by Lois Lavrisa
“It sure is.”
“Are there any more pages?” I asked.
Bezu flipped through a stack of papers scattered on the desk. “No.”
“Let’s assume she only needed this page. Now we need to figure out why.”
“Well, it was the day after Thanksgiving. Maybe she wanted to remember what a great holiday she had?”
“I’ve had a lot of great days in my life. But I’ve never felt the need to go back and copy newspapers from them.”
Bezu smiled and nodded. “You’ve got a point. So why this date and only the front page?”
I stared at the copy. What was I missing? “Did it have to do with both newspapers merging?”
She read the page over my shoulder. “Or the weather? Or the football scores?”
“It might be more important than that. I think it might have to do with city council issues, or the teenager getting killed.”
Bezu’s eyes were wide. “I bet she had this because of the article on the teen.”
I read it to her. “‘A nineteen-year-old man was shot last night at a grocery store on Waters and 51st Street during an attempted burglary. Chatham County Sheriff’s Office spokesman, R.W. Walker, said initial reports indicate the storeowner shot the victim after being held at gunpoint. An unknown driver fled the scene. Walker said deputies had responded about eight p.m. to a report of a burglary in progress.’ Why this story?” I asked.
“Maybe it was Priscilla’s brother, or cousin or someone she knew who was shot?”
“Possibly.” I glanced around at pictures hanging on the wall. There were her high school and two college diplomas, as well as a few awards. The shelves overflowed with books, files, and knickknacks.
The desk held a small banker’s lamp and an air freshener that filled the air with a vanilla aroma. A silver frame held a black and white picture with a man, woman and a young girl and boy.
“This looks like it could be her family photo? I don’t see any siblings besides her brother. He’s alive, remember he’s a caterer. Is there anything else?”
Bezu picked up an envelope. “Looks like a bill from the power company.” She grabbed a handful of envelopes. “And lots of bills from credit card companies, and others stamped past due or final notice.” She handed them to me. “Look at her address, she lived in Ardsley Park.”
“Winona told me that Priscilla inherited her family home there.” I paused for a second. Gears in my brain shifted. “Her home is just a few blocks from where that robbery occurred.” My mouth snapped shut. Holy smokes, there was a connection!
“Do you think that’s why she had the article?”
“Right now, that’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Bezu arched an eyebrow. “It doesn’t to me.”
“Here’s what I’ve gathered so far. We know she lived in the area of the shooting and attempted robbery. Right?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s say Priscilla saw something that night.” I stopped. A gnawing ache grew in the pit of my stomach. “Like the getaway car.”
“Or the person driving it?”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I locked eyes with my friend. My heart raced.
She tittered. “I love you to death, but I can never think like you.”
My forehead broke out in a cold sweat. “Gerald is about fourteen years older than Priscilla. He would’ve been nineteen at the time.”
“What does he have to do with this?” Bezu tapped the copy of the article.
“I think this might be why Priscilla threatened Gerald. She might’ve been only around kindergarten age at the time. But, I think she must’ve seen something that night, and Gerald was involved in it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.” I let out a breath. “I’m stumped here. Can you think of anything?”
“No,” Bezu said. “I’m afraid I’m about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.”
“You’re incredibly helpful,” I said. “You found the article. And before that, the note in Gerald’s office.”
“You think they’re connected?”
“Maybe.” I paused. “Winona told me that Priscilla seemed obsessed with Gerald’s high school picture on the poster hanging in the lobby.”
Bezu bit her on her bottom lip. “I saw his picture, too. I might add that he was a handsome teenage boy, and has aged very well, don’t you agree?”
“Back to my hypothesis. Let’s say when Priscilla looked at Gerald’s high school picture, it brought back a memory.”
“The attempted robbery and subsequent shooting.”
“Yes.” My pulse quickened. “And she recognized the car in the picture as the same getaway car.”
“With Gerald driving it?”
“Remember in the note she called Gerald ‘Orange Head’ and also said ‘I know what you did?’”
“Yes.”
“How much do you want to bet that either the color of his hat, or hair was orange.”
“You could be chasing your own tail, or you could be right.”
“I’m right, or at least I hope so.” I paced as I spoke. “And after Priscilla saw his high school picture, she remembered his car and hat from the crime that night. So she went and got the article as proof, then threatened Gerald to expose his role in the crime unless he paid up. After all, with this heap of bills, it appears she was in debt. And Winona told me that Priscilla said she was coming into money. And also she was financing Dwight’s business venture. So, there’s a whole lot of money going out. And trust me, being a college professor is not going to make you rich. She was desperate and in over her head, money-wise.”
“Good heavens, Annie Mae. That’s a whole lot of speculation. There’s no way to prove any of this.”
I pointed to the pile of bills, then to the shopping bags. “Here is the short of it. She needed money, saw the opportunity, then threatened Gerald. He either paid up, or she would expose him and his role in the crime.”
“Gracious.” She ran her fingers over her pearl necklace. “Does that mean Gerald killed her to keep her quiet?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
We spoke simultaneously. “Tell the police,” Bezu said, as I said, “Talk to Gerald myself.”
Chapter Sixteen
Against Bezu’s wishes I went to Gerald’s for dinner instead of calling the police. I found myself lingering on his doorstep. Maybe I should’ve called José, even if he’d be angry that I was still pursuing the case. And if Gerald killed Priscilla, which seemed very likely, he could kill again.
It wasn’t too late. I could get back in my car and head back home, right now. I took a deep breath. I should just leave. I hadn’t pushed the doorbell.
The door opened and Gerald said, “Hello Annie Mae, I saw you pull up. Is my door bell broken?” He pushed the button and it buzzed.
“I was just about to…” Leave. Run away. Call the police. “Ring it.”
He kissed my cheek, and then led me into the house. “Dinner’s almost ready. I just poured two glasses of wine.”
He already poured the wine? Did he poison mine? Should I leave right now? Tell him that I felt sick?
“You look great. How are you?” He brushed his hand against my arm.
“Great.” My eyes glanced around the kitchen as I checked off potential weapons he could use to kill me. Knife on cutting board. Check. Cast iron pan. Check. Cord on toaster. Check.
He handed me a goblet of wine.
“On second thought, it’s a new tradition to switch glasses.” I handed him my glass and took his.
“That’s strange, but okay.” He raised his glass. “Cheers to you and me.”
We clinked our glasses together.
He drank his.
The wine must be untainted. In one gulp, I emptied mine. Warmth spread as my temperature rose from the rush of alcohol.
I had to pull myself together. I repeated in my head what Bezu had said to me, that I was a strong wom
an. I was powerful. I could do anything I set my mind to.
I needed to focus on finding out if Gerald murdered Priscilla, regardless of the fact that I was alone in his house and he could very well kill me.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” He poured me another glass.
It took me a second to regain my thoughts. He meant the last day of camp and the competition. “My team is very well prepared.”
“It seems that Priscilla’s team is doing just fine.” Gerald sipped his wine. “Actually more than fine.”
“I’m glad they’re doing so well without a team advisor. Speaking of which, have you heard anymore about what happened to her?”
“Besides the obvious?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure the police are doing a thorough investigation.” He leaned against the counter. “From what I hear, they’ve taken statements from nearly everyone on campus. Isn’t your buddy an officer? Why don’t you ask him about the case?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Oh?”
“It’s just that I’m kind of, off the record, on the side, sort of doing my own investigation. And he would rather me not.”
“Why?”
“Because not too long ago, my friend Cat and I were investigating our friend’s death and we got tangled up in some trouble.”
“Like?” he asked.
“We got stuck in a burning dumpster, were caught impersonating police officers, were chased out of a store and later, were held at gun point.” I shrugged. “Besides that, nothing much.”
Gerald laughed. “Annie Mae, you amaze and amuse me to no end.”
“I’m glad I can entertain you.”
He stood next to me, cupped his hand under my chin and leaned in for a kiss.
Surprising myself, I kissed him back, and my body tingled in places it hadn’t in a long time.
A timer went off.
“We can ignore that, if you want,” he whispered in my ear.
I pulled away. “We shouldn’t let the food get cold.”
Gerald grinned. “Okay, then. I’ll get this, you head into the dining room.”
The table was set with blue-rimmed china, crystal glasses, scalloped patterned silverware and white linen napkins. Three candles were lit. A vase of red roses filled the air with a sweet fragrance.
If I hadn’t been so focused on him being a killer, this night with him could’ve ended with breakfast in the morning.
I grinned.
He set down a pot and lifted the lid to reveal shrimp and grits. Steam and a heavenly Cajun aroma floated in the air.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
Finally realizing that I like you, and at the very same time think you’re a murderer.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Chapter Seventeen
Throughout dinner we chatted easily, like normal.
I wanted to wait until after we ate before I continued my investigation. After all, enjoying my favorite meal trumped solving a crime.
We cleared the dining room table, blew out the candles and went into the kitchen.
As he cleaned up, I said, “Those posters we did for camp are pretty hilarious, huh?”
He dunked a glass into the soapy water. “You mean the senior high school pictures? Or our current photo?”
“Mostly the high school pictures.” I handed him a plate. “Although, in my recent picture, I look like I am about to sneeze.”
“I think you look beautiful.” He took the plate with one hand, and held my hand with the other. “You were a knock-out in your high school picture, and you still are today.”
I pulled my hand from his. “You liked my old hairdo?”
“It suited you.” He nodded. “It was adorable.”
I took a handful of bubbles and put them on my head. “Here’s a remake—only this time it’s a Bubble fro.”
He took bubbles and put them on his cheeks. “Bubble mutton chops.”
We laughed.
I took a towel, dabbed the soap off of my head and then wiped his face.
How I wished that he wasn’t a suspect. I could really fall for this guy. “You were stylish too,” I said.
“You think so?”
“I loved your GTO.”
“A sixty-nine Judge, Carousel red with a V-8. My first car. I saved forever to buy it.” He stared out of the window over the sink, as though staring into the past rather than the darkness of night.
“My high school boyfriend had a Goat too,” I said. “His was a sixty-eight.”
Gerald returned to washing dishes. “A friend of mine is looking for that same car for me. He’s a car auction nut. I bet if there is one to be found, he’ll get it done. Would you go cruising with me if I got one?”
“Sure.”
“We could put dinner in a picnic basket, drive out to the beach, listen to the crashing of the ocean waves and smell the salty sea air while we sit under the twinkling stars.”
I took in a breath, almost thinking of the fresh clean scent of ocean air; instead I smelled lemon dish soap. “I’d love that.”
Happiness filled me as I thought about future adventure and travel. Maybe Bezu was right. Perhaps retirement wasn’t an end, but a beginning.
“Another idea is, we can rent a cabin in the mountains for a week or so. Go hiking and exploring, cook over a campfire,” he said.
Lost in the idea of travel with him, I nodded.
Quickly, I yanked myself back into reality. He was a suspect. Not a vacation buddy.
Shifting the subject I said, “Back to your high school picture. You looked cool leaning on the car, wearing your trendy clothes.”
“I remember that.” He stopped washing dishes. “A Led Zeppelin T-shirt and a hand-me-down parka from my cousin.”
“And a knit hat.”
“Yes, that too.” He scratched his nose leaving water behind. “I wore it all the time.”
Taking a towel, I dried his nose.
“What did you like about it?” I asked.
“My Uncle gave it to me. He was a huge Baltimore Orioles fan. It was their team color.”
“Baseball?” I had to lead him into telling me the team colors, even though I had a clue. When I told him the incorrect colors, surely he’d correct me. “Aren’t their colors red and blue?” I picked up my empty wineglass.
He smiled. “You’re thinking of the Chicago Cubs. The Orioles are orange.”
I nearly dropped my glass. “Your hat was orange?”
“Bright as a pumpkin.” He took the glass from me. “Do you want more?”
That was why, in the note, Priscilla had referred to him as ‘Orange Head.’ Should I run now? Call José?
“Refill?” He held the wine bottle. “There’s a little left.”
I waved my hand. “Sorry, no. I’m fine.”
Gerald set the bottle on the counter. “It’s here if you want it.”
“I was wondering though, it’s sort of random and weird, but I have to know something.”
“What?”
“Remember I said there were rumors about you and Priscilla?”
He grabbed a pot from the stove and dropped it into the sink. Then he turned the water on and squirted some soap. “Yes, so?”
“I’m just wondering about you and her.” I paused, trying to think of the best way to ask him if he was a murderer.
He grabbed a cutting board and knife and washed them with a soapy cloth. “And I told you there was nothing going on with us. I only have eyes for you.”
“But….” I let out a nervous cough. “Two people, on two separate occasions told me you had some conflict with her. A recent conflict about something in the past.”
He didn’t look at me.
“They think you not only had a past with her—but having that past made you kill her.” In a rush I said, “Did you?”
Gerald turned off the water, picked up a knife, and moved toward me.
Chapter Eighteen
“A
re you going to kill me?” A woozy feeling filled my gut as I inched backwards.
“Seriously?” Gerald opened the drawer near me and pulled out a towel. He held it up. “You’re killing me.” He dried the knife and placed it in the wooden holding block on the counter.
I held a hand to my chest, in an attempt to slow my racing heart. “You scared me to death.”
“Getting a towel?”
Breathless I said, “Coming at me with a knife.”
He chuckled. “I wasn’t coming at you with a knife. I merely held it in one hand while I reached for a clean towel with the other.”
Catching my breath, I snatched the bottle of wine and guzzled what remained in it. Hoping to still both my overactive nerves and imagination. Wiping my mouth, I sighed with relief because I wasn’t gouged and bleeding to death.
“Why would you think I would stab you?” Gerald shook his head.
“You, are, or could be, or um…” My words stumbled out.
His eyes widened. “Do you still think I had something to do with Priscilla’s death?”
I studied the terrazzo tiled kitchen floor.
“That’s it. You and I are talking right now and laying it all on the table.”
“What exactly are we laying on the table?”
“You’re going to be straight with me and tell me what’s going on. Now, please.” Gerald led me into the living room, guiding me to a leather armchair. He sat on the coordinating footstool and held my hand.
I had nothing left to lose so just maybe I could trust him. After all, he’d had many chances to kill me, and he hadn’t even tried to hurt me.
I took a deep breath and told him everything. The note. The newspaper article. What Dwight and Winona told me. Everything.
He remained silent.
“Now you’re making me nervous. You’re not saying anything,” I said. “This would be a great time for you to simply say you had nothing at all to do with Priscilla’s death.”
Gerald hung his head and spoke slow and low. “No wonder you’ve been acting strangely. You really thought I could do something like that to another person?”
“Yes, the evidence pointed to something I didn’t want to accept,” I said.
When he looked at me, his eyes were red, as though he was fighting back tears. “I thought you knew me better, after all the time we’ve spent together.”