by Lois Lavrisa
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Back to my question,” Dwight said, “Winona told me there was a note Priscilla wrote to Dr. Gill. It was something about their past. And I’m trying to find it. Do you know anything about it?”
I shrugged. That way I wouldn’t be lying because I didn’t say anything. “Why, do you need it?”
“I think it could be important. Might even prove that Dr. Gill had motive to kill her,” Dwight said. “Of course, you’re still a suspect, at least in my mind.”
“You know, Dwight, you’re way off base about me.” I huffed. “And I think you should let the police handle this.”
“I’ve been trying to tell him to leave it alone,” Winona said.
“But I can’t. The life insurance company won’t pay. They’re claiming some period of contestability provision included in the policy,” Dwight said. “They said that Priscilla’s death is being investigated as a murder, that makes it suspicious with questionable circumstances. Which translates to no payout. So if I find out who killed her, that would force them to expedite the claim.”
“Well, I hope that works out for you.” Was it all about the money for him? Did he miss her? For months after Ernie passed, I couldn’t say his name or even think about him without weeping. “Have you completed any plans for the funeral?” I asked.
“Not yet. Winona and I are working on finalizing details for the memorial service.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “It’ll be in a few days. I’m busy getting finances in order. At least the house is in my name so that’s not an issue.”
Winona rolled her eyes.
Gerald entered the lobby and rang a bell. “Fifteen minutes to go, ladies and gentlemen, fifteen minutes. Dr. Maple’s team should be the only group backstage now. Everyone break a leg.”
I walked over to him. “So, how’s it going?”
Gerald smiled. “You’re still speaking to me?”
“I like bad boys,” I said. “Actually, that’s not true. In high school, I dated a Boy Scout and in college I married a preacher’s son.”
He chuckled. “You like decent boys.”
“Which you are.”
“That ship has sailed.”
“I don’t think it left the harbor.” I tapped his arm. “Maybe I want to get on board.” What the heck was I doing? I was so rusty with my one-liners that I sounded like some two-bit trollop.
He cleared his throat. “Annie Mae, I’m going to the police tonight, after the competition. I decided to wait; after all, the students had enough chaos this week with Priscilla’s death. And if my confession caused issues, which it very well might, I don’t want it to ruin what is left of camp.”
“Surely you can’t be jailed for being an unwilling participant in a crime that happened so long ago?”
“Last night, after you left, I thought about it a lot. I don’t think I’ll be incarcerated, but once my story comes out, and if the newspaper gets a hold of it, and they probably will, it could very well affect my role here. Regardless of my innocence, it could taint my reputation, which could affect the students.”
“Good point,” I said.
“For the kids’ sakes, I want to let them finish camp with no more issues. After all, I’ve kept the secret for over forty-six years. What’s one more day?”
“Here’s another thought, what if you just decide to let the past be the past?” I said.
Gerald sighed.
“There’s no need to stir up a hornet’s nest,” I offered.
“In this case, I have to. Even if I get stung,” he said. “I’ve got to gather the judges soon. I wish your team the best of luck today.”
“Wait. Bezu mentioned a new restaurant, The Corner Café, to me. I think we should go—” Stopping myself, I remembered he said he couldn’t spend time with me outside of work because he didn’t want to drag me down. “I forgot that we weren’t hanging around together anymore.”
“I’m really sorry, but it’s for the best.” He touched my arm. “I never want to hurt you, Annie Mae.”
Unbeknownst to him, he’d already broken my heart. “No biggie. I understand.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”
Obviously, he could read my insincerity. “Yes, I’m sure.”
The tables had turned. When he’d pursued me in a romantic way, I’d been clueless to his overtures. Yet once I realized I liked him, he pulled away to protect me. My heart was heavy.
Bezu approached us. “Excuse me, I hate to interrupt y’all.”
“No problem, I was just leaving,” Gerald said. “And one day I would love to get that pecan pie recipe from you.”
“You got it. Or better yet, I could just bake you one,” she said.
“And I would gladly accept it,” he said before he walked away.
Bezu glanced around, then whispered, “Annie Mae, what you told me earlier about Gerald. I just can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Welcome to the club.” I smiled.
“It’s such a shame that you two couldn’t work this out,” she said.
“I agree,” I said, forcing a smile. “If having the most incidents in one week and losing a potential boyfriend were a competition, no doubt I’d win first place—hands down.”
“You haven’t lost me.” Bezu patted my arm.
“Nope, you’re right here.”
“I know you’re probably busy, since it’s the last day of camp.” Bezu rested a hand on her hip. “But, do you have a minute to spare?”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“I’d like you to look at something that’s been troubling me.” She took my hand and led me to the wall in the lobby with the judges’ and team leaders’ posters. “Look at Priscilla’s poster.”
“Yes, I’ve seen it already,” I said.
“But here.” Bezu poked at Priscilla’s high school picture. “Do you see her cleavage, how it’s spilling out, and very full? Isn’t it too much?”
“Whoa, Bezu, are you the fashion police or the modesty patrol?”
“No.” She tapped the picture, “But I noticed this week she wasn’t as endowed as she was then.”
“Actually, I had noticed that also. Maybe she had a breast reduction? Or lost weight? She looks a bit heavier in this picture—look at the fullness of her face and chest. Although with the empire waist dress you can’t see her figure.”
“That’s the problem.” Bezu bit her lip.
“Her dress?”
“Yes partly, but see how she’s standing behind the picket fence so you can’t see all of her, almost like she’s hiding.” She studied the picture.
Leaning in, I observed the details she’d mentioned. The chiffon dress had a deep scoop neck, empire waist and tiered skirt. In college I had worn the same type of dress, my mom said it was flattering for a denser framed girl like me with a round midsection.
“Okay, so?” Should I tell her that when I first looked at the picture I thought that Priscilla looked pregnant? I’d see what Bezu was getting at. She might be headed in the same direction as my original thought.
“Just having met her, I noticed that she was slim and small-boned with a normal sized bust line. And the clothes she wore this week were form fitting. She doesn’t strike me as someone who would hide her figure.”
“You’re right about that.”
“Not only that. Just from the few encounters I had with her, Priscilla seemed like the type who loved attention, showing off, being front and center, really being noticed.”
“Right again.” I paused. “If your cooking gig doesn’t work out for you, you need to go into fortune telling. You’re that good.”
“I’ll get a crystal ball.” Bezu giggled.
“Trade in your baking pans and aprons for tarot cards.” I glanced at the photo. “What else was bugging you about the picture?”
“All of it, her dress, her ample bust, the way she’s standing, almost like she’s concealing herself.” She paused. “Annie Mae,
it might be far fetched here, but I think she was pregnant.”
“You’re not going to believe this, but I had the same thought when I first saw this picture,” I said.
“Like minds think alike,” Bezu said.
“Even further, Winona told me that Priscilla meant to designate someone else as her beneficiary instead of Dwight. A family member. But it also seemed that Winona slipped up when she told me that part. I wonder if she meant it should have been her—” Stopping mid-sentence, I studied the photo. What stood out was the shape of Priscilla’s face, her full lips. “This makes perfect sense, the same hazel eyes, and the familiarity I sensed when I was with her. I think Winona’s her daughter.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“If Priscilla was pregnant in high school, and if as you and I suspect that Winona is her daughter, do you think that had any bearing on Priscilla’s death?” Bezu asked me.
“I’m not sure. But it certainly could add an interesting twist.” I looked at the nearby wall clock. “Listen, the competition starts soon. I’ll see if I can dig up anything that might help validate or negate our hypothesis.”
She laughed, “It all sounds so scholarly and scientific.”
“Or half baked.” I winked.
The audience filled the theater auditorium with the sound of loud conversation. I made my way backstage. Each of my team members had on their costumes and theater makeup, and they stood in the wing ready to take the stage.
“Break a leg,” I said to them.
They smiled and gave me a thumbs up.
“I hope nothing breaks, or worse,” Umika said to me.
“Remember, I have you covered. And all you need to concern yourself with is your performance,” I reassured her.
Umika gave me a faint smile.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Winona. I went over to her and said, “How are you holding up?”
“With what?” Winona asked.
“All that’s happened this week. And now with all the work Dwight has you doing.”
“Fine.” She adjusted her glasses.
Noting her big hazel eyes, I remembered Priscilla’s had been the same shape and color. I was convinced Winona was Priscilla’s daughter. Perhaps if I inquired a bit I could find out for sure if my hunch was correct.
I didn’t have time to delay. I needed to get answers today before camp ended. I was never one for subtly anyway. “You know the saddest part about what happened to Priscilla is that she never had any children.” I concentrated on Winona’s expression.
Her neck flushed as she looked at the ground. “Yes, it’s a shame isn’t it?”
Her body language shouted how right I was. Her words said that I was wrong. What did I believe?
“Quite a pity really,” I said. “She was such a stunning woman, and her hazel eyes were one of her best features.”
Winona narrowed her eyes as she stared at me.
“Now that I think of it, you have the same eyes too. What a coincidence, huh?” I verged on being blatantly brash.
A bell rang announcing the start of the competition.
“Good luck to your team, Dr. Maple.” She spun around and scurried away.
Dang it. I had gotten one step closer to getting an answer, then, been yanked back ten steps. I was glad that I’d chosen a career in academia rather than detective work, since I was proficient at one and not the other.
While my team performed, I stood vigil off the right wing, watching their every move and kept my eyes on all the potential hazards. The ghost of Hamlet’s dad flew, via pulleys, on stage without incident; the smoke machine went off twice, on time and flawlessly. When they finished, held hands and bowed for the standing ovation, I took a deep breath. I’d probably been holding it throughout their entire act.
Thankfully, the team made it through without anyone getting killed, as Umika had dreamt, and they’d performed brilliantly.
As they walked off the stage, I congratulated each of them. The last two off were Wilbert and Umika.
“We did it,” Wilbert said to me as I followed him backstage. He turned toward Umika, “See, I told you that your dream meant nothing.”
She frowned at him. “Oh no, it definitely meant something.”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s over, and we did great. And now we should take a seat in the auditorium and watch the other teams.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” I said.
Wilbert strolled off. Umika stayed behind.
“Aren’t you going with him?” I asked her.
Umika squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s there again. The angry, hurt, small animal. Or it could be a child. I sense a strong presence.” She opened her eyes. “Dr. Maple, you don’t think I’m weird do you?”
“Not at all. But I do think it’s been a long week, with a lot of stress. Why don’t you join your team in the auditorium and watch the other performances?” I suggested, hoping to get her mind off her worries.
“Thank you for keeping us safe,” Umika said before she left the backstage.
Spotting Dwight near the dressing room, I headed over to him. “I was thinking about your question.”
“What question?” Dwight asked as he glanced at his cell phone.
“Earlier, when you asked me how well I knew Priscilla.”
“Oh, that.” He looked past me over my shoulder. “Have you seen Winona?”
“She was here about a half hour ago,” I continued. I just had no time to wait and needed to jump right into my questioning. “I wonder how well any of us knows anyone.”
Dwight’s forehead creased. “Huh?”
“I mean, can you imagine getting married to someone, thinking you know everything about them, believing them when they say they never had children. Then wham on your doorstep one day someone appears claiming to be their child?” My statement was hard-hitting, but I had no idea how else to find out if Dwight knew Winona and Priscilla were mother and daughter.
He jammed his cell phone in his pocket. “Did that happen to you?”
“No.”
“Then you really have a warped imagination. I have no idea where you came up with that or where you are going with it.”
“So, you haven’t heard?”
He let out a loud breath as he glanced up. “What?”
“There’s some gossip floating around here.” I waved my hand. “About Priscilla having a daughter. It’s Winona.” I didn’t tell him it was my rumor going around in my own head.
Dwight’s jaw tightened. “A daughter?”
“Yes. I mean, of course this is just hearsay. It might be nothing at all,” I added.
“Then you need to stop spreading it like manure, that’s what I think,” he said. “And mind your own business.” He stomped off.
Shaking my head, I walked away.
He seemed a little rattled when I’d mentioned the possibility of Priscilla having a daughter. Conceivably, it could change who had the rights to Priscilla’s inheritance.
Did Dwight know that his fiancée might have a daughter? If he did, was he jealous when he found out about Winona, and in a fit of rage killed Priscilla? Did he kill her for the insurance money?
All I knew for sure was that he was a scoundrel. After all, he’d shown his true character when he’d taken a bribe to walk away from marrying Bezu. Not that her father offering the bribe was any better, but Dwight had taken the bait, grabbed the money and ran. He was an opportunist, and for him, money took precedence over people.
And that put him number one on my suspect list.
Standing in the wing, I watched each of the remaining teams perform. They were all imaginative and well prepared. Thankfully, Priscilla’s team pulled off a great performance without her.
After the last team’s curtain call, I heard a loud thud, like a metal object hitting wood.
Spinning around, I saw smoke rising from behind the set.
Grabbing a nearby fire extinguisher, I turned the corner and saw Winona on the floor, body
askew, glasses lying beside her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
My team’s smoke machine was on its side, spewing smoke into the air, emitting a burnt caramel scent.
“Are you okay?” I knelt beside Winona.
Her eyelids twitched and she coughed. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.”
I propped her up as a crowd gathered around us.
“What happened?” I held her head.
“I’m not sure, but someone hit me from behind.” She massaged the back of her neck. “With some sort of hard object.” She motioned to the smoke machine. “Could’ve been that.”
Gerald came to my side. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Winona got whacked in the head, probably by that.” I pointed to the special effects machine near Winona.
He shut off the device and returned to us. “Let me call an ambulance.”
“That’s not necessary, I’m fine. Just a bit shaken up is all.” Winona stood.
Retrieving her eyeglasses, I handed them to her. ”Did you see who it was?”
“No.” She slouched. “Who would do this to me?”
“Was there anyone back here with you?” I asked her.
“No.” She brushed the dirt off of her clothing.
“Did you see anyone?” I asked.
“Come to think of it, Dwight was by the dressing room.” Winona gestured behind her.
“He was? Do you think that he had anything to do with this?” I asked.
She shrugged. “He’s always been a little jealous of me and the time I spent with Priscilla.”
“How has he been treating you?” I asked.
“He’s piled a ton of work on me, and I’m doing it because I feel obligated.” She rolled her shoulders.
“Why?” I asked.
“Priscilla had already paid me for the week, and I’d feel bad if I quit after what happened.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Hmm.” I glanced around and didn’t spot Dwight anywhere. I needed to talk to him. Perhaps it was coincidence that I had mentioned the possibility of Winona being Priscilla’s daughter to him, and shortly afterward Winona got knocked down, and he just happened to be in the same vicinity.