I stood by helplessly as our receptionist called 911. Herb somehow thought to put the station on a voice track, a pre-recorded show. One of the people from accounting grabbed an emergency kit, put on a mask, and started CPR with the aid of one of the sales people. It felt like they were doing it forever, but the rescue squad screamed into the parking lot seven minutes after the call. All of their efforts didn’t matter, though. Vivi Anne Conrad was dead.
7
The first few minutes after Vivi was pronounced dead were a blur, but then things got a whole lot clearer, especially when I met with Police Detective Winger to tell him what had happened. Let’s just say that the good detective and I have a bit of a history and that he doesn’t really appreciate my sense of humor. Or, actually, anything about me.
“So, we meet again, Ms. Sheffield.” The detective surveyed me from behind Herb’s messy desk. I shifted uncomfortably in a straight-back chair directly on the other side of the desk. Winger’s hawkish face was tanned and close shaven. His hair, dark brown and obviously colored to cover the gray, was slicked back into a GQ-type style. He reminded me of that actor, the one who plays the president sometimes on that one show.
“You know, I can’t help but wonder exactly why it is that every time there’s a problem in our little town, you seem to be involved,” he said.
I knew better than to lose my temper, so I clenched my teeth down so hard it’s a wonder they didn’t all just break right on off. I squirmed a bit and waited for him to continue. My past experience had taught me it was best to keep my mouth shut and just answer his questions as factually as possible with little embellishment. Of course, knowing that and being able to do it were two different things.
“Walk me through what happened this morning,” he said, his piercingly blue eyes never once leaving mine. As much as I wanted him to like me, it was clear that he didn’t.
I sucked in a deep breath and cleared my throat a couple of time in a vain effort to control the pitch of my voice. It didn’t work. My voice sounded squeaky and, despite my efforts to control my temper, irritated. “Uhm, sure. Where would you like me to start? When I got up or...”
He cut me off with a big sigh. “How about when Miss Conrad arrived here at the station. If we need to go back further than that, I’ll let you know.”
“Okay, so, well, I guess it was about like, uhm, I think it was, uhm, maybe about 9:15 and, uh, she, uh...”
He cut me off again, clearly annoyed. “Ms. Sheffield, I know you’re a bit nervous, and obviously feeling quite defensive, but can you just please tell the story without all of the hem-hawing around?”
I flushed, took another deep breath, and started again. That time I managed to get the story out with only three or four uhs and uhms, a vocal tic I usually don’t have. Well, except for when I’m being questioned about murder, that is. Why, I wondered, is it that every time I have to give a statement to this man I sound like I’m trying to hide something?
When I finished telling him all about Vivi’s death, he tapped his pen against his notepad a couple of times, then walked me back through the whole thing all over again, this time asking question after question. I guess he wanted to see if my story changed.
“Now, let’s go back to the basket of snacks from which Ms. Conrad got the bottle of coconut water. Tell me again how that came to be in the booth.
I told him about the goody basket and how I’d assumed it was a gift from Georgina for me and Giselle, congratulating us for the ratings improvement we’d had recently.
“What time was the basket delivered? By whom?” He was back to tap-tap-tapping his pen. It was extremely distracting.
“I, uh, I don’t really know. You’ll have to ask our receptionist. It was sometime before 8:30. That’s when I found it. I took it into the booth because I, well...” My voice trailed off. I was embarrassed to tell him why.
He stopped with the pen and motioned for me to go on.
“I guess I took into the booth with me because I, uh, I knew Vivi Anne Conrad liked that coconut water. I think it’s disgusting myself, so I figured I’d see if she wanted it.” Okay, so that wasn’t really true. The truth is, I really like gourmet popcorn and that expensive candy, and I hadn’t wanted anyone else to steal stuff from the basket before I had the chance to pick out the goodies I like.
The part about the coconut water got his attention. “So you forced the water on her?”
“No! What the he...” I realized I was shouting just in time. I stopped, took a few seconds, and tried again, this time at a lower decibel level. “No, sir. Not at all. In fact, I was so busy talking with her about the segment that I had completely forgotten about it. She asked me if she could have a bottle.”
“Did she eat or drink anything else in your presence?”
I replayed the scene over in my head. “No. Just the coconut water. She opened it, took a big drink, and immediately went into a coughing fit.”
“Did you notice anything odd about the bottle?”
“No. Like I said, I hate that stuff, so I didn’t really pay any attention to it. Why do you keep asking me about it? Do you think that there was something in it?”
Surprisingly, he told me that was precisely what he thought. “Yes. I think it’s possible the water was intentionally poisoned. From the smell of it, cyanide. We’ll run tests on it, of course.”
I looked around the room, not really noticing anything while I absorbed that info. Finally, I asked him the one question that I wasn’t sure I wanted an answer to. “Do you think that it was supposed to be me? I mean, do you think I was the intended victim?”
He positioned his pen on the pad and adjusted it a smidge, then looked back at me, his eyes laser focused on mine. “You tell me, Ms. Sheffield. Do you have reason to believe someone would want you dead?”
If he’d asked me that two years earlier, my answer would have been completely different, but, in light of all of the things I’d been through in that time, I couldn’t rule it out. Just as I was about to tell Detective Winger that, and about being accosted by those crazy fans of Ricky Ray’s, he got a call on his cell and abruptly dismissed me, handing me his card and telling me he’d be in touch if he had any additional questions.
I scurried out of Herb’s office and headed down the hall to get my things. There was something bothering me, buzzing around in the back of my mind, something that felt important, but I couldn’t quite pull it to the surface.
When I checked my phone, I saw a text Charli had sent earlier, asking me how things were going at the shop. Shoot! Clearly, that was what was bothering me. I had totally forgotten I was supposed to have opened the shop.
I quickly texted her back, letting her know that there had been an emergency at the station and that I’d fill her in later. Detective Winger hadn’t told me to keep Vivi’s death a secret, but I felt like the news was not something I should send out in a text. Especially since I wasn’t sure if the Conrad family had even been notified yet. Thankfully, she shot me back a text telling me not to worry about opening the store, that she’d already heard about what happened and for me to call her as soon as I had time.
I shuddered as I passed by the booth, replaying the moment when I realized Vivi was dead over and over as I headed out to my car. The weather had turned again and the air felt chilly and damp, like another batch of rain was on the way. Tim leaned against his truck, his arms folded across his chest. He already had on the pants to his police uniform, so I assumed he had to go in early yet again.
He gave me a quick peck on the lips. “Are you okay?”
The tears finally burst through the dam and I collapsed against him. “No. Oh, God, Tim. Why? Why does this keep happening?”
He soothed me, patting my back and brushing my hair with his hand. “Babe, I wish I knew.”
I eventually got my crying under control enough to talk. “Does Miss Guydie know yet?”
“She does. They sent a couple of officers to get Izzy and May Lynda, then took them over t
o tell her. They’re all torn up, from what I understand.”
“Tim, do you think they blame me? For Vivi’s death, I mean?”
He stuck his face in my hair and kissed the top of my head before answering. “Why would they blame you? You didn’t kill her.”
“I know. But, if she hadn’t been doing my show, she wouldn’t have died.”
Tim tilted my chin up so that I was looking into his eyes. “You don’t know that, Marty. It’s not your fault.”
I choked back a fresh wave of tears. “Yes, I do. She drank poisoned coconut water that was sent to me. Tim, I’m scared. What if I was the one who was supposed to die, not Vivi?
He went pale, the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks standing out in high relief. “Don’t think that way. Besides, they haven’t confirmed cause of death yet. That’s just the working theory. They’ll have to get a toxicology report. It might have been from something else. It might even be natural causes.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” I asked. “She was murdered. Detective Winger pretty much confirmed it.”
He hugged me to him again. “I want you to be really careful. Make sure you’re aware of what’s going on around you. Don’t drink or eat anything unless you buy it yourself or it’s from someone you trust 100%, okay?”
“I won’t. I promise.” I smiled up at him, hoping I looked brave instead of terrified. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.
“Should I come over after I get off tonight?” he asked.
“No. I didn’t sleep worth a crap last night. I need to try to get some rest tonight. I’m going to take one some melatonin and go to bed early.”
“Are you sure?” He tilted my face up again and searched my eyes.
“Positive. I’ll be fine. Do you want me to bring you some dinner?”
“That’s okay. I can get something myself. You just get rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?
He gave me one last kiss and climbed in his truck. His window buzzed down. “Love you. Be careful, okay?”
I gave him my most confident smile. “Love you, too. Don’t worry. I’m going to take some sandwiches over to Miss Guydie’s, check in with the Riley’s, then go home and go straight to bed.”
After he left, I sat in my car, wishing that I could just take a left out of the parking lot and head out on the open highway, taking the back roads until I reached somewhere warm and sunny where the doom divas couldn’t find me and people weren’t getting murdered right and left. Instead, like always, I did the responsible thing. I turned right and headed into the fire.
8
After I checked in with Mom and Charli, letting them know I was still alive and that, no, I didn’t want to come over and stay with either one of them, I stopped by Pilazzo’s and ordered a big platter of sandwiches to take to Miss Guydie’s, which is in an older neighborhood just a few blocks from my apartment.
Unlike the circus going on in front of the Riley’s, all was quiet on her street. I pulled up in front of her neat, white clapboard cape-cod style home and cut the engine. Otey’s motorcycle was parked in the wide driveway next to May Lynda’s compact car. Just as I was about to get out, an older model pick-up truck with one of those flat covers over the bed pulled in behind me. Crap. It was Rose and Sugar, the two loony-tunes Ricky Ray fans.
I considered leaving and coming back later, but I didn’t. That turned out to be a mistake.
“Well, well, well, would you lookie here, Rose,” Sugar poked me in the chest so hard I almost dropped the tray of sandwiches. “What are you doing here? You better not of come over here to cause trouble for our sweet Bella, missy, if you know what’s good for you.”
As soon as she touched me, all of the crap that had happened over the past few years ignited in me, burning into a white-hot rage so intense I almost lost control of myself. Almost. “Get your freaking hands off of me or I’ll, I’ll...”
Sugar’s eyes bulged out. “You’ll what? Hit me? You want to fight me? You want it, girlie, you got it.” She did a little half-squat and, arms out, palms up, motioned for me to bring it on. “I ain’t skeered of you, you little...” She called me a really vile name, which just inflamed my rage even more.
Still, I wasn’t about to actually fight her. She was older and skinnier and I don’t really look good in orange, which is the color of those jumpsuits you have to wear in jail.
I hitched my tote bag over my shoulder and tried to step around her. “No. I do not want to fight you. And it’s not because I’m scared, either. Now back off, you, you fruitcake!”
Okay, so when it comes to name calling, I am my mother’s daughter. And, to tell the truth, I actually was a little scared. Mostly of what people would think if they saw me fighting out in the yard of a woman whose granddaughter had just been murdered, but scared nonetheless.
Sugar wasn’t backing down, though. As I moved past her, she stuck her foot out and tripped me. Down I went, tote bag, sandwich tray, and all. On the way down, I guess my brain popped into gear and I came up with a couple of way worse names to call Sugar. I screamed them and a couple of other choice curse words at her.
When I hit the ground, she jumped on my back, her legs on each side of me and her hands around my neck. I’m not sure what she intended, but I wasn’t about to let her get the best of me. I bucked my body, trying to knock her off. Thankfully, Otey must have heard the commotion, because he dashed out of the house and snatched Sugar off of me.
“What in the Sam Hill is going on? Have y’all lost your ever-loving minds?” He towered menacingly over Sugar, his big hands wrapped around her skinny little arms. She might not have been scared of me, but she was clearly terrified of Otey. “Miss Guydie is in that house bawling her eyes out and you are over here having a knock-down drag out fight. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”
While he was fussing at us, Izzy came out on the porch. “Rose, Sugar, what are you two doing here?”
Rose went to Izzy and tried to give her a hug, but Izzy pulled away. Rose didn’t seem to notice the slight. She grasped Izzy’s hand and patted it. “Oh, Bella, honey, we done heard about your poor sister and of course we had to just hurry right on over to pay our respects to you and your family. Sugar and I, we want you to know we’d do anything, just anything in the whole wide world for you and your’uns.”
Izzy retracted her hand and swiped it across the side of her dress like it was dirty or something. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back inside. My grandmother and sister aren’t really feeling up to any visitors right now. Especially ones they don’t know.”
With that, she hurried back inside, letting the screen door slam behind her. Rose stood there awkwardly staring after her for a couple of minutes.
“Sugar,” Rose finally said, “I think we best be getting back over to the Riley’s. Bella’s gonna need for us to make sure everybody is behaving and not causing a ruckus while she’s over here helping out her poor old granny and mourning after her sister.”
Make sure everybody behaved and didn’t cause a ruckus? Oh the irony.
After a few more choice words from Otey and a promise that he’d call the cops on them if they showed back up at Miss Guydie’s or caused any more trouble, Sugar and Rose slunk over toward their truck.
When she passed me, Sugar snarled under her breath, “We ain’t done, missy. You just wait until later. I don’t forget and I don’t forgive.”
Otey took two steps in her direction and she gulped. “Come on, Rose,” she said, sniffing loudly. “I know where I ain’t wanted.”
Since they were headed back over to the Riley’s, I was pretty sure she was wrong about that, but far be it for me to point it out.
After their truck put-putted it’s way down the street and around the corner, Otey slung his arm across my shoulder. “You okay?” he asked. What in the world was that all about?”
I gave him the short version. “Thanks for coming to my rescue. She nearly choked
the crap out of me. I swear, that chick needs help. She’s a menace to society.”
I looked sadly at the ground. The foil covering over the tray of sandwiches had come off when I fell and what had once been an appetizing looking display was now a mangled mess of meat, cheese, and bread. I bent down to pick everything up.
Otey helped by gathering up all the junk that had spilled out of my tote bag while I piled the sandwich muck back on the tray. When we stood back up, I noticed his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. “Are you okay?” I asked.
His lower lip trembled and his eyes swam behind a fresh batch of tears. He handed me my tote bag and walked over to Miss Guydie’s trash can which was stored neatly behind a little fence panel next to her garage.
Otey lifted the trash can lid, tears now streaming down his face. “Not really. I just can’t believe she’s gone. Marty, I tried, really tried not to be in love with her, but, well, dammit, I am. Was. Don’t tell nobody I said that, okay? May Lynda’s heart is broken enough already.”
I tossed the mess into the trash can, then hugged him. “Oh, Otey, honey, I’m so, so sorry. And, don’t worry. I promise I won’t say anything.”
He used the tail end of his sweatshirt to wipe his face. “Listen, I’m going to bug out. Will you tell May Lynda I’ll come back over later. I can’t let her see me like this. Tell her I got a call, had to run over to the shop for a bit or something.”
“Of course, sweetie. You be careful. Take care of yourself, okay?”
Otey mounted his motorcycle and roared off. By then the sheer exhaustion from everything that had happened threatened to consume me. All I wanted to do was down a bowl of Dave’s potato soup and crawl into my bed. Instead, I climbed Miss Guydie’s front porch steps and rang the doorbell, hoping Tim was right and that the Conrads didn’t blame me for Vivi’s death.
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