A Glimmer of Death

by Valerie Wilson Wesley

  “You were there the day Charlie Risko died and heard what I was saying,” she said with a slight, teasing smile.

  “Why don’t you tell me about Avon Bailey?” I said.

  She sighed, and took a long swallow of milk. I knew then she wouldn’t stop talking until everything was told. Even though it was going on eleven, I needed to hear whatever she had to say.

  Chapter 18

  “I called him Red,” Louella began. “He hated the name Avon because he hated his father. Said the name didn’t suit him, said it sounded like something some woman would put on her face.” She took a sip of milk and another bite of cake before she continued. “Harley called him Ave; Tanya called him Bailey, but Red was my name for him because of that light, bright skin he had, his reddish hair, those freckles that dot his face like they do Erika’s.”

  I should have guessed what was between them. It was in the way he gazed at her in those photographs, love, sorrow, and jealousy all wrapped up together.

  “Everybody thought he was dead, disappearing like he did, and when I saw him I thought I was seeing a ghost, but it was Red in the flesh.”

  “Did he know you were pregnant when he left?”

  “I didn’t know I was pregnant. I was playing ball then, even though I was doing stuff for Charlie and Dennis. I worked out regular. I was in good shape, thin and fit, like when I was a teenager. Then I hurt my back. Charlie knew a guy who had some pills that helped, and I ended up taking them for everything. Headache, sore knees, whatever, I took those pills.”

  “That was about six years ago?”

  She nodded. “I left Erika with my mother as long as I could, going to get her back when I was able, caring for her the best I could. Then things started falling apart, and my mom kept her. She wouldn’t let me see her, asked me to leave, said I wasn’t fit.” Her face crumpled in what I assumed was shame, and she changed the subject—to me.

  “You live alone here? Your husband left you, right? Men do that, like Red did to me, like my daddy did to my mom.”

  I wasn’t about to share the details of my life with Louella, so I told her the short version: My husband didn’t leave me. I was a widow. I lived here by myself because he died last year. We bought this house five years ago, right after we got married.

  “Five years ago? The stars were lucky for you. Things turned bad for me right around then.” I offered a tepid smile of agreement; she was right about that.

  We sat there for a moment, me considering just how bad that turn had been, wondering if maybe she was thinking the same thing. But I wanted to hear the rest of her story and keep her talking while she was in the mood to tell it. “What happened between you and Red?”

  She jumped right into it. “Charlie came up with this plan to rob Avon Bailey, Red’s father, and I played along with him. I got close to the old man to fool him into trusting me. I was close to Red so he did whatever I told him. He loved me deep like that, but Red didn’t know what was going to go down and that I would lead that old man on like I did until it was too late. Or maybe he did know. Men are like that sometimes: They see what they want to see. Charlie used our feelings against us both. I made some money and so did Red. Then he disappeared. It got so we couldn’t look each other in the eye. Maybe he was as ashamed of himself as I was.” She stopped looking me in the eye then, too, and dropped her head.

  Between what Harley and Lennox had told me, I understood the con game they’d run yet I was surprised to hear her tell it so plainly. I pulled away in disgust, but just for a moment before asking myself who was I to judge her. I touched my mother’s amulet to remind myself of my mother’s kind-heartedness.

  “It’s in the past, now,” I said. “Don’t let it ruin your future.” She nodded, lifting her head to look at me. “How did you meet Charlie in the first place?” I asked her.

  “Through Tanya. Harley knew him, too. She and Harley used to go together. She was, like, his first love, like me and Red, until she started seeing Charlie and they brought me into it and . . . well, the rest I don’t really want to talk about.”

  I nodded that I understood. My guess was that it was the scams as much as the pills that took her down. There was no use in pushing things any further.

  “When did Red come back?”

  “A week or so before Charlie was killed.”

  “Where had he been?”

  “He didn’t say much, just that he’d been traveling here and there, finding himself. Most people didn’t know this about him, but he is a sensitive man. What first attracted me to him was that he was gentle, even though he was built big, like a linebacker. I loved that about him, too, that he was strong; he could protect me.”

  “Why did he come back?”

  “This was his home, even though there was nothing left of his family or what they owned. This is where he was from. Charlie took everything. Him and Dennis. Red said he was about to leave town again, but then he saw Erika in the Shop-Rite with my mom. He said he took one look at her and knew something was left, after all.

  “My mother was always saying Erika doesn’t look like family, like she could have belonged to any man I slept with, but Erika looks like Red’s mother, and when he saw her he knew she was his daughter and he had to find me, and he did. Do you believe in miracles?” she asked after a moment, gazing at me with an intensity that was startling.

  “I believe in lots of things people can’t see, hear, or understand,” I said, telling the truth.

  “Red coming back is a miracle. Him showing up like he did, him finding Erika, wanting to be part of our lives. Forgiving me for all the things I did. It’s all a miracle.”

  “That was what you said to your mother that day you two fought, about something being a miracle?”

  “Because it was,” she said, with the conviction of a true believer. “Red said he had some money saved, and he was renting an apartment over there in Clifftown, and he wanted to get to know his daughter, and me.”

  Juniper chose that moment to make an appearance. As usual, he nosed around the kitchen looking for treats, then made his way to Louella, who jumped when she saw him.

  “Bad luck,” she said. “That’s what they say. Black cats are bad luck.”

  “Not true!” I said, genuinely offended. “Actually, it’s the reverse. Black cats are always good luck. I can vouch for that.” As if to prove my point, Juniper rubbed against my ankles, purred, and stared benevolently at Louella, trying to show his worth.

  “I’m bad luck,” she said, petting Juniper on the head. “That’s why my mother told me to stay away from Erika. You’ll just bring her bad luck, she told me. That hurt me more than anything else she could say because it’s probably true.

  “She told me the other day she thought Tanya Risko would be a good role model for my child. She and Tanya are getting close these days; she’s like a replacement daughter.”

  “A daughter is always your daughter; no one can take that away from either of you,” I said, thinking of my own mother. “Erika belongs to you.”

  “And Red,” she added defiantly.

  “And Red.” I gave her that. “Was Red what you and Bertie were fighting about that day in the office?”

  “It was other stuff, too.” She hesitated, a puzzled expression on her face as if just remembering something. “I thought Tanya had told her about all the stuff we did, but she hadn’t. I told her because I needed, like, you know, absolution. Is that the word?”

  “Yeah, it’s a fancy word for forgiveness,” I said. “Red forgave you, and you wanted to forgive yourself and for your mother to forgive you. Is that about right?”

  She nodded that it was. “My mom didn’t believe me when I told her, said she was going to talk to Tanya about it to find out the truth.”

  “Did she talk to her?”

  “Whatever Tanya told her, if she told her anything at all, she made sure she came off as the innocent one. Tanya is always the victim. Ever since we were young. Tanya Risko is never what she seems, not then
, not now.”

  “Nobody is what they seem,” I said. She looked surprised, then hurt.

  “I’m who I say I am.”

  “I’m sure you are,” I said but doubted she knew herself that well.

  “Do you think I had something to do with killing Charlie Risko?” she said, raising her voice slightly. I pulled back from her, suddenly wary. “You think Red killed him, don’t you? Red didn’t have anything to do with that, and neither did I. It could have been anyone, like that lady who killed herself. Or that guy my mom was always arguing with. Mom said his boyfriend died two years to the day Charlie got offed. Maybe he was getting even. Or Dennis Lane. Or even Harley. It wasn’t Red. He doesn’t have the heart,” she said, not giving me a chance to answer. Everything spilled out of her in a stream of words.

  I nodded as if I agreed, but I wasn’t so sure. Harley was right about having seen Red that day, and that was probably why the cops asked if I knew him. They had his name and knew he had a motive, but his fingerprints weren’t on the gun, and anyone who came in that night had to have had a key or gotten one from somebody else.

  My cell phone “honked” then with that ridiculous duck sound I kept forgetting to change. Julie Russell’s name came on the screen, and I stepped into the living room to speak to her.

  “Dessa, I hesitated before calling you, but I did want to check to make sure everything was okay. I heard that young woman yelling like a maniac on your front porch, sounding like she was unhinged. Do you want me to call that friendly cop you mentioned? If she’s there and you can’t talk say, ‘Thank you for the cranberry sauce,’ and I’ll call the cops right away.”

  “I’m fine, Julie, but thanks for caring. She’s just a troubled young woman who needs to talk.”

  “Maybe I’ve been watching too many crime shows on the ID channel, one of many guilty pleasures, but keep in mind that a troubled young woman who needs to talk will put a knife in your back as fast as one who doesn’t.”

  “It’s okay. Thanks for checking on me. I think I’d sense if she meant me harm,” I said and hung up. I knew I was trusting the gift on this one, and Julie, bless her heart, didn’t push me on it. Ended up I was right.

  Louella and her cake were gone when I went back into the kitchen. The back door was unlocked, and there was a note attached to the refrigerator under one of the magnets.

  Thank you for listening to me. I’m taking Mom your cake.

  Thank you for baking it. My mother said you were an angel. She was telling the truth.

  “Hear that, Junie, I’m an angel!” I said to Juniper as he jumped up on the chair where Louella had been sitting. He purred loudly, in what I assumed was agreement. Too tired to make a fresh cup of tea, I sipped what was left of the lukewarm chamomile as I packed up Royal’s cakes for delivery. Then I fell out, dead tired, on the top of my bed.

  * * *

  I called Harley first thing in the morning to tell him I was dropping off his mother’s Bible. I also wanted to find out more (as subtly as I could) about Red and Louella and everything else that had gone on between them and Charlie. There was no answer, so I tried again half an hour later, with no luck. Harley had been right when he said that Louella had her own story to tell, and I was flattered that she trusted me enough to tell it. I’d suspected that there was more to Harley’s relationship with Tanya then he’d let on, and I was right. Both Louella and Tanya had told me as much. It was, of course, his business, not mine, but I’d misread him, and he was probably holding more anger toward Charlie than he let on. Tanya had been his first love, and he had seen those bruises, too. I called him a third time when I got to work. Still no answer. One thing was for sure: He couldn’t get far with that ankle bracelet.

  Vinton was hard at work, talking on his cell, sounding cheerful and sure of himself. He’d filled a vase with pink roses and put them in Juda’s cubicle and stuck one in a water bottle on top of my desk with a note taped to it. “For Bringing Sunshine Back into My Life” it read, which was giving me more credit than I deserved but made me smile. I blew him a kiss, and he stopped working long enough to blow one back.

  Tanya’s door was closed. I knocked, but when she didn’t answer, I went back to my desk to do some work. I read through some lackluster listings, made a dozen cold calls, which amounted to just about nothing, then headed out to Royal’s Regal Barbecue to make my delivery. It was 1:30 and the lunchtime crowd was thinning out. The perfect time to drop off my cakes.

  “Hey, lady!” Lennox called out an enthusiastic greeting when I walked through the door lugging an overstuffed shopping bag. “Hey, let me help you.” He carried it inside and placed it on the counter. “Well, let me see what we’ve got here,” he said with obvious pleasure as he took the cakes out of their boxes and placed them on cake stands.

  “Thank you. This was a lot of baking.”

  “It was . . . relaxing,” I said, avoiding his eyes. “And you paid me.”

  “I’m really grateful. I know you have a lot on your mind,” he said, cutting us both a slice of layer cake. He sat down across from me and closed his eyes when he took a bite, sighing as if it was the best thing he’d ever eaten. “Dessa, each one is better than the last.” He eyed my piece and grinned. “If you don’t want yours, I’ll gladly eat it for you.”

  I pushed my plate toward him. “To tell the truth, Lennox, I ate so much of that frosting last night, I don’t want to look at chocolate for a while.”

  “I know how that goes. I’m that way with my chili. Ate so much of it one Saturday I just about made myself sick. Then, the next week, I was ready for some more.” He put down his fork, went to the counter, and pulled out a box of mixed teas.

  “Got these herbal teas for you, for the place,” he added, handing them to me to look through. “I didn’t know they had so many kinds. What would you like? Peppermint, orange blossom, jasmine, chamomile?”

  “Peppermint is good,” I said, deciding to keep my chamomile tea ritual to myself and not mention that jasmine wasn’t herbal.

  “I tried some jasmine the other day, and I liked it. It tastes like the flowers smell. That’s the kind they serve in Chinese restaurants, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I think it is.” I hadn’t had peppermint in a while, and breathed in its restful, calming scent.

  “A good friend of mine just opened up a Chinese restaurant down the street and wants me to come by. Would you like to, uh, well, check it out with me? I’d love your company.”

  It took me a full minute to realize Lennox was asking me for a date, another to decide whether to accept, and a third to come up with a tactful way to turn him down. It took me so long, Lennox answered for me.

  “Listen, if it’s too soon after Darryl’s passing . . .”

  “I think it might be,” I said, not looking him in the eye. “I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

  “Hey, I understand, believe me. Hopefully that place will be around for a while. Give me a call, and we can meet for lunch, no big thing, no pressure, just good food, hopefully. How’s that?”

  I nodded that it was fine, wondering if I’d ever be ready—or if I wanted to. How long was long enough to wait? Forever?

  “What’s going on with your murder case?” he asked, as eager to go on to another subject as I was. “Your friend still wearing his ankle monitor?”

  “As far as I know. Why did you say still wearing it? He can’t take it off, can he?”

  “Well, that’s what they tell you anyway.”

  I felt a pang of anxiety. “What do you mean?”

  “It depends on the restraint and how serious the accused is about getting it off. Some are so cheap you can cut them with kitchen shears. Most, though, are tough like they’re supposed to be. But people do escape. I heard of one guy who got his off and went back for a second chance at the victim. Luckily, the cops caught him in time.”

  “That’s not reassuring to crime victims,” I said.

  “Besides that, there’s all kinds of videos on YouTube about
how to get them off. Amateur crooks sharing their knowledge. A guy would have to be pretty desperate to try it, though. Desperate and dumb.” Lennox saw the expression on my face and quickly added, “From what you’ve told me about your friend, he’s not dumb.”

  “But he’s desperate,” I said.

  “Let’s just hope he’s not that desperate.”

  I didn’t answer him. I just remembered what Harley had said the last time I saw him.

  When my cell phone “honked” (I was used to it now—a bad sign), I hoped it was Harley; it was Tanya Risko, her voice breaking up so much I couldn’t understand her.

  “They asked if I had somebody to call and you’re the only person, Mrs. Jones. The only one.”

  She’d slipped back into Mrs. Jones; I wondered what that meant.

  “I tried to call Bertie, but she didn’t answer. Harley didn’t answer his phone either. Maybe they’re dead, too. Maybe everybody else is dead except me and you. Everybody. Please come. I need somebody here with me. They told me to call somebody. I found him, Dessa. I found him, I . . .” She stopped and began to cry.

  “Tanya, slow down. Tell me what happened. Where are you? Who did you find?” I shouted into the phone, interrupting her.

  “He’s dead!” Tanya screamed.

  “Who is dead?” I screamed back at her.

  “Dennis is dead. I’m here at his place. The police are here. I’m scared. I’m so scared. Can you please come, please?” she said, begging in her best little-girl voice.

  Chapter 19

  I knew where Dennis Lane lived; we all did. When he signed the deed to his new condo, he wanted everybody to know that he could easily afford to live in the most expensive property in town. Bertie and Vinton were annoyed by his braggadocio. I just shook my head in disgust. The development was on the border of Bren Bridge, that notorious sundown town, and there was no way I would live there. Yet the place did have every amenity—pool, gym, clubhouse, and a bus that took residents to the nearest train station so tender feet never touched the street. When they conned Avon Bailey out of his precious property, they got paid in spades. It was a gated community, so only residents, guests, or Realtors showing the property had access keys, and that included everyone from Risko Realty.