by Lois Lavrisa
“Yes it did,” I said. “I miss Cat. I know she’s having a great time in Korea with her family. Well deserved too, after the long hours they spend running their store. But all the same, I wish she were here. She and I were quite a team when we solved Lucy’s murder.” A pang ricocheted in my chest. One of our own had passed. I still missed her, too.
Bezu said, “Our sweet, dear fifth member of the Chubby Chicks Club.”
In silence we held each other’s hand.
“I know exactly what I need to do now,” I said.
“Leave it to the police.”
“No.” I straightened my back. “This matters too much to me. I need to solve this myself.”
“Good gracious.” Bezu exhaled.
“You could be my sidekick, like Donkey is to Shrek,” I said.
“Great, and I have a feeling if I agree to do this with you I will be the ass.” She smiled and rolled her eyes.
I chuckled. “Glad to have you on my team.”
Chapter Eight
Bezu and I hit the stairs, and we did, indeed, find Gerald’s office door ajar. We let ourselves in.
“What am I looking for exactly?” she asked.
“Anything at all that could prove Gerald’s innocence,” I answered.
“But what if I find the opposite? Like a smoking gun, so to speak?” Bezu picked up some papers and moved them around on his desk.
I turned around and scanned the bookshelf. “Then we figure that out if, and when, that happens. But I really doubt we’ll find anything here.”
“I do hope that your boyfriend had nothing to do with Priscilla’s death,” Bezu said.
“Firstly, he is a boy and a friend, not the words together. There is a space between boy and friend. Okay?”
“Why not?”
“Why not what?”
“Why isn’t he more than just a friend?”
I turned my hands up. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Look at me.”
She ran her gaze up and down me. “I am. And I see a gorgeous, smart, incredibly funny lady who anyone would be honored to have as their honey.”
Turning my back on Bezu, I continued my search on the bookshelf. “You must be looking through rose-colored eyeballs or something. I’m an old, frumpy put-out-to-pasture widow.”
“By the way, I found—” Bezu stopped as she slid something in the pocket of her dress.
“May I help you, ladies?” Gerald stood at the doorway.
I swallowed hard as I wondered how long he had been standing there. Did he hear our conversation? I felt embarrassed to be caught in his office invading his privacy.
I said, “Gerald, where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you.”
He reached into his top desk drawer and pulled out his cell phone. “It was on silent. I put it in here so I could get work done.” He paused. “And you’re in here, because?”
“Oh, us?” I let out a nervous giggle. “We are in here, uh, because, well you see, um, the door was open. Yes, it was wide open. And, well, we, and we, we are—” I stammered.
“—Terribly sorry,” Bezu finished my rambling monologue.
“Yes, very, very, sorry. We had no business, whatsoever, in your office.” I shot my eyes toward the ground. I was so ashamed I couldn’t look him in the eyes.
Gerald put a hand on my back. “Annie Mae, you know you’re always welcome to come in my office anytime you want.”
The tension in my body released. “Thank you, but I should’ve asked permission first. By the way, why did you leave your door unlocked?”
“It’s safe here,” Gerald answered.
“Safe? So you didn’t hear?” I asked.
“Hear what?” he asked.
“Priscilla was found dead in the theater,” I said.
“Oh no. That’s horrible.” Gerald paled and his hand trembled. “How did it happen?”
“We don’t know. But because Annie Mae disliked her, and told Priscilla the time and place to pick up some building materials, Dwight thinks she committed the crime,” Bezu said.
“How crazy is that?” I said.
Bezu continued, “But Annie Mae has an alibi. After you left, she was still with José and me. That doesn’t seem to matter to Dwight, he thinks Annie Mae hired a hit man to kill Priscilla.”
Gerald’s eyes were wide as he looked at me. “You’re not a killer.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Yes?” Gerald’s voice rose as he took one step back.
“I mean yes, I’m not a killer. I mean, no I did not kill her. ” I noticed a small cut on the top of his hand. Where had that come from? It looked like a recent laceration. There was still blood around the area.
“She’s dead. That’s dreadful.” A bead of sweat formed on his forehead.
“So, what happened to your hand?” He ignored my question and his eyes dashed around the office.
“Where were you?” I asked. “I mean, after you left dinner at Bezu’s? Did you come right up here to the office? Did you go into the theater at any time?”
“That’s a lot of questions all at once.” Gerald scowled. “Why do I feel like I’m being interrogated?”
Bezu interjected, “Annie Mae has taken it upon herself to do her own investigation.”
“There are people actually trained to do that. They’re called police.” Gerald leaned against an office wall.
“Yes.” Bezu looked at me.
“But, I could put fresh eyes on the situation,” I said. “And Gerald you never answered my questions.”
“Do I need to?” Gerald asked.
“No, you don’t,” said Bezu. “Because you’re not a suspect.” Bezu played with her pearl necklace.
“We’re all suspects, until I can prove otherwise,” I said.
Had Bezu forgotten about the wax paper left at the crime scene? Did she not see the fresh cut on his hand?
“Guilty until proven innocent, huh? I think it’s the other way around.” Gerald laughed.
“You’re right, Gerald, and on that note, I think that we’ve taken up plenty of your time already,” Bezu said. “We’ll get out of your way now.”
Bezu grabbed my hand and led me out of the office.
“Can I walk you ladies to your car?” Gerald called after us.
“No. No need to, it’s parked right outside the door,” Bezu said.
He stood in the doorway and waved as we made our way down the hallway.
When we had reached the bottom of the stairs and were out of earshot, I said to Bezu, “Why were we in such a hurry to get out of there?”
She opened the lobby door into the humid night air that smelled like soggy fresh cut grass. “Get in the car. I’ll tell you then.”
Once seated in the car, she pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed it to me. “This is why.”
“What is this?” Written on the outside of the envelope was ‘To GG From PW.’ I opened it, and pulled out a note, holding it up so it was illuminated through the car window by the streetlight overhead. I read it out loud.
“I know what you did, Mr. Orange Head. I was there. And soon everyone else will know too. Your life, as you know it, is over. I already told you what you need to do to keep me quiet—pay up. Your move. PW”
“Holy smokes!” I said. “PW must be Priscilla Woodham, and GG is Gerald Gill.”
Bezu buckled her seat belt. “That’s what I thought too, and that’s why I grabbed it.”
“Good job. It definitely sounds like blackmail.” I paused as I thought. “It also seems like there is or was a common, I don’t know, thing between Priscilla and Gerald. And whatever it was, it could ruin him.”
“The message was clear.”
I held up the note. “Where did you find it?”
“While you were looking through the bookshelf, I discovered it in a pile of papers on his desk. I saw the writing on the envelope and it looked like it might be something. So, I shoved it in my pocket right before Gerald walked in on us. But the wh
ole time he was talking, I felt like the note was burning a hole though my clothes, and any second he’d figure out I had it. I was crawling out of my skin. I had to get out of there,” Bezu said.
“You’re one heck of an actress. I had no idea you had any evidence on you. Good job, sidekick.”
“Thank you, but it was pure accident. I really thought we were just wasting our time in his office.”
“In the letter it says, ‘Orange Head,’ who is that?” I asked.
She put the key in the ignition. “Someone who likes eating oranges?”
“The color of hair? Like a redhead?” I thought for a moment. “Gerald has white hair now, but he could’ve been a red head. Although for a white guy, he tans really well. And most redheads have super pale skin which tends to burn in the sun.”
“And did you see the cut on his hand?” Bezu started her car.
“Yes, I did.” I was impressed that she noticed the same detail that I had. “The note ended with ‘your move.’ Do you think his move was to end her life?”
“That would eliminate the blackmail.” Bezu pulled out of the parking spot and onto the street. “Annie Mae, I’m so sorry. This doesn’t look good for your boy, space, friend.”
“I know. Right now, everything leads to Gerald as the number one suspect in Priscilla’s murder. And to think, you and José wanted me to date him.”
“Remember, my fiancé, Luiz, was once a suspect in a murder. And I was certain he was a killer. Of course, I found out he wasn’t. I’m just saying, Gerald may very well be innocent,” Bezu said. “Then, you can date him.”
I chortled. “You’re telling me the new criteria for dating is to clear a guy of murder first?”
Chapter Nine
Before Bezu dropped me off at my house, we talked to José about what we’d found in Gerald’s office. When we told him the manner in which we’d obtained it, he didn’t want to know what evidence we had, since he couldn’t use it because it’s ethically questionable. Stakes for him were high, his job was truly on the line. He was not in the least bit happy we were snooping around, and ordered us to stop.
But he knew me. Had I told him I would stop, we both knew it would’ve been a lie. Instead, I chose not to respond to his plea.
I unlocked my door, and flicked on the lights. Glancing around, an overwhelming feeling of emptiness washed over me. Since my beloved Ernie had gone to the Krispy Kreme Doughnut shop in the sky, I’d gotten used to living alone. I rather enjoyed it as well, until recently. Gerald and I had been spending a lot of time together. Now, like a mirror, the house reflected back my utter solitude.
I couldn’t shake that thought. I cared for Gerald; he made me feel things I hadn’t felt since Ernie was alive. Yet, could he be a murderer? And what was that note about? Should I just ask him directly?
Then again, Bezu did take it from his office, without asking permission. Even with my very limited knowledge of the law, I knew that taking someone’s personal property without asking was a crime of petty theft. But hey, it was one less offense on our part that his office was wide open —at least we didn’t break and enter.
It was after nine when the doorbell rang. Who could that be this late in the evening? I checked through the peephole. It was Gerald.
Oh no.
Should I let him in? Pretend I wasn’t at home? Or act like everything was okay? I repeated in my mind, innocent until proven guilty.
Innocent until proven guilty.
Upon opening the door, Gerald said, “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
Conflicting feelings of both excitement and fear stirred in me. I had to play along like everything was normal. “Do you want to come inside? Maybe have a beer or something?”
“A cold one sounds great.”
He followed me to the kitchen. On dozens of occasions, we had sat at my table, eating homemade meals or takeout. We had a comfortable relationship.
Did he know now that it had all changed because of the note Bezu had found? Well of course he didn’t know we found the letter. And naturally, both Gerald and Priscilla knew about the note, since it was about something between them.
The scarier thought was that Priscilla’s life might’ve ended because of what she’d written to Gerald.
I reached into the refrigerator and pulled out two cans of beer. I handed one to Gerald.
“From Southbound Brewery, my favorite. Thanks.” He sat down, then pulled the tab on his can.
“Just supporting a local business.” I tried to sound nonchalant as I sat in a chair across the white Formica table from him. Popping open my can, I took a long swig.
Gerald put his beer back on the table. “Are you going to tell me why you’re acting so oddly?”
I nearly spit out my beer. “Me?”
He leaned forward. “Level with me. What’s going on? You seem, I don’t know the word for it, squirrelly to me. And when I found you and Bezu in my office, you both looked like the cats who ate the mouse.”
I changed the subject. “There are lots of animal analogies there, are you trying to tell me something?”
He placed his hand on top of mine. “You have animal magnetism.”
His warm hand momentarily left me speechless—I pulled away. What was wrong with me?
“Annie Mae, have I done anything to upset you?” Gerald ran a hand through his hair.
“Nothing.” To hide my lie, and to distract him, I chugged the rest of the beer.
“Now I know something is wrong. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone drink that quickly unless they were doing beer bongs.” He chuckled.
Standing, I said. “Yes, you got me. I’m in a drinking competition. Practice makes perfect.” I snatched another beer from the fridge. “Do you need one more?”
“No, but I’d like you to talk to me, tell me what’s going on with you, what’s changed with you, with us.”
I plopped down in a chair. “Besides a team leader getting murdered in the theater where I work? No, nothing’s changed.”
Gerald narrowed his eyes. “Okay. I guess I won’t ask you again. Although, Annie Mae, I know you. And this is not the normal you.”
I shrugged. “Different is the new normal.”
He took in a deep breath. “I give up. You’re fine.”
I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask him about the note, without him knowing that I had it. “What a tragedy about Priscilla.”
“Yes, it’s horrible. Actually, I just came back from a meeting with Armstrong’s administrative staff and the competition judges. They’re making a decision about whether or not we should shut down theater camp or finish the last two days.”
“What do you think we should do?” I asked.
He reclined in his chair. “Well, it’s not up to me, but I think we should finish it out for the sake of the students. Return to business as usual.”
“But there’s nothing usual about a dead body. And besides, a team lost their supervisor,” I said.
“You’re right. But Priscilla’s team is far enough along that we could assign a new adult leader, or let the team compete without one. It’d be their choice, and still be within the competition rules.”
“I guess you’re right.” I played with my beer can. “What about the crime scene?”
Gerald looked down at the table. “What about it?”
“I assume that we can’t use the backstage area. That’s where my team has their set, backdrop and props and, well, everything. They won’t be able to perform without them.” I bit my lip. “I’m sure detectives have to dust for fingerprints, and collect any evidence they might find.”
“That’s wrapped up. The police, forensics, whomever needed to do what they needed to do—they’re all done. You have full access to backstage, and your set.”
I had to get my inquiries back to the actual crime. “I’m going to assume, I need to get another skull.” I wanted to study his body language to see any hint that he might be nervous or upset. I’d be jittery if I killed someone
, and they point-blank asked me about the weapon I used to commit the crime.
He shifted in his chair. “Yes, I heard Priscilla was killed with that.” After drinking his beer, he coughed. “I’m sure that we can get you another.”
“Poor lady. I just can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill her. Can you?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted it. I was helpless in the house alone with him. On my granite countertop was a wooden block with knives, really sharp knives.
He could easily kill me. Dang it. My kitchen was a veritable room of potential weapons. On the other hand, I enjoyed spending time with him—we had a comfortable camaraderie. Yet, maybe I didn’t know him at all.
If I continued to think like this I’d drive myself nuts.
“Thanks for the beer. But it’s getting late, and I should go. I’ll see you in the morning.” Gerald stood and pushed his chair in. “So, you up for dinner tomorrow night at my house?”
Was this a set up? Did he know that I knew about the note? “Your house?” My question came out as a shriek.
“You just sounded like I asked you to go to the city dump. Don’t you want to come over to my place?”
I let out a nervous giggle. “How about a restaurant instead?”
He reached out and touched my arm. “Are you afraid to be alone with me?”
I forced a laugh. “Of course not. We’ve been alone dozens of times.”
“Yes, we have. And you have to admit, I’ve behaved like a gentleman every time. Although you make that difficult, because you’re so adorable.” He winked at me.
Heat suffused my face and I had to avert my gaze.
“So dinner at my place?” He asked.
“Yeah, sure,” I muttered. Why did I feel like a schoolgirl with an infatuation on the popular cute boy? Then, I berated myself. Yes, he had killer looks, but he could also be a real killer.
“I wanted to make your favorite meal, shrimp and grits,” he said as we walked to the front door. “But, if for any reason, you’re uncomfortable, then that’s fine. I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll understand.”
As I opened the door I said, “Well then, your house it is. Oh, and I have to ask again, can you think of anyone who would’ve wanted Priscilla dead?”