by Angela Henry
“Have you two lost your minds?” said the voice of Ticia Willis-Walker, aka my savior, from the doorway of the showroom. “We got folks arriving for the memorial service and you two are running around like you don’t have good sense. What are you doing in here?”
“Ma, I saw a—” began Clement. But his mother wasn’t having it.
“Clement Mortimer Walker, you shouldn’t have seen anything because you’re not supposed to be in here, are you?”
Mortimer? That poor boy is screwed coming and going.
“No, ma’am,” mumbled Clement.
“Then get your narrow tail up those steps before I put my foot in it, and get that homework done and don’t ever bring those knuckleheads into my house again,” she said through gritted teeth.
I heard Clement mumble, “Yes, ma’am,” as he passed by my casket on his way out of the room. One down, two to go.
“Are you going to help me, Roger? I’ve got programs to hand out and there are still more flowers arriving. I can’t do this all by myself and what in the world did you say to Sonny?”
“Don’t start on me Ticia. You act like you’re the only one who works around here—” Roger and Leticia fussed their way out of the showroom. I heard the door shut behind them and was finally able to let out a sigh of relief.
I could finally get out. I’d changed my mind about attending the memorial service. I just wanted to go home. But I soon discovered it wasn’t going to be that easy as I pushed on the lid of the casket. It was jammed. I pushed harder and harder, but the lid wouldn’t budge.
I took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. Suddenly it seemed as if there wasn’t enough air and my breathing became ragged. I started to freak out. I was screaming, though I doubted anyone could hear me. I felt the casket move ever so slightly with my frenzied efforts to get out. Maybe if I could rock it off of its stand onto the floor, the lid would pop open. I started rocking my body from side to side for several minutes. The heavy casket moved a little but not enough to tip it onto the floor. I was becoming sweaty and lightheaded and knew my efforts were decreasing my air supply. Tears of frustration welled up in my eyes. I didn’t want to die. I could only imagine what people were going to think when they found my body. No. I wasn’t going out like this. I had to get out. I closed my eyes, and was just about to start rocking again, when the lid to the casket opened. Air rushed inside and I gulped it in, noticing that it smelled of Lagerfeld cologne. I opened my eyes and found myself staring up at the handsome face of a shocked and speechless Morris Rollins.
“What are you doing here?” I asked feebly as he helped me out of the casket.
“What am I doing here? I came in here for some privacy to use my cell. Kendra, what’s going on? Who put you in that casket?”
“You’re here for the Vivianne’s memorial?” He nodded and I quickly explained why I was there and what had happened. For a second he looked confused, as though he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or yell at me. But the former finally won out and he leaned against one of the other caskets, his body heaving in an effort to hold in the side-splitting laughter that was dying to get out. I just glared at him, though the humor of the situation wasn’t lost on me, and I could feel a smile tugging at my lips.
“Kendra, I swear, besides God you’re the only person I’d want on my side if I ever get into trouble,” he said, wiping his streaming eyes. That made me smile.
“Well, I should probably go. Thanks for saving me,” I mumbled, turning to leave.
“No, wait,” he said, stopping me. “Why don’t you come to the memorial service as my guest? Least that way you’ll have a legitimate excuse for being there and you can mix and mingle to your heart’s content.” It was an excellent idea, since I hadn’t managed to find out a single thing to help my sister. But I knew there had to be catch.
“And that’s all there is to it, huh? You’ll let me be your guest?” I asked skeptically.
“Of course, you’ll owe me a dinner, preferably a home-cooked one, as payment. I mean, after all, it’s the least you could do. I did save your life,” he said devilishly.
“Fine, let’s go,” I said, turning my back on his grinning face and leaving the room.
We headed down the hall where I could see well-dressed people being greeted at the door of the viewing room by Ticia Willis-Walker, who gave me a confused look as I walked up to her accompanied by Rollins. I spoke up before she could say anything.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Willis-Walker, for taking off earlier. I had a family emergency and had to run home.”
“Not a problem, Ms. Clayton,” she said, not really paying attention to me but to my handsome companion, who was giving her his biggest panty-melting smile. I hoped she was so bedazzled by Rollins that it wouldn’t occur to her that I was trying to crash the memorial service of a woman whose murder my sister was being questioned about.
“I hope it won’t be a problem, Leticia. Kendra and I have some church business to discuss so I asked her to be my guest for the service. I hope you won’t make her wait for me in the car,” he said gravely.
Ticia gave me a startled look and then patted my arm comfortingly. It hit me that she must be thinking that I was meeting with Rollins to discuss my possible funeral service. This was getting depressing.
“Go right in,” she said handing us programs with a picture of Vivianne, gorgeous and smiling, on the front. It was a fairly recent picture that I’d never seen before. Vivianne was dressed in a green twin set, black slacks and pearls and was standing under a large tree with her arms crossed. I wondered if it had been taken on her property.
Most of the chairs in the room were already filled and we took seats in the back. I could see Cliff and Stephanie Preston sitting in the front row with Kurt slouching and sour-faced in a chair a row behind them. Harriet Randall was seated in the front row on the opposite side of the aisle. I noticed she was openly giving the Prestons dirty looks, but either they didn’t appear to have noticed or didn’t care. Vivianne’s casket, a duplicate of the beautiful mahogany-and-carved-flower model I’d recently been hiding in, was sitting in front of the room. I was surprised to see it was closed and draped in a profusion of yellow roses and baby’s breath. I wondered if something had been wrong with Vivianne’s face that prevented having an open casket. I didn’t recognize any of the other people in attendance and guessed by some of the youthful hairdos framing old faces, capped teeth and varying degrees of faded flashiness, that they must be ex-showbiz people. Many of them were stopping to hug a teary-eyed Cliff or nod at Harriet who, depending on their position on the entertainment food chain, either gave them a small tight smile or a queenly wave of her hand. A sudden image of Joy Owens in about forty years popped into my head when I looked at Harriet’s grim face. Stephanie and Kurt got ignored all together. Kurt didn’t seem to care but Stephanie looked hurt.
“Why were you invited?” I asked Rollins when we were situated in our seats.
“Harriet Randall is a member of Holy Cross. She asked me if I’d come for moral support.” Harriet at Holy Cross? Or any church for that matter? But then again, a person who bit a police officer and bashed people with a patent-leather purse would definitely be a candidate for spiritual healing. Was she a murderer, too? Could Donald Cabot be right in his suspicion that Harriet killed Vivianne?
“Why wasn’t the service at Holy Cross?” I asked.
“Because Vivianne was an atheist. She didn’t want a church service. She also wanted to be cremated and have her ashes spread out under the big Hollywood sign in Los Angeles. But I don’t think Harriet could bear not having a grave to visit. I’m going to let her know I’m here. You should probably keep your distance. I don’t know if Harriet will recognize you as Allegra’s sister. Just try and stay out of trouble, you hear me?” I gave him a mock salute and watched him head off to greet Harriet. Harriet showed the first signs of grief that I’d seen in her when Rollins put his arm around her in comfort. She buried her face against his shoulder and sob
bed for a few minutes. Either Vivianne’s death had finally hit her, or she was trying to cop a feel.
Once Harriet pulled herself together, the service started and a procession of friends and loved ones made their way up front to say a few words or share a story about Vivianne. As I’d suspected, many of the people in attendance had some kind of ties to the entertainment business. One of Vivianne’s former makeup artists, a freeze-dried-looking old broad named Suzette Keynes, with eyebrows that arched into the hairline of her white-blond wig, and wearing a leopard-print suit and pillbox hat that looked like museum pieces, told a long-winded story about how hard it had been to find the right makeup for Vivianne since cosmetics companies didn’t cater to black woman at the time. What should have been a tribute to Vivianne ended up being an infomercial for a new line of makeup she’d created for older women called Special Effects. Harriet had to clear her throat several times and practically shake her fist at the woman to get her to shut up and sit down.
Vivianne’s leading man in the movie Sassy Mama, a still-handsome and quite dapper seventy-year-old ex-actor named Felix Gerard, told the story of how he and Vivianne had had to put up some of their own money to finish the film when the production company that had produced it went bankrupt. He then went on to talk about the lack of good roles for black actors, which I thought was going to lead to praise for Vivianne’s acting career and how she broke barriers in Hollywood. Instead, Mr. Gerard bitterly mused about how he’d almost beaten out Sidney Poitier for the role of Virgil Tibbs. Apparently, it was something he still had his undies in a knot over, and he ultimately had to be led back to his seat by his embarrassed wife.
After each person finished speaking, Cliff kept trying to get up to say a few words, but Stephanie would pull him back down into his seat and give him a warning look like he was a little kid about to spill his milk. Finally, it was Harriet’s turn. She’d stopped crying by the time she stepped in front of the podium and stared mournfully at the rose-covered casket before speaking.
“The movie world may have known her as Vivianne DeArmond, but I knew her long before Hollywood did. I knew her when she was just Annie Burns, a skinny little girl who grew up on a farm on the outskirts of town. I knew her back when she had her first role as a shrub in our second-grade play, when she was a cheerleader in junior high, when she went on her first date, and got her first job as a clerk at Foster’s Five & Dime. Even when the bright lights of Hollywood, that shone with all the brilliance of fool’s gold, lured her away from her home—” she cut her eyes in Cliff’s direction “—she never forgot about me. And even after the career she loved so much chewed her up and spat her out, she still put aside her own pain to help me in my darkest hour. Yes, the entertainment world may have lost a bright light. But to me, Vivianne was simply my best friend and I’ll miss her more than anyone will ever know.”
I looked over at Cliff who was red-faced and furious-looking. Stephanie was rubbing his arm as if she was trying to calm him down. Kurt was asleep. What a loser. If he can’t even be bothered to stay awake for his mother’s memorial service then what else was he capable of? I quickly checked my cell phone to see if I had a message from Donald Cabot. No such luck.
An uncomfortable silence descended upon the room as Harriet returned to her seat. No one else took the podium and people were shifting around nervously. Ticia came forward from her place at the door and thanked everyone for attending, and announced that refreshments had been set up in the back of the room. A couple of people left but most stayed to socialize. Cliff was holding court in one corner and loud laughter soon filled the room. Harriet was deep in conversation with Rollins. Stephanie was talking to Suzette Keynes, who was pressing makeup samples into her hands. Kurt was the only one who wasn’t mingling. He was in the back of the room at the refreshment table stuffing himself with cookies. He seemed as good a place to start as any and I took a plate and sidled up next to him.
“I’m so sorry about your mother,” I said, as I filled my plate with cookies and cocktail mints. He turned to stare at me and I caught a flicker of recognition that quickly disappeared.
“My mother? Oh, you mean Vivianne,” he said, dismissively looking over at the casket. “Sorry, it’s just that we were never close. I saw her maybe once a year. Now she’s gone and everyone thinks that changes our relationship.”
“It’s sad you didn’t get a chance to work out your differences before she died,” I said, popping a mint in my mouth. He looked at me closely again and I had to try hard not to squirm.
“Who’d you say you were?” he asked, looking me up and down.
“Sorry, I’m Nola Morgan. I was your mother’s beautician,” I said, holding out my hand and glancing over at Harriet, who was still talking to Rollins. He gave my hand a hard quick shake.
“I thought maybe you were a reporter. One snuck in here earlier today and tried to get a picture of Vivianne in her casket. That’s why it’s closed, now. I thought ole Harriet was gonna stroke out,” he said giggling. I caught a whiff of marijuana, which would explain his munchies, at any rate, and his khaki-colored suit and blue shirt looked wrinkled, as though he’d slept in them. More loud laughter erupted from Cliff’s corner and Kurt rolled his eyes. “That’s my pops for you. Never misses out on an opportunity to tell a funny story about his glory days.”
“I read someplace that he used to be Vivianne’s agent.”
“Yeah, about a million years ago. He was trying to get her to audition for a role in some big remake of The Wiz as Glenda the Good Witch. But Vivi was being difficult, as usual. She never missed an opportunity to make his life hell.”
“Is the blond lady your stepmother?” I asked, around bites of oatmeal raisin cookie.
“My mom. Not my stepmother. She raised me, not Vivianne.” He cast narrow eyes at the casket still occupying the front of the room.
“Is she in show business?”
“Used to be. Ex-Vegas showgirl. But she quit once she married Dad and became a full-time mother to me. She put me before her career. Not like some women I could name,” he said and walked away.
Kurt certainly was angry with Vivianne, and he and Noelle needed money. If he’d channeled his anger into killing her, was it because he knew how valuable her memorabilia would become after her death or because she was never a mother to him? Either way, I had to be able to back up this info when I gave it to Harmon and Mercer. I sure wished Donald Cabot would call me. I was finishing up my cookie when I heard a voice behind me.
“Hello,” said Stephanie Preston as I turned around. She was dressed in a steel-gray power suit with big shoulder pads that looked as if she’d stolen it from Krystle Carrington’s closet. Her blond hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck and her overly tanned skin looked less harsh in the soft lighting of the funeral home. Her makeup was still overdone however, with pancakelike foundation, heavy purple eyeshadow and black eyeliner. Her lips were frosty and pink and I noticed some of it was smeared on her front teeth.
“I’m Stephanie Preston.” She held out her hand and I shook it.
“Nola Morgan, nice to meet you.”
“So, you a friend of Vivianne’s?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at the casket.
“Not really. More like an acquaintance. I did Vivianne’s hair occasionally.”
“Aw, I bet that was an experience,” she said and laughed spitefully.
“Well, yes. Not to speak ill of the dead,” I said, quietly looking around the room, “But you know what she was like. She could be quite demanding.” I was hoping to keep the conversation going. I had the feeling Stephanie was looking for someone to vent to. And I wasn’t wrong. She snorted and laughed again.
“I know about Miss Vivianne DeArmond all right. She’s my husband’s ex-wife, or I guess I should say was. I’ve never met a more vain, self-important and self-involved woman in all my life,” she shook her head. “But I guess you couldn’t really blame her for being the way she was, what with everyone telling her how beautif
ul she was all the time. But the one who really kills me is that best friend of hers,” she said, nodding toward Harriet, who was now talking to Ticia.
“What about her?” I asked, feeling my curiosity perking up.
“Harriet Randall has absolutely no reason to act so high and mighty. You know, what with her husband having robbed that bank here about twenty years ago. Are you from here? I’d have thought you’d have known.”
“Twenty years ago I was only nine years old. My biggest concern was mastering long division,” I said smiling.
“Oh, of course, you’d have been too young to remember,” she said, lightly smacking her forehead. “His name was Elgin Randall. He was a petty thief and robbed the bank Harriet used to work at. A guard was shot during the robbery. They never caught Harriet’s husband. He’s still on the run. They even thought she might have been in on the plot but could never prove it. Instead, they just fired her. That was not long after Vivianne had quit acting and moved back here to live in her family’s old farmhouse. She gave Harriet a job as her assistant, but it was the least she could do, considering,” Stephanie said smirking.
“Considering what?” I asked. Stephanie motioned for me to lean in closer. I did.
“Elgin Randall was Vivianne’s first love. They were engaged to be married when they were young but Vivianne wanted to be an actress and she left him practically at the altar and ran off to Hollywood. She met and married Cliff, but she never loved him. He launched her career and she felt grateful to him. Elgin was so heartbroken he ended up marrying Vivianne’s best friend, Harriet, instead. I guess they were happy enough until Vivianne came back here to live. She and Elgin never stopped loving each other and started having an affair.”
“How do you know?” I asked incredulously.
“Cliff told me a lot of it. But Kurt used to spend a couple of weeks with Vivianne in the summer when he was a kid, and he told me he saw her kissing Harriet’s husband and even walked in on them in bed once. I always wondered if Harriet knew.” We both turned to stare at Harriet as she rearranged the roses on top of Vivianne’s casket.