Murder with Macaroni and Cheese

by A. L. Herbert

“Sure,” she says, a curious expression on her face. “I’m due at a choir meeting. Let me just text the director and let her know I’ll be a few minutes late.”

  Alvetta sends the text and leads us toward the elevators, which whisk up to the third level. When we reach her office, she takes a seat on the long sofa by the window rather than behind her desk. Wavonne and I sit down next to her.

  “Lawd.” Wavonne takes in the office. “Cookie Lyon don’t have an office this nice on Empire.”

  Alvetta laughs. “It is a nice space. Took me months to furnish and decorate it. I wanted everything ‘just so.’ ” She looks around the room as if to remind her how lovely it is. “I’m very blessed.”

  I want to say, “I’m not so sure about that.” Instead I remain quiet, and there is a lengthy and awkward silence among the three of us.

  “So?” Alvetta eventually asks. “What can I help you with?”

  I clear my throat. “Gosh. I’m trying to figure out how to say this . . .”

  “Say what? You’re starting to make me nervous. Is something wrong?”

  “Possibly,” I say. “Possibly very wrong. Your husband . . . Michael . . .” I struggle for words. “He . . . well, he and Terrence. How do I put this—”

  “Vetta, girl,” Wavonne says. “Michael and Terrence are doin’ the nasty, and Halia here thinks they may have teamed up to ice Raynell. And your bougie ass might be next.”

  “Very tactful, Wavonne.” I glare at her while Alvetta does the same. She seems to be letting Wavonne’s words settle in. “What Wavonne was trying to say is—”

  “I know what she was trying to say, Halia. I may be a minister’s wife, but I don’t live in a bunker. I’m aware of what ‘doin the nasty’ means. But that’s silly. I mean . . . really . . . where did you ever get such an idea?”

  Though she claims to think the idea of her husband having an affair with Terrence is ridiculous, the look in her eyes and slight tremor in her voice betray her. Clearly, we’ve unsettled her.

  “We came upon this note at the Rollinses’ residence.” I hand the incriminating love note to Alvetta. “I recognized Michael’s handwriting from his column in the church bulletin. At first I thought it was from him to Raynell, but given some recent events, I’m quite certain it was from Michael to Terrence.” I spare Alvetta the details about the little experiment we conducted at Sweet Tea that established that Michael was clearly more interested in the goods Darius was peddling than the ones Wavonne put on display in front of him.

  Alvetta takes the note from my hand and begins to read it.

  “And it’s not just the note.” I take a breath. “Wavonne and I did a little checking today with Rick Stevens at the retreat table in the main hall. That’s really why we came by today—to see him. According to him, Michael was not being truthful about his and Terrence’s whereabouts the night Raynell died. Rick said neither one of them socialized in the lounge that night. In fact, he didn’t see them at all after dinner.”

  Alvetta puts the note down on the table in front of the sofa and stands up. “Wow. Not much gets past you, Halia, does it?” She walks toward her desk.

  “I’m sorry we had to be the ones to tell you this, but if you’re in danger you need to know.”

  “Know?” Her back is toward us, and her hands are lightly resting on her desk. “Know? Oh, Halia, I’ve known for years. I knew before I married Michael.”

  “Sista, say what?!” Wavonne asks.

  Alvetta turns around and leans against the desk, more looking at the floor than at us. “As with most things nefarious, it all started with Raynell—that woman could scheme a fat kid out of cake.” She lifts her head and looks at us. “I don’t follow sports, so I knew nothing about Terrence, football player extraordinaire, back in the day. But apparently, in the nineties, when Terrence was at his height with the Redskins, rumors were swirling that he . . . that he . . .”

  “Prefers hot dogs to taco shells?” Wavonne says.

  Alvetta nods. “This was almost twenty years ago. Professional football isn’t exactly welcoming to gay men now, but back then, it was absolutely unthinkable for the truth about Terrence’s sexual orientation to get out. His career would have been over. The rumors had to be squelched, and Raynell signed on to do the squelching. In exchange for helping Terrence keep up appearances, Raynell gained the celebrity of being a star football player’s wife and, more important, access to his millions.”

  “So what does this have to do with you and Michael?”

  “It wasn’t long after Terrence married Raynell that he met a deacon with a gift for public speaking at a small Baptist church in Camp Springs.”

  “Michael.”

  “Yes. I guess one thing led to another, and Terrence and Michael became an item—an item that had to be kept on the down low. As Michael became more and more successful and moved to progressively larger congregations, he found himself in the same position Terrence had years earlier—he was also a star in his career field. But, unfortunately, much like Terrence, he chose a career that, at the time . . . maybe even now, could have been ruined by gay rumors. Thankfully this was before TMZ and Perez Hilton, but apparently a tabloid photographer had begun snooping around and noticing the extensive amount of time Terrence and Michael were spending together with no women on their arms. The attention was not good for either of them. So, once again, it was Raynell to the rescue.

  “I was trying to make it as a model at the time, but I was spending more time waiting tables than booking photo shoots. Raynell recruited me to silence the rumors about Michael just like she had for Terrence. I was broke, and my mother was sick . . . and my modeling career was going nowhere fast. It was the right offer at the right time. Rebirth was not in this mammoth building back then, but it had already become a force to be reckoned with, and Michael had amassed a tidy fortune. And I liked him . . . I still like him. We’re good friends . . . we enjoy each other’s company . . . I enjoy my work here . . . and, yes, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t revel in the status of being the First Lady of one of the largest churches on the East Coast. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship for both of us.”

  “I guess I’m a little relieved you already knew about Michael and Terrence. I wasn’t thrilled about having to be the one to break the news to you. But isn’t it still possible that maybe they’ve decided they wanted to be together in a more . . . I don’t know . . . official or open manner and could have killed Raynell to avoid a costly divorce?”

  “No,” Alvetta says without hesitation. “Both Raynell and I signed airtight prenuptials. Under the terms of the agreement, Raynell wouldn’t have ended up destitute in the event of the divorce, but Terrence would have held on to the bulk of his fortune. The same goes for me and Michael. I would get a little something if we divorced, but definitely nowhere near enough to keep me living in the manner to which I’ve become accustomed. And, in reality, the legal agreement between Raynell and Terrence is irrelevant at this point. Raynell kept it a closely guarded secret, but several years ago she and Terrence made a series of bad investments and lost the bulk of Terrence’s fortune. Terrence does pretty well doing local television, but he’s certainly not making millions. That’s why Raynell got into selling real estate and was so rabid for new clients in the market for expensive homes. They needed to supplement Terrence’s earnings if they were going to keep up the same lifestyle they had before they lost most of their savings.”

  “So, even if you take money out of the picture, do you think Terrence and Michael’s relationship could have had something to do with Raynell’s death?”

  “No. I can assure you Terrence and Michael have no plans of going public with their relationship. I know things have changed over the years. But Terrence is involved in the world of professional sports, which can still be a rough place for gay men. And Michael . . . well, you can’t exactly be an out gay man and also lead a church with an Out of the Darkness ministry.”

  “What’s that?”

  Alvett
a rifles through some brochures on the table, picks one up, and begins reading. “Out of the Darkness provides healing for individuals suffering from same-sex attraction with the goal of releasing these men and women from the bondage of these feelings.”

  Alvetta continues reading for another moment or two while Wavonne and I sit there speechless. And, honestly, the deceit and manipulation . . . Raynell and Alvetta marrying gay men for the fringe benefits . . . Michael running a ministry to rid people of same-sex attraction when he’s, as Wavonne would say, “gettin’ some” on the side with Terrence. It’s all making my stomach turn.

  When Alvetta is done reading aloud she sets the brochure back on the table only to have Wavonne pick it up and shove it in her purse. “For Darius.”

  “I don’t think Darius is interested in changing anything about himself.”

  “I know. I’m just trying to hook a brotha up. He’s been complainin’ about a dry spell—sounds like a good place for a gay man to get a date.”

  “Have at it. I’ve never been terribly comfortable with the ministry, and given the way the tide is turning, I suspect its days are numbered,” Alvetta says, and looks at me. “So you see, Halia, you’re chasing a dead end if you think Terrence and Michael killed Raynell. The four of us had a good thing going, and it worked for all parties. Michael and Terrence were free to pretty much do whatever they wanted. There was no reason to take Raynell out of the picture.”

  “So, if Michael and Terrence were free to do whatever they wanted, does that mean Raynell was free to do whatever—”

  Wavonne interrupts. “And whoever she wanted?”

  “Yes, she was. Raynell had no shortage of her own affairs and, believe me, Terrence couldn’t have cared less.”

  I let out a sigh. “I can honestly say this is not what I expected to hear when we asked to talk with you.”

  “It is a tangled web. I know. But you do what you have to do.”

  “Of course your relationship with Michael . . . Raynell’s relationship with Terrence—they are really none of my business. I really just wanted to make sure you were not in danger.”

  “Michael is my best friend. He would never hurt me.” She pauses for a moment. “At least not in that way.” The look in her eyes tells me that perhaps she is his best friend, but he is a bit more than that to her . . . and that maybe this arrangement doesn’t work quite as well as she was trying to have us to believe. . . at least not for her.

  CHAPTER 35

  “So, what have you got for me?” I ask Momma after I walk into the kitchen at Sweet Tea. Yesterday, I asked her if she’d whip up something special for me to take to Terrence. I wanted something especially yummy—something so good he’ll be distracted by the taste and let his guard down while I discreetly pump him for information.

  I’ve talked at length with Alvetta, Michael, Gregory, and Kimberly—Terrence is really the only one on my suspect list who I haven’t had a real conversation with. Given Alvetta’s insistence that he wouldn’t have been bothered by Raynell’s affair with Gregory and had no interest in a divorce, maybe it’s unlikely that he’s to blame for Raynell’s death. But if he doesn’t offer any information to incriminate himself, maybe he can provide some new leads.

  Momma turns to the counter and lifts the top from a cake caddie to reveal a decadent yellow cake with a sugar glaze trickling down the sides and thinly sliced candied lemon slices on top. “Ta da. My brown-butter lemon pound cake.”

  “Aunt Celia, please tell me you made two of those? I need to have me some of that,” Wavonne calls. She was completely engrossed in whatever trashy magazine she was reading on the other side of the counter. But now that the lid is off Momma’s creation, Wavonne is taking a break from the latest celebrity gossip to eye the pound cake.

  “Stop looking at it that way, Wavonne,” I say. “There is only one, and it’s for Terrence.”

  “Why does Terrence get my cake?”

  “Because I need an excuse to go over to his house. I figure dropping off some delicious baked goods is a nice gesture while he’s mourning the loss of his wife.”

  “Halia, I wish you wouldn’t get involved. If that Rollins girl died as the result of foul play, let the police deal with it,” Momma says. “Besides, you should be spending time with that nice Gregory fellow. Why don’t you take him a cake?”

  “Seriously, Momma? I told you about his antics with Raynell. And he’s not off my suspect list just yet. You really want me dating a possible murderer?”

  “I don’t think that nice boy killed anyone. And if he did kill that Rollins girl it’s only because she made him mad. Just don’t make him mad, Halia, and he won’t kill you . . . and I’ll get my grandbabies.”

  I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Just give me the cake, Momma.”

  Momma snaps the lid back on the caddie and hands it to me.

  “I should be back before we open.”

  As I start to walk out of the kitchen, I hear the hurried clicking of heels on the tile floor behind me. If I didn’t know better I’d think the sound was coming from Wavonne, who hasn’t changed into her work shoes yet. But “hurried” and Wavonne don’t exactly intermingle. I’m through to the dining room and almost at the front door when I turnaround to find it is, indeed, Wavonne tailing me. Apparently, I don’t know better.

  “I’m comin’ with you,” she says. “If you won’t let me have some of that cake, maybe Terrence will.”

  “Wavonne, I need you to stay here and wait on customers.”

  “You said you’d be back before we open.”

  I sigh. She’s got me there. “I guess I did. Do you promise you’ll behave yourself and not go anywhere near Raynell’s closet?”

  “Promise.”

  “Fine. But let me do the talking.”

  * * *

  When we arrive at the Rollins residence Terrence is outside watering some shrubs with a hose. He waves to us as I park the van on the street in front of the house. I phoned him this morning before I left the house, so he’s expecting us.

  “Hello,” I call to him as Wavonne and I get out of the van, cake in hand.

  “Hello, ladies,” he says as we approach him. “What do you have there?”

  “My mother makes all the desserts at Sweet Tea, and I asked her to bake a little something special for you. It’s not much, but I enjoyed reconnecting with Raynell, and Wavonne and I just wanted to stop by and pay our respects since we couldn’t make the funeral.”

  “Thank you. That’s very nice.”

  Terrence accepts the cake from me with a perplexed look on his face, as if he’s surprised anyone would enjoy reconnecting with Raynell. “Please, come in for a few minutes. I’m about done out here. It’s been so dry this summer. The gardener isn’t due until Friday, so I wanted to give the bushes a little water.”

  Terrence leads us into the house and down the hall to the kitchen where he sets the cake on the counter. “Please have a seat.” He points toward the kitchen table. “What can I get you to drink? I still have some coffee on if you’d like a cup.”

  “Yes. That would be nice.”

  Terrence grabs a few mugs from one of the cabinets, fills them with coffee, and brings them over to the table with a small carton of half-and-half. “There’s some sugar right there.” He points to a ceramic bowl on the table.

  “You know what would go really well with the coffee?” Wavonne says. “Some of my Aunt Celia’s lemon pound cake.”

  “Wavonne, the cake is for Terrence. He may want to save it for later.”

  “No, no. Let’s cut it up.” Terrence walks back to the counter and pulls a knife from a wooden block. “Wow,” he says when he lifts the lid. “It looks so good. I hate to slice into it.”

  “Then let me do it.” Wavonne gets up from her chair and takes the knife from Terrence. “You get us some plates.”

  Terrence does as he’s instructed, and moments later the three of us are seated at the table about to get fat and happy on coffee and pound cake.r />
  Terrence takes a bite. “This is some good cake.”

  “Yes. Momma is the Queen of Desserts.” I help myself to a forkful as well. “So, how are you holding up, Terrence?”

  “I’m hanging in there. There’s been so much to do since Raynell passed. Keeping busy has helped me cope. I’ll start back to work on Monday. I think that will be good for me.”

  “You must really be going through a lot.”

  “I guess so, but I’m not sure it’s registered that Raynell’s really gone. It’s so quiet around here without her shouting orders all day,” he says with a laugh.

  “Girlfriend did like to tell people what to do,” Wavonne says.

  “That she did,” Terrence agrees. “She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it . . . demand it. Actually, I kind of liked that about her. She wasn’t always the most pleasant person, but, let me tell you, life with Raynell Rollins was never boring.”

  “I’m sure of that.” I shift around in my chair. “Can I ask you something, Terrence?”

  “Sure.”

  “There’s been some talk . . . some talk that maybe Raynell’s death was not an accident. I guess I’m just wondering what you think about that.”

  “I think that’s just gossip. I’ve talked with the police and, though we’re waiting on the autopsy results, they are all but certain it was an accident. There was no sign of anyone breaking into the house, nothing was missing, and there was nothing to indicate that she struggled with anyone. Raynell liked her cocktails, and sometimes she indulged a bit too much . . . way too much. I’ve seen her unsteady on her feet before from too much vodka. It’s not that surprising that she lost her footing and fell hard. I just wish I had been here when it happened. I could have gotten her help.”

  His eyes start to tear up, and I can tell he’s trying to keep his composure and prevent some full-fledged waterworks from starting. “If I had been here instead of at that stupid conference, I could have helped her . . . if she didn’t die immediately from the fall, I could have gotten help, and she might still be here.” He takes a long breath and lifts a napkin to his eye to catch a stray tear. “I know she could be difficult, but I don’t think she ever did anything so bad that someone would want to kill her. And Raynell had another side that most people didn’t see—she raised huge amounts of money for her foundation. She really did care about helping those kids. She was always sending money to her family in Roanoke . . . she even foot the bill for some crazy expensive surgery her ‘what do I need health insurance for?’ brother required. There was a lot to like about Raynell—she was full of energy, smart as a whip, and she knew how to make things happen. Honestly, I’m going to be a bit lost without her.”