Melody for Murder: A Bertie Bigelow Mystery
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“No wonder he was taking you out to all those fancy places,” Bertie said, laughing. “He had to do something with all the money he had lying around the house.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Ellen said. “Maybe you’re right about the ‘Phenomenal Woman’ thing, Bertie. I’m feeling better already.”
“Of course you are. Nothing is going to keep you down for long.”
“Got that right. In fact, I think I’ll give Jerome a call.”
“I thought you’d given up men.”
Ellen shrugged. “That was before you brought up ‘Phenomenal Woman.’ It’s only been a couple of weeks. I bet Jerome hasn’t forgotten how much fun we had together.”
“But didn’t you break up with him when you started seeing Raquib?”
“Yes, I did, but gently, Bertie. Gently. I may be a bit gullible where men are concerned, but I know better than to burn all my bridges at once.” Ellen grinned. “I was down and out for a minute there, but I’m definitely on my way back. Just like Maya Angelou says—I rise, Bertie. I rise!”
Chapter Thirty-Four
FRIDAY, MARCH 1, 2013—7:00 P.M.
Bertie Bigelow was a compulsively punctual person. If she told you she would be somewhere at one o’clock, you could set your watch by it. But on that particular Friday, there was not a parking space to be had for blocks along Prairie Avenue. By the time she walked into Charley Howard’s Hot Link Emporium, Bertie was nearly thirty minutes late.
She barely noticed her surroundings as she strode through the crowded restaurant, muttering under her breath and mentally composing her apology. Bertie had nearly reached Ellen’s table before she saw that Detective Kulicki, Mrs. Petty, LaShawn’s sister, Sherelle, and her son, Benny, were all standing up to greet her. When Dr. Grant and Alderman “Steady Freddy” Clark strolled over to join the group, she was speechless.
“So glad you could make it, Professor Bigelow,” Dr. Grant said in his rumbling bass. Smiling broadly, Bertie’s boss pulled out a chair and gestured for her to have a seat. “I know you’ve had a difficult few weeks. Let me be the first to tell you that there is finally some good news coming your way.”
As Bertie sat down, Steady Freddie looked pointedly at Dr. Grant and cleared his throat.
“Alderman Clark has something very important to tell you,” Grant said. “Let’s sit down, shall we?”
Her cheeks flushed with excitement, Bertie looked around the table. Dressed in a brilliant gold-and-red Ghanaian jacket and matching pants, Ellen sat with a self-satisfied grin on her face next to Jerome, the man she’d been dating before Raquib’s reappearance. The couple was holding hands and looked very much in love. Next to Jerome, Mrs. Petty, dressed in a black turtleneck, no-nonsense wool cardigan, and a pair of heavy snow pants, monitored the activities of her grandson, Benny, with an eagle eye.
“Hi, Miz Bigelow,” the boy said, swinging his legs happily. “Wanna play the singing game with me? The fancy coat man said I should ask you.”
“You mean the fancy coat man is here? The one who came to your house after the judge was killed?”
“Sure,” Benny said. “That’s him right there.” The boy lifted a grubby finger and pointed it at Alderman Clark.
In response to the unspoken question in the eyes of the others at the table, Steady Freddy said, “I was starting to suspect Momo had not told me the whole truth about the drugs I was taking. When LaShawn Thomas said what he said at the Christmas concert, I thought he might know something, so I went by his house to speak to him.”
“Did you know Judge Green had asked LaShawn to follow you?”
Although the Alderman was not easily flustered, he appeared to stop breathing for a second or two.
“Is that so?” he asked.
“He saw you carry a paper bag out of the Princeton Avenue Natural Health Clinic and hand it to a pair of white guys standing outside.”
The alderman burst out laughing. “My, my. That LaShawn Thomas was one busy young man. I can easily resolve that little mystery. The two white men LaShawn saw me talking to were from vice detail. As I mentioned earlier, I was curious what was in the medication I’d been taking. I gave them a bottle so they could check it out for me.”
“I’m curious about this medication, as well,” Ellen said. She caught Bertie’s eye and winked. “Care to tell us what you were being treated for?”
Steady Freddy shot her a dirty look. “I admit to having certain frailties,” he said with a bland smile. “But as the great Bruce Lee once said, mistakes are always forgivable, if one has the courage to admit them.”
“Amen to that, Brother Clark,” Mrs. Petty said, nodding her head. “Jesus will forgive you.” She looked pointedly at Ellen, who shrugged and looked away.
Dr. Grant cleared his throat and looked around the table.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have not come here to dwell on the past. Are you ready, Fred?”
Alderman Clark nodded and stood up.
“The entire community owes you a debt of gratitude for taking on Dr. Taylor and those thugs of his at the Princeton Avenue Natural Health Clinic, Professor Bigelow,” he said. “In recognition of your courageous work, the Englewood Businessman’s Association has designated you an official Neighborhood Hero.” The alderman reached into his briefcase and pulled out a large framed certificate. As he presented it to Bertie, Ellen whipped out a camera and began taking photos.
“One more time, if you please,” Dr. Grant said, placing his arm around Bertie’s shoulders.
“Does this mean I’m not going to be fired?” Bertie said.
“Fired?” Dr. Grant’s portly body shook with laughter. “I wouldn’t dream of firing our very own Neighborhood Hero.”
At that moment, the doors to the kitchen swung open and Charley Howard, dressed in a grease-stained apron, a pair of denim overalls, and a battered straw hat, approached their table carrying a bottle of Champagne.
“Party time, folks,” the Hot Sauce King hollered as he splashed a generous shot of Champagne into each person’s glass. “Let the good times roll!”
“You’re a prince, Charley,” Bertie said. “I hope you’ll forgive me for all those terrible things I said about you before.”
Howard waved his meaty fist in the air dismissively. “It’s all water under the bridge, darlin’. And in the spirit of forgiveness, I’ve decided to drop my libel suit. I can’t afford to be holdin’ grudges against someone I might run into at the next Octagon function, can I?”
“Thanks, Charley,” Bertie said. “Now that the real killer is safely behind bars, can I ask you one more question? What really happened between you and LaShawn Thomas the night he came to see you?”
“The kid wanted protection,” Howard said. “He knew the Lions were after him, and he thought maybe I could get Tony Roselli to help him out.” The Hot Sauce King paused and looked Bertie in the eye. “What the kid didn’t know is that the Rosellis and I are quits. When I found out I was now a member of the Octagon Society, I sat down with the old man himself. We worked out an arrangement.” Howard wiped his hands on his apron. “I couldn’t have helped the kid, even if I wanted to.”
“After he met with Charley Howard, LaShawn stole a box of isopropyl nitrite from the clinic,” Detective Kulicki said. “He intended to take the box to the police, but the Lions got to him first.”
“But how did you know I’d been kidnapped?” Bertie said.
Kulicki grinned and nodded in Ellen’s direction. “Do you want to tell her, or shall I?”
“I’ve got this one, Detective.” Jerome Howell put his arm around Ellen’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Your rescue was entirely due to this brilliant and beautiful woman right here,” he said proudly.
“When you didn’t call me first thing the next morning like you promised, I got worried. And when you didn’t show up for your Music History class, I knew something was wrong. I didn’t want to get you in trouble with Doctor Grant, so I decided to look into things myself.
I, um, made some calls,” Ellen said.
When she hesitated, Jerome kissed her cheek. “It’s alright, baby. I don’t mind. It’s all in the rearview at this point.”
“I had a friend at the FBI,” Ellen said, blushing. “When he refused to look for you, I nearly dumped his useless behind right there and then. I was one angry black woman. I had a gut feeling something was not right.”
“She called my private line. Then she called my precinct captain. And then she called Commissioner Bailey,” Kulicki said, laughing. “I don’t know what she said, but it must have been something amazing. Next thing I know, my boss is calling me at home.”
“She cussed those folks six ways to Sunday until somebody finally got Detective Kulicki on the line,” Jerome said proudly. “Once he figured out what was going on, he was able to trace GPS on your cell phone right to the Princeton Avenue Clinic.”
As a team of waiters arrived and began distributing steaming platters of BBQ ribs, candied yams, and collard greens, Alderman Clark looked at his Rolex and got to his feet.
“Sorry to miss out on such magnificent soul food, but I’ve got a campaign rally on the other side of town,” he said. “Patrice Soule is going to perform. If the spirit moves me, I might even sing a number myself. Would you like to join us, Bertie? You could sing a song, perhaps make a small speech?”
Bertie smiled and shook her head, “Not tonight, Alderman. Perhaps some other time. Give Miss Soule my regards, though.”
“Professor Bigelow will be far too busy at Metro College to be making campaign appearances,” Dr. Grant chimed in. He stood up and put on his coat. “Unless, of course, your office intends to compensate the college for her valuable time?”
Steady Freddy Clark smiled knowingly. “Can I have my driver drop you somewhere, Humbert?” He draped his cashmere coat over his arm and nodded goodbye. “We can discuss this further on the way downtown. I am sure we’ll be able to reach some kind of understanding.”
As the two men walked side by side out of the restaurant, Ellen giggled wickedly.
“Well, Miss Neighborhood Hero,” she said, “if I were you, I’d be asking our Fearless Leader for a raise about now.”
When the laughter at the table subsided, Detective Kulicki studied Bertie thoughtfully.
“I underestimated both your intelligence and your courage, Mrs. Bigelow. If you ever decide to change careers, you’d make a great private detective.”
Bertie blushed at the unexpected compliment and ducked her head.
“I have to say, it was kind of exciting,” she said, spearing a candied yam with her fork. “Not that I anticipate doing this kind of thing again.”
Ellen poked Bertie playfully in the ribs. “Keep an open mind, Miss Neighborhood Hero,” she said. “You never know what fate has in store.”
~ FINI ~
About CarolynWilkins
Carolyn Wilkins is a Professor of Ensembles at Berklee College of Music and the author of They Raised Me Up: A Black Single Mother and the Women Who Inspired Her, Damn Near White: An African American Family’s Rise from Slavery to Bittersweet Success and Tips for Singers: Performing, Auditioning, Rehearsing.
An accomplished jazz pianist, composer, and vocalist, Carolyn’s performance experience includes radio and television appearances with her group SpiritJazz, a concert tour of South America as a Jazz Ambassador for the US State Department, performances with the Pittsburgh Symphony as a percussionist under Andre Previn, and shows featuring Melba Moore, Nancy Wilson, and the Fifth Dimension. Born and raised on the South Side of Chicago, Carolyn now lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
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