dialed with a shaking finger and asked for Mr. Wilson when the receptionist answered.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, Mr. Wilson isn’t in. Could someone else help you?”
She sounded young and pretty. Violet hated her. “Is he expected soon?”
“No, ma’am, he’s on a job site in Birmingham. Would you like to leave a message?”
Violet tapped her fingers on the phone booth’s glass. “Oh, he’s still working at the dentist’s office?” she tried. “I was hoping to schedule an appointment when they finished there.”
“No,” the girl replied cheerfully, “He’s done with that job. Today the crew is at a private home. I’ll be happy to have him telephone you, ma’am, if you’ll leave your number.”
“No, thanks,” Violet fumbled, “I’ll call another company. I need help today.” She hung up the phone feeling like an utter fool. She drove to surprise her parents with a visit and spent the afternoon hearing about the various illnesses and surgeries their friends had been experiencing. Violet left full of relief at her parents’ good health, kissing them both and promising to return soon.
She arrived at her dark and empty house at seven o’clock to find a note jammed between the front door handles.
I’m sorry I missed you. Been doing several jobs in Birmingham lately and stopped by to say hello. Will try tomorrow after work. C.
Violet ensured Beatrice’s absence by offering to pay for her family’s dinner at their favorite barbecue place, ushering her out the door by three thirty since she had no idea what “after work” meant. She arranged herself prettily in a bay window seat downstairs, watching and waiting. He drove up a few minutes later. Violet was sorry to see Chet had a passenger in the truck until she noticed the other man slide over and drive away as she opened the front door.
“That’s pretty presumptuous of you,” she smiled despite herself, nodding at the retreating truck.
“Oh, Jerry Lee needed to run some errands. He’s picking me up in two hours, at the end of our official work day.” Chet winked and brushed past her into the house. He sauntered to an antique divan and settled on it, arms open to Violet.
She ignored the offer and sat in a chair a few feet away, no matter how strongly his presence pulled at her. His hair was a little long-ish in a nod to sixties style. He wore a black tee shirt and jeans though it was barely sixty degrees outside. Violet had never seen a man so beautiful, still tanned from summer and all taut muscle from head to toe. She bit her lower lip and saw him grin in response. “I haven’t heard from you in a long time, Chet. How have you been?”
“I guess you didn’t notice me at your husband’s funeral. I sat in the back row. I’m not gonna lie, Violet, I was happy for you to be free of that monster.” He held up her hand to stop any protest. “Don’t think I don’t know how he treated you. Those bruises didn’t come from any Corvette steering wheel, and it probably happened more than once, didn’t it?”
Violet looked at the Persian rug and blinked, willing herself not to cry. She nodded slowly.
“Why,” Chet demanded, “didn’t you come to me? I’d have had you out of here and safe, Vi. You should have told me. You could’ve...”
“Tolly had other ways to punish me, Chet, things you could never have protected me from. And you’re not exactly in a position to take in wayward wives. I’m not going to talk about it any more.” She crossed to the elaborate bar and reached for a highball glass. “Whiskey sour?” Chet nodded and she mixed their drinks. He brushed her fingers and stroked them with his as he reached for the glass. Violet shivered and sat back down, gulping courage and willing her body to stop shaking.
“All right, then. No more about the son of a bitch, may he rest in hell. Look, you may not have seen me, Violet, but don’t think I haven’t kept up with you and how you’re doing. Don’t think,” he flashed white teeth at her, “I didn’t see you sitting outside Dr. Lehman’s office, either.”
“Why didn’t you...”
“Because the time wasn’t right. I’ve been waiting to see you, and it wasn’t going to be in a parking lot with my guys watching. Nice Cadillac, by the way.” He set his drink down and smoothed his black hair out of his face. “I left Loretta five weeks ago. I’m living in an apartment near Fort McClellan. And no, not because of you. Because we have nothing in common except Eric. All she wants to do is listen to hippie music and I’m afraid she may start smoking pot, too. She has a whole new set of friends hanging out and burning incense and talking about their female rights. They’re weird, Vi, most of them from California and places like that, followed their men to Fort McClellan.” Chet picked up his drink and swallowed the rest. “She takes good care of my son. She’s always there after school and on weekends, so I’m thankful for that. She’s not another Betty.” Violet watched him transform, just for a few seconds, into the little boy abandoned by his mother night after night.
“I’m sorry,” she said, though she’d never been less sorry about anything in her life. “I’m sure you two will work things out.” Violet smiled sweetly and hated herself for buying the line every married man offered several times per minute all over the world. Poor Chet, faced with a wife with whom he had nothing in common. If she were a better woman, she’d march him to the door right then to wait for his ride. Instead, she walked to the divan without a word and kissed him. He groaned softly and stood to pull her close, his arms around her waist. Violet was oblivious to anything but the sheer joy of his body against hers. Nothing else mattered. Nothing at all.
thirty-five
RONNI
As Rick started the car he said, “Well, do you think she’ll find it?”
“I hope so. Even if she does, there may be nothing in it I can use.” I watched the crazy array of downtown Atlanta pedestrians fighting their way across the street, among them an old man wearing a billowing rose-print caftan and a girl with bright blue hair and a teacup poodle dyed to match.
“We really don’t know all that much about Chet,” Rick said.
Something tugged at my memory. “He was mine, even when he was with someone else.”
“What?” Rick asked.
“It’s something I remember Violet saying about Chet. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but he was married to another woman. He had a son.” I looked at Rick’s blank face. “Maybe she encouraged him from the very beginning. Violet did have a big ego, and Chet fed it. He made her feel special and glamorous, even at the darkest times in her life. He was great at that. He also had the perfect opportunity to make her fall in love with him.”
“Huh? How does that work? Please tell me, Oracle.” Rick rested his hands on the steering wheel, eyebrows raised.
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“Violet suffered abuse from Tolly for years. He beat her down mentally as much as physically, to the point where I think he destroyed the Violet everyone else had known. So, she comes back to the comfort of her parents’ house and maybe begins to recover a little bit. And there Chet is. He adores her, he’s warm and safe and familiar and gorgeous...”
“He was gorgeous, huh?”
“The most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on. And she saw the child in him, the one she tried to help and protect. It’s like their roles were reversed. She always told me she felt safe with him, even in her eighties.”
“What a man. I’m warm and safe and usually presentable in public. You’re the gorgeous one in this relationship. I love you, you brilliant woman.” He started the car and grabbed my hand.
“And I love you.”
“Why are you staring at me? Is it my great beauty?” Rick asked.
“Yeah, that’s it. Let’s get something to eat before we head home.”
“Deal. Since we’re in Atlanta, is Mary Mac’s okay with you?”
“Always,” I laughed. I could taste the Georgia Peach cocktail already, and needed it after twenty minutes of pure haughtiness from Bettina Hughes, the former CeeCee, Urchin of Alabama.
“You know,” Rick mused, “I’ve been thinking a lot about Dr. Tolliver Thompson’s death. It seems so strange to me that he’d fall down the same stairs he used almost daily for over thirty years.”
I turned to look at him. “What are you saying?”
“Nah, it’s crazy.”
“What? What’s crazy?”
“The whole drunk falling down stairs thing doesn’t add up to me. Maybe it was a freak accident, but Tolly was a heavy drinker for so long, he had to have a pretty high tolerance. And honestly, Chet had every reason to hate him for abusing Violet.”