Doing It To Death

by Angela Henry

  “Hey, Sharon.” We gave each other a quick hug.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m an acquaintance of Lewis Watts. He’s your client, right?” Sharon’s face had been so open and friendly. But at the mention of Lewis’s name I could swear something closed behind her eyes.

  “He is. But I’m actually here to see another client. And if you’re a friend of his you need to encourage him to open up to me. I’m getting the feeling he’s not telling me everything. I don’t have a hope of helping him if I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “What’s he told you?”

  “That’s just it. He’s not telling me anything other than he didn’t do it. He said his car was parked in the outdoor lot outside his apartment building where other people had access to it and that anyone could have killed Mr. Bentley. He apparently had a lot of enemies.”

  “What is his motive supposed to have been?”

  “Just between you and me, the prosecution is going for the revenge angle.”

  “Revenge for what?”

  “For holding him hostage twenty-seven years ago and ruining his reputation.”

  “His reputation?”

  “You know how things work in this town, Kendra. Mr. Watts snitched on Mr. Bentley and sold him out to the police. Even though he refused to testify against Mr. Bentley, a lot of people in our community don’t trust him. Mr. Watts is apparently someone who takes his rep very seriously.”

  She was right. Lewis thought very highly of himself. But a man who wore a wig and dressed like a pimp couldn’t possibly care that much about what other people thought. And what happened with Dibb happened almost thirty years ago.

  “And his motive for killing Brenda?” Sharon looked taken aback.

  “Jealousy. Apparently, Brenda Howard had another lover. They just don’t know who yet.”

  “Just because she cheated doesn’t mean he killed her.”

  “I guess you didn’t read the paper this morning?”

  “Uh oh.” I didn’t like the sound of that. “No. I didn’t have time this morning.”

  “The knife used to kill Ms. Howard was found in the glove box of his car. Had his prints and her blood on it.”

  Great. Things were looking beyond bleak for Lewis, and I had no idea how to help him or even if I should try. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her about the ledger, but I didn’t. I put myself in her shoes and wondered what I would do if I got embarrassing info about one of my loved ones that could ruin them. I thanked her and had turned to go when she stopped me.

  “Hey, Kendra.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was really sorry to hear about you and Carl. That must have been tough.”

  “Thanks. It was. But I’m getting over it.”

  “What’s your secret, because I could sure use some advice?”

  “Oh, Sharon. Not you, too?” Last I’d heard, Sharon was engaged to her college sweetheart.

  “Yep, me, too.” She held up her now ring free finger. “Must be going around.”

  “Why don’t we get together for dinner at Estelle’s tonight, and I’ll tell you all about it.” I don’t know why I’d suggested dinner. Sharon and I weren’t friends and barely had anything in common. But if I could get any kind of info from her that could help Lewis and wipe the memory of his terrified face from my mind, I was all for it.

  We made plans to get together later that evening and I headed out to my car. I stopped by the front desk to sign out and get my coat and purse, waiting while the clerk signed in another visitor. It was a very pretty older black woman. Her natural hair was long, wild and curly, pulled back from her face with an expensive-looking purple and green paisley silk scarf. She wore a clingy grey V-necked sweater dress and knee length black high-heeled boots. The only things betraying her age were the slightly sagging skin beneath her chin and the two dozen or so silvery strands peeking out from her otherwise dark brown hair. She could have easily passed for thirty instead of the fifty plus years she probably was.

  We passed each other and I said hello. She gave me a smile and a nod but didn’t speak. I watched the guard buzz her through the door to the jail wondering who she was. I signed for my things on the clipboard and noticed her name, which was written above mine, Joyce Kirkland. I left with the weirdest feeling that she’d been there to see Lewis.

  Six

  When I got to work I made a photocopy of the ledger and locked it and the original in my desk drawer. I knew it wasn’t the safest place for it. But I still didn’t know what the hell I was going to do with it. Not surprisingly Rhonda had called off sick, and I was on my own for the day. I still wasn’t sure how to act when she came back. I was heartbroken for her about her marriage and hurt and angry for how she’d treated me and tried to undermine me. Realizing I’d be her boss if I got Dorothy’s job made me tired and a little less enthusiastic about running the literacy center. But managing employees came with the territory; I’d just have to suck it up and deal with it if I wanted the job. And I did still want the job. I was grading papers when heard my name and looked up to see Dorothy beckoning me from the classroom door.

  “What’s up?” I asked as I stepped out into the hall to join her.

  “Do have an hour to spare after work?”

  “I’ve got dinner plans at seven but I’m free until then, why?”

  “Tonight’s the monthly board meeting and I have an appointment in Columbus and won’t be able to make it. Can you go in my place?”

  “Sure,” I said feeling a little uncertain. I’d heard stories about how heated and contentious some of those board of education meetings could get with parents and educators regularly squaring off over every issue under the sun.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine,” she assured me when she saw the look on my face. “I don’t have anything to report this month. I just need you to go and take notes for me. Besides, this will be good practice for you. Going to those damned meetings is part of my job and I’m not ashamed to say I won’t miss them a bit.” She flashed me a grin and headed back to her office, looking more relaxed and carefree than I’d ever seen her. I couldn’t help but be happy for her.

  The board of education building was on the north side of Willow on Perkins Avenue in a building that used to be Perkins Elementary School. I’d gone to Crable Elementary on the south side. Perkins was where all the affluent folks, who couldn’t or wouldn’t send their kids to private school, had gone. I’m pretty sure Sharon Newcastle had been one of the few black kids who’d gone to Perkins, because I sure hadn’t gone to school with her. Perkins Elementary was now part of Perkins High in a large state-of-the-art complex built about five years ago, causing an outcry among the residents of the south side of Willow whose kids were still attending school in the same rundown school buildings from the thirties and forties. Even the old Perkins elementary school was better than what was on the south side, I couldn’t help but notice as I walked into the building.

  The meeting was being held in the auditorium. I grabbed an agenda from the table set up just outside the door before taking a can of soda and putting a couple of chocolate chip cookies on a plate. I was surprised to find the room half full and found a seat at the back. A long table had been set up on the stage and the members of the board of education were sitting behind the table with nameplates in front of each member. I balanced my plate of cookies on my lap as I scanned the agenda to read the names of the board members.

  I was more than a little embarrassed because I had no idea who they were, even though I’d voted for some of them. I scanned the names until I came upon a familiar one, Dr. Joyce Kirkland. I immediately looked for her at the table on the stage and saw her sitting at the end looking no nonsense in a beige pants suit with her wild curly hair tucked under a jaunty blue beret, a pair of black spectacles perched on the end of her nose. But even wearing a frumpy outfit, she couldn’t hide the fact that she was a beautiful woman.

  I scanned the brief bios of the board m
embers and discovered Dr. Joyce Kirkland taught women’s studies at Kingford College and had been a member of the board of education for six years. Did she know Lewis? Suddenly I wasn’t so sure he’d been the one she’d been going to see at the Willow county jail. It seemed doubtful such a beautiful and accomplished woman would be a friend of pimp-suited, wig-wearing Lewis. But she’d been there to visit someone in jail, just like I had, so I needed to stop being so snotty.

  The meeting got under way; after I’d eaten my cookies, which were quite tasty, I grew bored and shifted around uncomfortably in my seat. The seats had been designed to accommodate the rumps of grade school kids, not the wide behind of a grown woman a good fifteen pounds overweight, twenty if I was being completely honest. The room was too warm, and I was cursing the fact I’d worn a turtleneck sweater, as I was beginning to sweat. I looked over at the big clock on the wall to see only twelve minutes had passed since the meeting had started and they hadn’t even gotten to any of the agenda items yet. There was no way they’d get through everything on the agenda in an hour. Dorothy had obviously tricked me to get me to come. But she was right. This was good practice for me. So, I pulled out a notepad and started taking notes even though I wasn’t exactly sure what to take notes on.

  Once the meeting finally got underway, people mostly talked about budgets for arts and athletic programs, which got kind of heated as people argued the value of each one. Not surprisingly, the fathers and a couple of male gym teachers argued the value of the athletics programs, while the mothers and music teachers argued the value of the arts programs. Apparently, the funding for both was on the chopping block. I was happy all over again not to have a kid, though if I had to choose, I was definitely on the side of the arts. I was not athletically inclined. Nothing good had ever come out of any gym class I’d ever been in.

  Once it was clear that neither side was going to budge, and the other items on the agenda had yet to be addressed, the president, a dapper man with a combover and a bow tie cleared his throat and made a show of looking at his watch. Next up was approving the calendar for the next school year, which was easily accepted. After that a discussion on the location of a memorial bench for a former board member who’d passed away the previous fall followed. By this time I’d stopped taking notes and was stifling a yawn. But perked right up when the next agenda item came up: director reports from the various programs that weren’t a part of regular school curriculum, including after-school latchkey programs, joint vocational education, and the ABLE/GED program.

  Damn that Dorothy. She’d said she didn’t have to give a report this month. Had she lied about that, too, to get me to come? And what in the world was I going to say? I was a teacher. Dorothy handled the admin side of the center. It took about ten minutes for the other program directors to give their reports; none of them seemed to be giving any complicated, in-depth information. I figured I was safe, and I’d have to get used to doing this anyway. When the president of the board called Dorothy’s name, I stood up and introduced myself.

  “Hello. My name is Kendra Clayton. I’m an English teacher at Clark Literacy Center and I’m filling in for Dorothy Burgess who is unable to be here this evening.” So far so good. I had everyone’s attention. “I’d like to report our attendance at the center has doubled since this time last year and at the end of the November six students passed their GED exam. Also. . .”

  “Six students? Are you sure?” asked a thin somber-looking white woman sitting next to the president. Her name placard identified her as Martha Simmons, secretary.

  “Um…yes, ma’am, six students.” I said a little louder, thinking maybe she hadn’t heard me. The other board members were looking from me to this Martha woman curiously.

  “Well,” said Martha, putting on the bifocals that had been hanging around her neck and scrutinizing a piece of paper she’d pulled from a leather binder on the table in front of her. “According the minutes of last month’s meeting, Dorothy Burgess reported that the center had graduated 36 students by the end of November. I remember because it was the last board meeting before Christmas. I congratulated Mrs. Burgess on the center’s success and commented on what a wonderful Christmas present having passed the GED exam must have been for her students. But now we’re to understand that only six students passed their GED exam and not 36?”

  All eyes were on me and I could have just died. Either this woman had misremembered what Dorothy had said, or Dorothy had lied and padded our graduation stats. And if she had it wasn’t hard to see why. Our budget was solely dependent on our enrollment and graduation numbers. It’s the reason why Dorothy had never been able to offer me a full-time position. There just wasn’t the money available for any of us, except Dorothy to be full-time. And if that were the case, I’d just let the cat out of the bag. Way to go, me.

  “I’m sorry,” I began, trying to make my voice sound calm and even. Instead, my throat was closed and dry and I sounded like I was being strangled. “I’m filling in for Dorothy at the last minute and didn’t get a chance to go over any of her notes from any previous meetings. I…”

  “You’re a teacher at Clark Literacy Center, correct?” asked another board member, an overweight black man named Nester Kemp.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Well, shouldn’t you know how many students the center graduated in November? You’re the one who works with the students, right?” he continued.

  “Of course. But…”

  “Am I correct in assuming that Mrs. Burgess is probably getting these numbers directly from you?” asked Ms. Simmons before I could finish my answer. She and Nester looked at each other with something very close to excitement in their eyes, like the thought of catching me in some kind of lie was about to make their entire day, maybe even week. Clearly, they needed to get out more. Crap. Only I could screw up something as simple as subbing for my boss at a damned school board meeting.

  “We need to move on to the next agenda item,” said the president, whose name was Ted Montgomery. I could have kissed his comb over. “Besides, this can be easily be remedied with an audit of the Center’s records,” he concluded, turning the kiss I’d wanted to give him into a roundhouse kick to the solar plexus. An audit? They were going to audit the literacy center? How

  “All in favor?” Ted looked around the table and so did I. Everyone’s hands were raised, including Dr. Joyce Kirkland’s. She hadn’t even bothered looking up at me. She was too busy looking at something in her lap. I wondered if she even knew what she was voting for.

  “Then it’s unanimous.”

  He said something else but I didn’t hear it because I’d already sunk back down into my seat, fumbling for the now warm can of Coke on the floor next to me. Without thinking, I popped the top to relieve my dry throat and gasped. Sticky soda exploded from the can spraying my face and the front of my white turtleneck. Soda dripped from my hair and ran down my face as I sputtered and attempted to wipe it from my eyes, inadvertently dropping the still partially full can. The can hit the slanted linoleum floor with a loud clang then rolled under the seats in front of me trailing brown liquid in its wake. The people in the seats in front of me jumped up to keep from getting it on their shoes, while a few people laughed nervously. The board members stared at me in silence like I was an idiot. And I was an idiot. Humiliated, I grabbed my bag and fled to the bathroom. I’d wiped my face with a wet paper towel and was attempting to sponge it off my turtleneck when someone came into the bathroom.

  “Are you okay?” asked Joyce Kirkland, looking concerned. But not so concerned that she wasn’t grinning.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” I replied, stiffly. “I just feel like a fool.”

  “Are you kidding? That’s the best thing that’s happened at one of these boring meetings in a long time.” I couldn’t tell if she was sincere, making fun of me, or both.

  “Oh, really.” Much as I loved the idea of entertaining people, doing it my own expense held no appeal.

  “Really. I
thought old Nester the molester was going to burst a blood vessel. He’s an accountant and the word audit gets him all hot and bothered.” I laughed despite myself. “I’m Joyce Kirkland, by the way.” She stuck her hand out and I gave it a quick pump, hoping I hadn’t gotten her hand wet and sticky.

  “Kendra Clayton, and didn’t I see you at the jail yesterday?” I asked bluntly then I felt bad when her smile slipped a notch. The woman was just trying to be nice and she was the only one who’d shown me any kindness.

  “So that’s why you look so familiar. I passed you in the hall, didn’t I?”

  “Yep, that was me.” I waited for her to say more, like who’d she’d been visiting, even though I had as strong suspicion it was Lewis. But she just continued to smile at me and didn’t say any more about it.

  “What’s the deal with this audit? Any idea what it entails and how much trouble the literacy center could be in?”

  “Oh, girl, I wouldn’t worry about that audit.” She waved her hand dismissively like she was batting the offending word out of the air.

  “Uh, it sounded pretty serious to me. And I have no idea why the numbers aren’t adding up. I…”

  “Kendra,” said Joyce with a heavy sigh. “Can I call you Kendra?” I nodded my agreement and she continued. “Audits cost time, money, and manpower, none of which we have at the moment, especially for a small program like yours. The board voted to audit five programs last year. Do you know how many actually got audited?” I shook my head no.

  “Zero.”

  “Then why vote to audit at all?”

  “To scare people. It’s power trip thing. They like to flex their muscles, especially Martha. She’s a retired principal, and I think she misses dishing out disciple.” I felt a little bit better, but still wanted to know why Dorothy had lied about how many students we’d graduated.

  “Thanks, Dr. Kirkland.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, turning to go then pausing in the doorway. “And you can call me Joyce.”