When committee members started glancing at their watches. Heaven realized she had digressed. “Guess that dry rub joke was one of those you-had-to-be-there things. Moving right along to Sunday, when the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum is dedicated, we will have a gospel brunch featuring Cajun and Creole cooking. There are three restaurants catering that event, and they seem to get along.”
“This sure has made me hungry,” someone quipped.
Heaven nodded. “The food should be excellent the whole weekend if everyone behaves. Meeting adjourned and we’ll meet back here at our regular time next Tuesday. Be prepared for a long meeting. It will be our last full get-together before all hell breaks loose. I hope Nolan is back to preside by then.”
There was a stampede for the door as it was well past dinnertime for most of the businesspeople on the committee who had been at offices all day. Heaven imagined families all over Kansas City being very glad when this whole gala was over.
“Come on, H, let’s get back to midtown. I suppose you have to go back to work,” Mona said. It was almost eight at night, but there were dozens of workers still installing the seats in the auditorium. Mona paused and stared at the stage as they passed by an open door. “Have you heard anything from Detective Weber today?” she asked anxiously.
Heaven shook her head. “I didn’t hear a word. Poor Bonnie, she sure has her work cut out for her. It will be hard to prove Evelyn’s death was a homicide, I would think. It’s not like there was a smoking gun lying beside her or a knife stuck in her chest.”
Mona grimaced.
“Well, you know what I mean. We think it’s murder, but I suppose the sink could have overflowed by accident. When someone is shot or stabbed, it’s easier to make a call. They either committed suicide or they were murdered.”
“Sure, I’d stab myself if I wanted to commit suicide. And what about when someone accidentally shoots someone else?” Mona cracked.
“You know what I mean, smarty-pants. You’re certainly getting to be an expert at this homicide stuff,” Heaven shot back.
Mona didn’t look proud at the compliment. She walked on silently.
Suddenly, Heaven remembered the conversation between Ella and Mona the night before. What was going on with her friend? “I’m tired of thinking about ol’ dead Evelyn. I’m changing the subject. Mona, that was a real coup getting the social clubs to cooperate. How did you find out about them?”
Mona pulled her car away from the curb with a big smile on her face. Maybe she was reading too much into Mona’s moods, Heaven decided. It would upset anyone to find a body in the way they’d found Evelyn’s. Everyone was upset, except Ella Jackson, who hadn’t seemed to be fazed.
“There was a story about them in the newspaper,” Mona explained, “about how all these years later, even after Kansas City was integrated and the original purpose for the clubs was gone, they still met, that their friendships continued. I guess the piece struck a chord with me because I don’t have any forty-year friendships, so I clipped the article out. When I got involved with this gala, I fished around in my file cabinet and found the article. I called up the reporter, he was real nice and gave me some leads, as they call it.”
Heaven saw a chance to get the scoop on Mona and her feud. “Were you thinking of Sam Scott when you said you didn’t have any forty-year friendships?”
“More than you know,” Mona said, and clammed up.
Heaven let her be silent until they got to 31st Street. Then she went in for the kill. “Come on, Mona. I’m going to find out sooner or later. What was your fight with Samantha Scott about?”
Mona fidgeted as her eyes filled with tears.
“Wow, I’m usually the one crying, not you. It must have been a doozy,” Heaven said.
“I’m ashamed to admit it. But remember, I was raised in northern Missouri. It’s not the heart of Dixie, but it was a Confederate state.”
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“The thing that came between Sam Scott and me. It was prejudice. Mine,” Mona said sadly. Heaven didn’t open her mouth so Mona went on. “Sam had this great voice and she started singing professionally when she was in junior high. At first she just performed around Saint Jo. But by the time we were between our junior and senior years of high school, she was touring with Boots Turner and his big band. When she came back at the end of the summer for our senior year, she was in love with him.”
“Boots Turner?”
“Yes. And I just could not accept it, a white girl with a black man. And I told her so. I hurt her. She couldn’t believe I was like that,” Mona said. They were in front of Cafe Heaven, and she stopped the car but didn’t turn off the engine.
“Come on in and have a drink, Mona. I’m so sorry. I know you were wrong, you know you were wrong, but it was the late fifties and there weren’t many interracial marriages in your neighborhood, I bet. You probably didn’t want Sam to be hurt. After all, she grew up in Saint Joseph, too.”
“No, Heaven, it was worse than that. I was thinking about myself. I didn’t want my folks to find out. I remember like it was yesterday. I knew they wouldn’t want me to see her anymore, for us to pal around. Not that it was a problem for long. After I opened my big mouth to Sam, she told me that being my friend had been a mistake. That I was just an ignorant white trash girl who didn’t know right from wrong. She said Boots Turner would make her rich and famous and he was good to her, and a fantastic piano player, to boot. She was right about it all, of course,” Mona said quietly.
“Park the car, Mona. I don’t want you to go home alone feeling this way. God knows, I’ve had too many of those nights myself. They aren’t fun.”
“Thanks, Heaven, but I can’t. Let me go on. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
Heaven got out of the car. Mona waved and took off. Heaven walked slowly into the cafe, using the front door for a change.
There was a line of men waiting to talk to her.
Murray Steinblatz got to her first. He had been running the room tonight at Cafe Heaven, like he did three or four nights a week. “Hey, boss. You look down. Did someone else get fried on the stage of the Ruby Theater? By the way, I’m going to write about the dedication for my column. People that read about the midwest in the New York Times will get a kick out of all this.”
“No one else got fried, as you so beautifully put it. And I would hope you’d tell this story to your faithful readers in New York City. They only know two things about Kansas City, barbecue and jazz. How’s the restaurant going, Murray?” Heaven looked around the room. Only two tables were vacant.
“We’re having a good night, H. But you didn’t tell me why you look so down,” Murray said. Murray could be very persistent, that was why he had been such a good journalist.
“Oh, it’s nothing that you—or I, for that matter—can do anything about. Life is hard to figure out, Murray.”
“And that’s the truth. There’s a guy here, sandy hair, beard, tie-dye tee-shirt. He said you called him and asked him to come over. A theater lighting guy, I think.”
Heaven looked around. “Hart Kenton. Where is he?”
“Went to the john. And there’s this other guy. A musician. I remember his face but I don’t remember his name. He said he’s been out of town, just came by to say hi.”
Heaven looked over at the end of the bar. She felt her face flush. “Jim Dittmar. He plays keyboards.”
“Heaven, are you blushing?” Murray couldn’t believe it.
“Can it, Murray,” she said without taking her eyes off the man at the bar. She walked over. “Bartender, buy this man a drink,” she said.
Jim Dittmar looked over and smiled. “Hey, Counselor.”
“You haven’t been gone that long, Jim. I haven’t been a lawyer for years.”
“You got me a good deal on my first record contract. You’ll always be ‘Counselor’ to me.”
“Your music career certainly went better than my law career. Will you do me a favor?”
“Name it.”
“Stay here for a few minutes. I asked this lighting guy to come by. I need some information. It won’t take long.”
Jim grinned. “That’s an easy one. You’re buying me a drink, I think I can wait.”
Heaven was glad her heart had stopped pounding so fast. She turned right into the arms of Hart Kenton.
“Whoa, Heaven. What’s up?” he said as he untangled them.
“Hart, thanks for coming. By the way, the lighting at the production at the Unicorn is terrific—electrifying, you might say.”
“A little lighting designer’s joke, eh, Heaven?”
“Can I buy you a drink?” Heaven asked, leading Hart to the other end of the bar.
“Yes you can. I would love a cognac, if you’ve got it. You said you needed to pick my brain. What about?”
“Tony, will you give my friend here a big ol’ snifter of cognac, the oldest we’ve got.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “You’ve certainly been generous this week. Expensive wine last night, free drinks for an army tonight.”
Heaven raised an eyebrow back. “Hardly an army. It’s been an unusual week. But don’t let me get in the habit of this or we’ll go broke.” She turned to Hart. “Did you read the paper today about the woman found electrocuted on the stage of the Ruby Theater?”
“Of course. I’m supposed to go over there tomorrow. I’m doing lights for Sam Scott this weekend.”
Heaven perked up. “Well, then I’m glad we talked before. Hart, I think the woman, Evelyn Edwards, was murdered. And my question is, how would you kill someone on that stage with that equipment?”
Hart swirled his glass of cognac, sniffed deeply, and drank. “Is this just your idea or the police’s?”
“The police’s too,” Heaven said.
“Then I assume they have experts working on this question.”
“Yes, but I want to understand it myself. The police aren’t necessarily going to confide in me. Will you check it out and let me know what you think?”
“I feel like Mickey Spillane. Yes, I’ll get in touch after I go to the Ruby for a walk-through. I’ll be working with the tech director, so I should be able to get some answers,” Hart said. “I do know that the Ruby is a road show theater, a venue that was built for traveling one-night shows. That makes a difference in how the lights and sound are wired. If your venue is just for one type of entertainment, you have a lot more of your electricals wired in permanently.”
“That makes sense,” Heaven said thoughtfully. “A road show venue. The set-ups are temporary to accommodate various electrical needs. Thanks, Hart. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
Hart grinned and held his cognac up in a mock toast. “I’ve heard all about your crime-solving exploits. Now I’m part of the junior G-men team.”
Heaven kissed him on the cheek. “Isn’t it fun? Now I’m going on to my next victim.” With that she walked to the other end of the bar, where Jim Dittmar was watching her with amusement.
“Still have the boys lining up for kisses, don’t you, Heaven?” he said as he patted the seat beside him.
Heaven sat down. “Tony, may I have a glass of the Sancerre, please, the Ladoucette?” Only after she got her glass of wine and had the first sip did she look Jim in the eyes. He waited through the ritual without a word.
“So, where have you been? And how long have you been gone? And why?” Heaven asked rather breathlessly. She was embarrassed at the tone of her voice, flirty, but it was too late now.
“Europe, two years and some months. Teresa threw me out,” Jim said as he played with his glass.
Heaven laughed. “This is going to be the shortest catchup conversation on record. Teresa comes in to eat once in a while. I did know you were divorced.”
“Who does she come in with, anyone special?” Jim asked.
Heaven rolled her eyes. “Such a guy question. She’s usually with people from work, if it’s any of your business. Or with your son. Josh, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, Josh. Isn’t he something? We went to dinner tonight. I think he might forgive his old man for going away.”
“What happened with your family, Jim?”
“The same old thing. You’ve been married to a musician. Yours was rich and famous and still you didn’t stick around. Just imagine living with a struggling jazz player and footing all the bills. She finally got sick of it, lost respect for me. No matter what you say in the beginning, it does matter who makes the bread.”
Heaven put her hand over his for a minute, then used it to wave down the bartender. “Tony, I think this calls for two shots of our best aged one hundred percent Agave tequila. Enough said about love.”
“I don’t know, Heaven. Enough said about Teresa’s and my marriage. Love is a different matter.”
Heaven felt another blush coming on. “Don’t go there,” she said.
“Why not? As I remember it was quite spectacular.”
“Yes it was,” Heaven admitted. “But it wasn’t love. Now, let’s move on. Tell me about your life on the Continent.”
The tequila had arrived. They clicked shot glasses and drank silently. Whoa, Heaven thought to herself, I sure didn’t expect this luscious little piece of my past to be sitting at the bar tonight. Watch yourself, girl.
“I played in Paris and the Riviera, Berlin, Barcelona. There are lots of jazz clubs. People go to them willingly, without being begged, unlike here. And I dabbled in a few other things, learned to lose money with style at the roulette tables in Monte Carlo, sailed a boat around the Greek islands.”
“Recordings?” Heaven asked.
“That’s the good news. My stock is up. I got a little cash up front—an advance, they call it—and I have a new CD coming out in a month or so. A live recording. Jim Dittmar Does Europe, that kind of thing.”
Heaven was genuinely happy for him. She knew how hard it was to make it in music; jazz was doubly hard. “Well, then, I’d better ask you for a couple of favors this month, before you become rich and famous.”
Jim moaned. “I should have seen that coming. Okay, lay it on me, baby. What can I do for you?”
“I’m on the committee that’s planning all the celebrations around the Eighteenth and Vine dedication. It goes down the weekend after next, and the event planner who was in charge of the whole affair was killed yesterday. She refused to have a musician on the committee. Now we know it was because she was ripping everyone off for a piece of the action, you know, a little cash from the tent company, the flowers, the caterer. I’m the food committee. I honestly don’t know a thing about the music. I know a concert of jazz greats who played in Kansas City in the old days is planned for Friday. Saturday, all the local guys are supposed to be playing. But we, the committee, decided we need a musician on the planning committee and now I’m asking you.”
“Oh, man, Heaven. Don’t do this to me,” Jim said, shaking his head.
“You’ve got to. I don’t know who Evelyn Edwards asked to play, if she screwed them out of money, if she even asked the good old guys who aren’t famous but should be a part of this weekend. The big corporations, like Hallmark and Kansas City Southern, have thrown money in for this weekend, so it isn’t like asking your friends to do a gig for free. You’ve got to organize this, for the cause.”
Jim looked around the room, pretended to be thinking about what Heaven had asked. This would give him a chance to make some phone calls to other players, let everyone know he was back in town, plus it would put him in the position of knowing exactly what was going on next weekend. It couldn’t have been better if he’d planned it himself. And it had the added bonus of putting Heaven in the position of thinking he was doing her a favor. He looked earnestly into her eyes. “Well, when you put it that way, when do I start?”
Heaven beamed and put her arm around Jim’s shoulders and squeezed, then quickly let go, as if the contact were burning her. “Go by the Ruby Theater tomorrow after ten in the morning. That’ll give
me time to let them know you’re on board.”
“It goes without saying that if it’s me it would be after ten in the morning,” Jim said. “It’s been too long since you’ve been involved with a musician, Heaven.”
“Hush, now. I’ll call and let them know you’re coming. You’re going to help us avoid a disaster, Jim, I can just feel it. Call me afterwards.”
Jim gave Heaven a mock salute. “Aye, aye, Counselor. I can’t wait to hear what the second favor is. The first was a beaut.”
“It’s an easy one. We have this open mike night on Mondays. And we have an upright piano. I know it’s not much, but we do get it tuned twice a month. Would you come play this Monday? Just one song, it would be your triumphant return from the honky-tonks of Europe, blah, blah, blah.”
“Get the piano tuned this Monday and you’ve got a deal.”
Heaven held out her hand and they shook on it. She got up.
“You’re still that way?” said Jim. “Use me and abuse me. Get me to agree to everything and then leave me alone with an empty glass at the bar.”
“Tony, get this man another whatever. I’ve got to go check out the kitchen. I told them I’d be back to help hours ago.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Jim said, grabbing Heaven’s arm. “Come with me down to the Phoenix. I hear Gerald and the guys are playing.” Jim pulled Heaven close and nuzzled her hair. She slipped out of his grasp.
The Cornbread Killer Page 5