by Angela Henry
“No. What Mama said was that I couldn’t hold a press conference on her front porch, back porch, or anywhere in between. I was in the front yard, and besides,” she said, plopping down into one of the wicker chairs. “It wasn’t a press conference. I came over her to see Mama and she wasn’t home. That reporter and her camera crew showed up and asked me for an interview as I was getting back into my car to leave, and I figured, what the hell. Since Hollywood Vibe doesn’t have my back, why should I keep my mouth shut and take this lying down?”
I glanced over at the driveway and noticed a red Honda Civic instead of her rented black Camry. “Whose car is that? I asked, gesturing toward the driveway.
“I had to rent another car. The police impounded my other rental this morning. I don’t know what they expect to find,” she said softly.
I didn’t like the sound of that. This just wasn’t getting any better. They truly thought my sister had something to do with Vivianne’s murder. I was worried because I’d yet to hear from Donald Cabot. What else could I do to help Allegra? While we sat silently on the porch, Mama arrived home with some groceries. We helped her unload and put them away as she heated up leftovers from last night’s dinner for our lunch. We were all subdued and silent as we ate. Mama was reading the paper and I caught a glimpse of something about a memorial service for Vivianne as she folded it up. While Mama and Allegra washed up the lunch dishes, I took the paper and went into the bathroom to read. It wasn’t really much of a story, just a notice about a private memorial service for Vivianne DeArmond being held at the Walker and Willis Funeral Home at six that afternoon. The service was by invitation only. Too bad, because I planned to be there, invitation or not.
I was parked in front of the three-story turn-of-the-century mansion that had been the Walker and Willis Funeral Home for the past fifteen years at four that afternoon dressed in a dark burgundy pantsuit with a black silk blouse. The black beaded purse of Vivianne’s that I’d bought was looped around my wrist. I watched for about a half hour as people came and went. How was I going to pull this off? I needed to get in there and hide before Vivianne’s service started. Then I could mingle with the family and maybe find out something that could help my sister. As I sat watching, a hearse pulled into the driveway that ran alongside the house. Roger Walker, one of the owners of the funeral home, came up out of the basement from an unseen side door. I could hear him fussing at the driver from where I was parked.
“I’ve been waiting for an hour, Sonny. Where the hell have you been?” demanded Roger, looking grumpy. Roger Walker was a tall, thin, chinless and eternally annoyed man in his early forties with big eyes that looked permanently startled. It was a good thing he mainly worked in the basement with the deceased and spent limited time with their families because his people skills were about as lively as the corpses he spent the majority of his time with.
“What’s the big rush? This guy ain’t got no place to be but in the ground,” chuckled the tall and muscular Sonny, who looked too cool for school in his black shades with a toothpick dangling from the corner of his mouth.
“You’re screwing up my schedule. We’re backed up as it is, and you’re out joyriding. I better not hear about you using the hearse to run that girlfriend of yours around town. Just ’cause you’re Ticia’s nephew don’t mean you can’t be fired.” Sonny flipped Roger the finger when he turned his back.
Roger was busy helping Sonny unload the body from the back of the hearse, and I was tempted to sneak into the house through the open basement door while their backs were turned. But I knew the embalming took place in the basement and I wasn’t about to try and sneak past any dearly departed souls. Plus, I’m not exactly the Road Runner. I was wearing high-heeled shoes and knew I wouldn’t be able to zip across the yard and down the basement steps unseen.
Finally, I got out of the car and headed across the street. I walked up the front steps of the funeral home and walked inside. Like most old Victorian mansions, the foyer was small and dark and it took a second for my eyes to adjust. I could hear people talking and followed the sound to the front parlor where Roger’s wife, Leticia, was talking to an elderly couple. Leticia was slightly overweight and very attractive with such a pleasant and charming personality that people were constantly amazed she was married to Roger. I stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before she noticed and gestured for me to have a seat on one of the sofas in the back of the large room. I parked it on a brown leather love seat and waited while Ticia Willis-Walker finished her business with the elderly couple, who were looking mighty uncomfortable, as though they knew it was only a matter of time before they made their last stop at Walker and Willis and didn’t want to be spending any additional time there.
The room we were in was quite nice with comfy leather furniture and plush maroon carpeting. There were vertical blinds in the windows instead of curtains and the taupe walls were covered in Monet reproductions. Cut-glass bowls filled with scented potpourri sat on most of the tables around the room. Ticia must be trying hard to make the house feel like something much more pleasant than a funeral home, especially since she, Roger and their two kids lived on the top two floors. In this room, at least, she’d succeeded.
Finally, the couple left, with a bundle of flyers on various funeral plans clutched in their hands, and Ticia turned her attention to moi. Now, my problem was: What the hell was I going to tell her?
“It’s Kendra, right?” asked Ticia, smiling a little uncertainly and sitting down in the leather chair opposite me. She was dressed in a light-gray skirt with a royal blue blouse. A multi strand of silver beads hung around her neck and shiny silver hoops dangled from her ears. Her hair was short and natural and was beginning to go gray. I wasn’t surprised she was unsure of my name since I’d attended very few funerals in my lifetime and wasn’t at all unhappy that she didn’t know me better.
“Yes, that’s right. I’m sorry to stop by without an appointment, Mrs. Willis-Walker, but I had some time on my hands and wanted to talk to you about my situation.” Just what my situation was I’d yet to figure out.
“Oh, honey,” said Ticia softly, leaning forward and taking my hand. “You’re not ill are you?” she looked alarmed and gave me a much-needed idea.
“Yes, I am,” I began and slumped my shoulders. “I’m going to be having some major surgery soon and I just wanted to make some arrangements for myself, you know, to spare my family the ordeal in case things go…badly,” I said, looking away dramatically. “I don’t have a lot of money so I thought I’d come and talk to you about my options. You know what I mean, don’t you?”
“Of course I do, honey,” said Ticia, patting my hand. “I’m sure you won’t be needing any arrangements for a very long time, but it’s so thoughtful of you to want to spare your loved ones from having to make arrangements for you,” she said, like she truly meant it, and then, ever mindful of the fact that she was in business to make money, added, “What kind of arrangements were you thinking about? We have a nice prepaid budget plan that includes a casket, burial plot, two floral arrangements and a nice headstone that includes up to ten words of engraving.”
My life summed up in ten words or less. What in the world would I want on my headstone? Here lies Kendra Clayton, never wed, but always well fed. That was exactly ten words.
“Kendra, are you okay?” asked Ticia, sounding concerned that I might be about to expire on her nice leather love seat.
“I’m sure that plan will be fine,” I said, giving her a weak smile. She got up to get me some brochures. I looked around for a possible place to hide. It was already going on five o’clock.
“There are two models of caskets to choose from with this particular plan. We have them in our showroom on display. Are you up to taking a look?”
No! I wanted to scream. Picking out my own casket was something I couldn’t ever imagine myself being up for. But instead I said, “Are you sure you have time to show me? I read in the paper that Vivianne DeArmond’s memorial se
rvice is being held here. Don’t you have to get ready?”
“Everything is all set for the memorial. We’re closing up in about a half hour to get ready for the guests. So, I still have some time. The showroom is just in the next room.” She gently took my hand and pulled me to my feet.
I followed her out of the room and down the long hallway and glanced into another room along the way. There were chairs set up and the room was almost filled to capacity with floral arrangements. I caught a glimpse of a large photo of Vivianne sitting on an easel and realized this must be the room the memorial service was being held in.
“This way,” said Ticia, standing aside to let me enter a room about the same size as the one we’d just left. But instead of being filled with tasteful furnishings, it was filled with about a dozen shiny new caskets with the lids closed.
“They’re all so nice. How will I ever choose?” I said, hoping she’d didn’t detected my tone of sarcasm.
“Actually, these are the two that you can choose from with the plan you’ll be getting.” She led the way down the aisle that ran between the caskets to the back of the room and gestured like a game-show hostess to two coffins, one on either side of her. Then she lifted the lids on both of them.
The one on her left was a plain, no-frills, dark brown casket made of what looked suspiciously like pressboard with a bright, gaudy, yellow satin lining, and the casket on her right was a dull stainless-steel affair lined in a garish red with black fringe on the little pillow. Not exactly the Cadillacs of caskets, but what can you expect on the budget burial plan? I guess I should be happy they weren’t cardboard boxes, though that brown one looked a little suspect. I spied a gleaming mahogany casket trimmed in gold with beautifully carved flowers on the front. I went over and lifted the lid revealing the silky pale green embroidered satin lining. As far as caskets went, this one was a beauty. Talk about going out in style.
“How much is this one?” I asked with real enthusiasm.
“This is one of our top-of-the-line models. It’s ten thousand dollars. We don’t offer layaway,” she added quickly, pissing me off. Layaway? That’s a hell of a thing to say to someone who may not have much time left. Then, realizing I wasn’t really dying and had no need of a casket, I chilled out and turned to give her a brave smile.
“Can I have a few minutes to make up my mind?” She looked at her watch, indicating that a few minutes would indeed be all I could have.
“No problem, Kendra. I’ll be in my office at the end of the hall if you have any questions.” I smiled my thanks and watched as she left the room, pulling the double doors closed behind her and leaving me to choose between the two equally ugly caskets in private.
Before I could fully focus on what I was going to do, I heard a loud voice from behind the closed doors.
“Aunt Ticia! Your husband’s trippin’ for real. You better check his ass before I do,” I heard Sonny the hearse driver say as he passed by the showroom. I heard his loud voice get fainter the farther down the hall he got. I went over and pressed my ear to the door and could hear Ticia’s voice scolding Sonny in hushed angry tones. I couldn’t hear everything she was saying but caught the words customer, showroom, shut up and your ignorant behind and knew Sonny was getting a verbal beat down. I opened the door a crack, looked down the hall and saw Ticia grab Sonny by the front of his shirt and pull him into her office and shut the door. More loud angry talk could be heard from behind the door. Great! This was just the opportunity I needed to find a hiding place. I quickly opened one of the double doors to the showroom and had started to leave when I spotted Roger Walker heading down the steps from the family’s home on the top floors. I jumped back into the showroom and shut the door. The phone in the foyer rang and Roger answered it. I cracked the door again and heard him talking. I waited, but Roger didn’t appear to be about to end his conversation anytime soon and I realized that wherever I hid would have to be in the room I was already in and the only place to hide was in one of the caskets. Crap!
CHAPTER 8
It was now or never as I heard the door to Ticia’s office open. I hurried across the room and opened the lid of the pretty mahogany casket. Hell, if was going to have to hide in a casket, it was damned well going to be the prettiest one. I flung one leg up into the casket and then hoisted myself up the rest of the way until I was sitting inside. I looked over at the double doors and could see the shadow of two sets of feet underneath the bottom of the door. I pulled the lid shut and lay back in the soft, silky lining just as I heard the door to the showroom open.
“Have you made up your—” I heard Ticia begin then stop when she saw the room was empty. “Kendra?” I heard her say. “Now see, you scared my customer away with your big mouth. Boy, I oughta kick your behind!” Ticia said in a shrill, highly pissed-off voice. I had no idea the placid Ticia Willis-Walker could get so annoyed. Then again, the most mild-mannered person can snap when you mess with their money. “Go set up the guest book for the memorial service and then clock out before I wring your neck.” I heard Sonny mumble something unintelligible then heard what sounded like the light being flipped off and doors being shut. Now, all I had to do was wait for the service to start.
It was hot inside the casket. I wanted to get out but kept hearing Ticia’s voice in the hallway. I started to sweat despite the fact that I’d propped the lid open a crack with a roll of mints from my purse. I held my watch up to the dim light streaming through the lid and saw that it was quarter to six. I could hear more people in the hallway and realized the guests were arriving. After about ten more minutes, I was unable to stand it any longer. I opened the lid and started to get out when I saw one of the double doors to the showroom start to open. I quickly lay back down, closed the lid and held my breath. I could hear the voices of what sounded like boys, two or three of them. I couldn’t be sure.
“We’re not supposed to come in here. If my mom catches us I’m dead meat,” pleaded the voice of one boy.
“DJ, man, let’s bounce. I knew Creepy Clementine wasn’t nothin’ but a pussy,” said another boy cruelly. I heard laughter from yet a third boy.
“Yeah, I ain’t never seen a cat so afraid of his mama.” Both boys were laughing now. I knew that Roger and Leticia had a teenaged son named Clement. That name, combined with the fact that his parents ran a funeral home, must make school a torture for poor Clement Walker.
“Okay, you can look around, but only for a minute. We’re supposed to be studying,” said Clement, trying unconvincingly to sound nonchalant.
“Hey, I wonder what it feels like to be inside a coffin,” said the voice of the boy named DJ. “Hot and uncomfortable,” I was tempted to shout.
“I’ll give you LaTonya Marshall’s phone number if you get inside,” said the other boy, sounding as if he was getting closer.
“No! I told you we aren’t supposed to be in here,” pleaded poor Clement.
“Tonya Marshall’s digits? Hell, for a chance to tap that ass I ain’t scared of no coffin or your mama, Clementine,” said DJ. I almost had a heart attack as the lid to the casket started to lift then slammed shut.
“I said no! We gotta go,” said Clement, sounding like he was about to cry.
“Hold this fool, man,” commanded DJ of the other boy. I could hear a struggle and decided not only was it time for me to get out of the casket, I wanted to teach DJ and his friend a lesson. I waited for the lid to lift then said in a low, deep growl, “I love company!” I grabbed the shocked-as-shit DJ by his shirt and pulled him into the casket and held him tight as he started to struggle. DJ let out a shrill, high-pitched scream, much like an actress in a B horror movie, tore out of my grasp, leaving most of his T-shirt behind in my hands, and bolted from the room. I guess he won’t be getting LaTonya Marshall’s digits after all. Lucky girl.
Clement and the other boy ran into each other several times, like the Three Stooges minus one, in their attempts to get out of the room. Once they were gone, I quickly hopped out of the casket and
had started to leave when I heard footsteps rushing down the hall. I quickly opened the lid of a shiny black coffin nearest the door and jumped inside. If I’d known when I got up this morning that I’d be playing musical caskets, I’d have stayed in bed. The double doors to the showroom flew open. I heard Roger Walker’s angry voice and Clement’s scared breathless one.
“Over here, Dad. There was someone in there, I swear,” said Clement, sounding near hysteria.
“Boy, you better not be lying to me. I don’t need this mess.”
“I’m not lying,” said Clement.
I lifted the lid just a hair to see what was going on and saw Roger Walker standing over the mahogany casket. I watched as he lifted the lid, revealing it to be empty. His scowl could have curdled milk. I thought Clement might faint. It was my fault he was about to get into trouble and I felt really bad about what I’d done. But there was nothing I could do about it now. Besides, much to my horror, Clement wasn’t about to let it go.
“See, here’s DJ’s shirt!” said Clement excitedly. Crap! I must have dropped the shirt in my haste to get out of the casket. “That monster ripped it right off his back. I knew I wasn’t seeing things. It’s probably still here in one of the other caskets.”
“Monster?” said Roger skeptically. “What are you talking about?”
“It was this old ugly hag. She was dressed all in red.”
An old, ugly hag in red? That little nerd! And it’s called burgundy, thank you.
“I’ll look on this side and you look on the other,” said Clement as he went down one side of the room cautiously opening caskets one by one.
Roger was just staring at him like he was an idiot. I quickly closed the lid. I felt myself go cold and stiff with panic. Maybe by the time he got to the black casket I’d actually be dead, giving me a true reason for being here. I heard his fingers on the lid of my hiding place. The gig was up. Or was it?