by Maggie King
Georgia started to reminisce about Carlene, aka Carly. That suited me, as I wanted to get going on my so-called investigation. I deemed Georgia to be my best source for Carlene-related information. Reminiscing was a good way to start and could turn up something unexpected.
“Carly and I met in first grade, up in Fairfax. My family was loving and close-knit, so Carly spent a lot of time at our house. Her parents were always drinking, occasionally fighting, but usually they were passed out, so things were quiet. They pretty much ignored Carly and her brother, Hal. Eventually they divorced and her mother married Dean Berenger. You know him, don’t you?”
“Yes, I’ve met him at the turkey dinners.” The same place where I’d met Georgia, who had lost no time in enlisting me as a volunteer for RWRC. No more turkey dinners, I thought, feeling disappointed and a little selfish.
“Did you and Carlene go to the same high school?”
“Yes. We were good students, nerds actually, always with our noses in our books. Neither of us dated much in high school, we weren’t even interested, although we did go to the prom with equally nerdy guys. We were curious about sex, and my mom told us a little, admonishing us to wait for marriage. Kat told us a lot, but she didn’t suggest waiting. As it happened, neither of us waited for marriage, but we were well into college before we, let’s say, succumbed.
“And Carlene didn’t just succumb, she got so into sex that she worried me to no end. I was always concerned she’d get into trouble with her freewheeling lifestyle.” Fresh tears streamed down her face unchecked. At least Georgia didn’t have to worry about ruining her makeup, because she never appeared to wear any, a grooming choice at odds with her high-maintenance hair and nails. I admired her bronze polish, a departure from the burgundy shades most women favored.
Georgia continued. “It was almost like she led a double life. She was always and forever the perfect lady. From the time we were little kids she was polite, refined, soft spoken. When she discovered sex she remained that same lady and became a hedonist at the same time.”
“How did she discover sex?” This business with a sexual alter ego was intriguing, as I’d only known Carlene in her perfect lady mode.
“When Carly was a senior at the University of Pittsburgh, she had an affair with a married professor. Until then, her experience was limited to one boy from college, who wasn’t exactly sexually inspiring. But the professor took his teaching responsibilities into the bedroom and showed Carly a world of pleasure. After graduation she moved to L.A., where her college roommate lived. She embarked on a sexual odyssey that lasted for years. She and the roommate lived together for a while but had a falling-out over Carly having breakfast sex in the kitchen.
I tried to stifle a laugh, but didn’t succeed. Georgia started to laugh too, that cleansing laughter that often follows sadness, shock, tragedy. We laughed until our stomachs ached, then laughed some more.
The more I learned about Carlene’s adventures, the more I felt like a voyeur. But my plans to immortalize her by making her a character in an upcoming book provided a ready rationalization. Georgia said, echoing my thoughts, “She definitely belongs in the pages of your book, Hazel, or the next one, anyway.”
It occurred to me that Carlene’s book contained no sex scenes or sexual references. Why would such a sexually adventurous woman populate her book with squeaky-clean characters? When I asked Georgia for her take, she shrugged.
“All kidding aside, Carly was pretty reckless and I often feared for her health and safety. She had a lot of partners, and would try anything, at least once. I don’t even want to think about some of the things she told me.” Georgia blotted her eyes. “I hope I don’t sound like I’m antisex, because I’m not. I just think she used it to seek validation.”
Maybe, maybe not, I thought. It could be that the woman just plain liked sex. “I don’t mean to question her truthfulness, but did you believe all her stories?”
“Yes, unfortunately. I wish I could say she was spinning fantasies—but she was always truthful when we were growing up, so I have to say that I think her tales were true.” Georgia’s face clouded. “What I don’t believe is that she committed suicide. Was it that tea that she drank? Is that what did it? I never trusted that stuff—wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.”
“It probably was the tea.” As gently as I could, I told Georgia about the possibility of cyanide in the tea.
“Cyanide! That’s nuts. Carly wouldn’t take cyanide. I think I told you that we spent the weekend at a spa. We had a wonderful time. It was Carly’s fiftieth birthday, you know.” Georgia smiled at the memory. “Of course, I just got the basics: facial, massage, mani/pedi. Carly got all that plus an herbal wrap, mud bath, and a few other things. Spent a fortune. On the way home, we went to a jewelry store where she got diamond studs and a second hole pierced in each ear. And that still wasn’t enough—we had to stop at a tattoo parlor where she got a toucan tattooed on her ankle.”
“Oh, for your Costa Rica trip. I remember the toucans from when I went there.” The large-billed birds populated the rain forest in great numbers. “You know, on Monday night Carlene and I arranged to meet with you and talk about your upcoming trip.”
Georgia shook her head in disbelief. “I ask you, Hazel, does this sound like a woman about to commit suicide? Does it?”
Naturally, I agreed with Georgia’s stance, but still wanted to play both sides of the suicide argument. “Was Carlene upset about anything? Was the separation weighing heavily on her mind? Was she in despair?”
“Oh, so you know about the separation.” With a wry tone, Georgia said, “She was happy enough about that.” With a start, she backpedaled. “I’m sorry, Hazel. I forgot that Evan was your ex. And you two are still friends, I know.” Were we still friends? That question hung in the balance. I assured Georgia that she could speak freely.
“Kat said there was a note . . . was it handwritten or typed?” When I said handwritten, Georgia said, “Well . . . anyone could write a suicide note and copy Carly’s writing.” Then she looked stricken. “But that implicates . . . one of you. And I’m sure none of you would do it. It’s too scary to contemplate.”
“Let me tell you about the other night.” I recounted Carlene’s edginess, the ranting about the book, then the question she posed to me about making a huge mistake. I included the love-fugitive angle planned for the forthcoming book.
“And this Linda . . . did Carlene ever mention a Linda Thomas?” When Georgia looked blank, I told her what I knew about Linda, both from the signing and from the other night.
Georgia shrugged her eyebrows. “I missed all that drama at the signing. I do remember someone who looked the way you described. But—”
“That’s another funny thing—sorry for interrupting. Carlene was reticent about all things L.A.-related. Why do you think that was?”
As she was already nodding, I took it that Georgia knew about the L.A. ban. “Your bringing up Los Angeles takes me back to when Carly moved back here. She was afraid of somebody, although she was never specific. She mentioned a stalker and a doomed love affair. And a fiancé. I don’t know if the fiancé and the stalker were one and the same. I assumed the fiancé was the other party in the doomed love affair. But I couldn’t say for sure.
“So she moved back here, I guess to flee from the stalker. She wanted to start over and be respectable and she saw disassociating herself with L.A. as a way to do that. She never even went back to visit.”
I shifted in my chair, wondering where to start in this dizzying array: fiancé, stalker, doomed love affair. “Tell me about the fiancé.”
“Beyond his being a lawyer, I never heard much about him. He didn’t last long, just one of those here-today-gone-tomorrow deals.” Georgia spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “That’s all I remember.”
“Okay, how about the doomed love affair that may or may not have involved the fiancé? What did she tell you about that?”
“Other than that i
t had occurred, not much. Funny thing, she was closemouthed about it, even when it must have been going on. What I remember is this: in 1996 Carly told me she was moving to Richmond. She didn’t want to go home to her alcoholic parents, so I insisted she stay with me until she found a place. Like I said, she was unhappy and needed, as she put it, a complete overhaul. Unusual, because she didn’t usually take the end of love affairs to heart. In all honesty, she was rather shallow, but that may be due to her upbringing. At any rate, something, or someone, was troubling her. But, aside from tossing about hints and innuendos, she wasn’t inclined to discuss any of it.”
“So it sounds like she was a fairly open person until these events that immediately preceded her moving back here.”
“That’s right. Then she became just as closed as she’d been open before.”
“What about the P.G. or P.J. that Linda brought up? Does that ring any bells?” Georgia looked down for a moment before shaking her head. I added, “It was likely someone they knew, or at least Linda knew, from L.A.” But that didn’t help, as Georgia continued to move her head from side to side, reminding me that Carly didn’t like to talk about L.A.
“And what about this big mistake? I tend to think it’s tied in with Linda.”
“Based on what you’ve told me, Linda could be a pissed-off wife or girlfriend. Her showing up like that the other night makes me mighty suspicious.”
I agreed. “But I don’t see how she managed to put something in the tea. And we don’t know how to get in touch with her. No one has her phone number, e-mail address—nothing.”
“Maybe Creatures ’n Crooks has her information in their customer records.” I grabbed one of Georgia’s Post-it notes and made a note to follow up on her suggestion. Lucy’s office was near the store. They weren’t likely to give out contact information, but Lucy might be able to stop in and ferret out something helpful.
“Did Carlene have any other close friends?”
“Not here. Maybe in Los Angeles, but I doubt it.”
“Did she mention anyone in particular from out there? I might know someone.”
“That’s right, you lived there too.” She pressed her lips together in concentration. Slowly shaking her head, she said, “Can’t think of anyone.”
“What about the stalker? Any clues about him?”
Georgia placed her hands palms up in a “beats me” gesture. “She just mentioned it in passing one time and then clammed up.” When I noted that a stalker was a funny thing to mention in passing, Georgia agreed. “But she didn’t seem upset about it, just matter-of-fact. I figured he was back in L.A., so she felt safe here.”
Like a stalker couldn’t find her in Richmond? In this age of technology, it would be child’s play. Aloud, I said, “I wonder if she planned to draw on her experience with this stalker for her next book.” Stalker and love fugitive struck me as being twin concepts.
When Georgia shrugged, I left the stalker topic. “So, you said she stayed with you when she moved back here . . . How did that work out?”
Georgia gave a short laugh. “Oh, it was interesting. She surprised me by wanting to go to church with me. Carly had never been religious. After my divorce a friend took me to this wonderful healing church. They provided a lot of support and activities for the kids and me. It was much more fundamentalist than I was used to, but that didn’t seem to matter. They frown on sex outside of marriage. I wasn’t having sex anyway so it was a nonissue.”
Georgia paused before going on. “As it turned out, Carly had attended a similar church in Los Angeles with the fiancé. She liked our church and got involved in the activities. She deemed the sex taboo a good idea and decided to be celibate until she married. I was highly skeptical, but kept my thoughts to myself. Just in case she was sincere, I didn’t want to discourage her.”
We didn’t speak for a moment. Georgia opened a desk drawer and took out a box of tissues, replacing the now empty one on her desk. I tried to marshal my thoughts about the “new” Carlene.
“How long did she attend the church? Or was she still attending?”
“No, she only went for a while. Her mother died from alcoholism and she found solace at church. But after she got a place in the Fan she lost interest. I think it had to do with that Randy.” From the way Georgia’s face clouded, I surmised that Randy didn’t top her list of favorite people.
“Randy? That’s a new name . . . tell me about him.”
“I don’t remember much, not even how Carly met him. From all appearances they had a stormy relationship. She complained about him being possessive and domineering, bossy.”
Hmm. Another possessive and domineering guy. Perhaps Carlene was drawn to such men. Or she brought out those qualities, I thought, steadfast in my belief that Evan did not come by such traits by nature.
“Sounds like it had to do with sex.” When Georgia looked confused, I explained, “You know, makeup sex.”
“Maybe. But she wasn’t sharing details of her sex life with me anymore. Maybe she thought the church had made me judgmental. I never thought it had, but maybe she saw things differently. Like I said, our church takes a stand against sex outside of marriage. It doesn’t necessarily follow that the members obey the rules. Still, she may have felt uncomfortable in church if she was having sex and stopped attending for that reason.”
“Did you ever meet Randy?”
“Once. For the life of me I couldn’t see the attraction. Middle-aged bald guy, pug ugly. Full of himself. When Gary and I got married, Carly didn’t bring Randy to the wedding. He wouldn’t have mixed well with our fundamentalist group. Surprisingly, she came alone.”
“Was he married?”
“Yes, but separated. Long divorced by now. In fact, his ex-wife, Trudy, is in your book group.”
“Trudy! Trudy Zimmerman was married to this Randy character?”
Georgia nodded, looking puzzled by my reaction.
Now things were getting interesting.
CHAPTER 8
LIKE MOST BOOK GROUPS, we had a contingent that attended for a while before moving on. Some found our practice of discussing multiple books rather than a single one too radical. Scheduling conflicts provided an effective all-purpose excuse—one that may or may not be true. The truth could be that they didn’t care for the people, the books, or how the group was conducted. The scheduling conflict excuse that Trudy Zimmerman cited for dropping out of the group was a case in point.
At the time, I took the excuse at face value. I had thought Trudy was content enough with the group. As expected of a librarian, she displayed an impressive interest in and knowledge of books. If we’d given prizes for the best book summaries, she’d have won hands down every time. She was less forthcoming on a personal level, revealing little beyond being divorced with no children. As Carlene was equally reserved, I didn’t attribute Trudy’s manner to any dissatisfaction with the group. But with Georgia’s bombshell, I wondered if Trudy’s defection had to do with Randy and Carlene.
“When Trudy started going to your group, Carly wasn’t sure if she was Randy’s ex. She never met Trudy or even saw her, but did know she was a librarian. And Trudy had a different last name from Randy. But, after all, how often do you hear the name Trudy? Especially Trudys who are librarians in the Richmond area? Naturally, Carly didn’t want to ask, so she just figured it was the same Trudy.”
“And we don’t know if Trudy was on to the fact that Carlene was Randy’s former lover?”
“No, Carlene couldn’t tell. She said Trudy was decent enough to her. Not exactly friendly, just decent.”
I mused. “I bet Trudy found out when Carlene’s book was published. Carlene used the author name of Carlene Lundy Arness. So back in the Randy days she was Carlene Lundy?”
“No. Carla Gennis. When she moved here she changed from Carla Lundy to Carla Gennis. Gennis was a family name.”
“Still, Trudy could have found out—maybe Carlene or Annabel mentioned something.”
Georgia�
�s eyes widened and she covered her mouth. “I just had a horrible thought. You don’t suppose . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“. . . that Trudy did it?” I finished her sentence. “She wasn’t there. Hasn’t been in a while. And she’s on her honeymoon and not due back for another week.”
“Really? She got married?”
“She did. On board an Aegean cruise. Kind of a whirlwind deal—according to Sarah, who sees her a lot, she met her husband about six weeks ago.”
“Well, good for her. I hope she’s happier with him than she was with Randy.”
I asked, “By the way, where did Carlene work? Before she became a full-time writer?”
“Different places. She did a lot of contract work.”
“So, getting back to Carlene and Randy—how did their relationship play out?”
Georgia put her fingers on her forehead, striking a thinking pose. “I don’t recall all the details. She was still seeing Randy when she met Evan. I was there when Kat, who was dating Evan at the time, introduced them.” Georgia paused and slanted a look at me. “Did you know about Evan and Kat?”
“Yes, Kat told us yesterday.” Realizing that Georgia was the perfect witness to the Carlene-Evan-Kat triangle, I asked, “How did Kat take it at the time?”
Georgia thought. “I don’t remember her having a problem with it. But she pretty much has an easy-come, easy-go attitude about life in general and men in particular.”
“So you don’t think she could have done it?”
“Oh, heavens, no. She showed up at Carlene and Evan’s wedding with a date and seemed unperturbed. And she wasn’t one to hide anything or pretend . . . If she was pissed with you, you knew it. Like anyone, she probably didn’t like being dumped, especially for her stepsister. But I think she just let it roll off her back and moved on.”
With Lucy’s tepid vouching for Kat and Georgia’s more wholehearted endorsement I felt ready to declare Kat suspicion-free. “Well, Lucy and I don’t really feel like she could have done it.” I omitted the back and forth we’d had on the matter.