by Nic Saint
“This is Blane Jamison, Charlene,” I said. “He’s a police detective, and he’d like to say a few words during your press conference.”
“Oh,” said Charlene, giving Blane a supercilious look. “A policeman, huh?”
“Huge fan, ma’am,” Blane finally managed. “Huge fan.”
I practically chortled at this. I was pretty sure Blane had never voluntarily listened to a single song my grandmother had ever recorded. Not if he could help it. But now he was having a hard time digging his eyeballs out of her décolletage. Men. They were so predictable.
“So you hate dogs, Mr. Jamison?” Charlene asked with a silky voice that spelled trouble. She not only disliked anyone who wasn’t a rabid fan, but she abhorred people who hated her sweethearts Terri and Ceci.
“Oh, no,” Blane was quick to blurt out. “I love dogs. It’s just…” He directed a hesitant glance at the two Corgis in my arms. “They don’t seem to like me.”
“Nonsense,” said Charlene. “My darlings love everybody. Just let them go, Mia. Let’s see what the verdict is.”
I did as she said, ignoring Blane’s pleading look, and set both dogs down on the carpet. Immediately, as if powered by a magnet, they honed in on Blane, and started sniffing at his legs. Blane, obviously ill at ease, gave Charlene a desperate grin, which she received with a cold glance. Finally, having sniffed their fill, Terri and Ceci gave happy barks and tripped up to Charlene, who picked them up and cuddled them against her chest, practically smothering them.
“See?” she asked. “They like you just fine. Follow me, Detective.”
“You passed the test,” I whispered to Blane as we followed Charlene into the parlor.
“What test?” he whispered back.
“Charlene hates everyone her dogs don’t approve of. You’re a very lucky man.”
He gulped. “What does she do to the ones her dogs don’t like?”
“She cuts off their privates and feeds them to the dogs,” I hissed.
Chapter 13
“So, Detective Jamison,” Charlene said. “What did you want to discuss?”
She’d lowered herself onto her favorite settee, the one with the gilt wood and pink mohair upholstery and sat ramrod straight, cuddling her dogs in her lap.
I sat down on one of the other sofas and told Blane to sit down, too, since Charlene pointedly neglected to invite him to do so.
“Well, it has come to my attention that you and Mrs. Anaïs Phoenix got into some kind of fight this morning.”
Charlene lifted her chin disdainfully. “Phoenix is a nutjob. She claims I killed her doctor. What a joke. Why would I kill her doctor? No doctor in the world can fix those anemic pipes. The woman can’t sing! Never could, never will.”
“Well, be that as it may, I still need to ask you a few questions.”
Charlene waved her hand like the Queen granting an audience. “Ask away, young man. Ask away.”
Blane flipped open his notebook and took out a pencil. Bad idea.
Charlene frowned. “Are you going to write down my words, Detective?”
“Yes, I am, ma’am.”
“Well, don’t. Everything I say or do is copyrighted. If you want to reproduce my words, you will need to pay.”
He stared at my grandmother. “Pay?”
“Every word that rolls off my tongue is mine, Detective. It only stands to reason that I also have the last word on their reproduction.”
He gestured with the notebook. “These are for my eyes only, ma’am. Nobody else is going to read my notes.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “Put that notebook away or you can forget about this interview. I’ve operated this way since 1978 and you nor anyone else will make me change my ways.” She directed a scathing look in his direction. “Didn’t my agent inform you when you applied for this interview? Didn’t he send you a list of instructions when you sent in your questions?”
“List of questions? Ma’am, I’m not a reporter, I’m a cop.”
She sighed. “Whatever. Just ask your questions, Mr. Cop.”
“Charlene,” I said, deciding to intervene before things got ugly. “Just answer the man’s questions, for God’s sakes. And stop being such a damn diva.”
“He doesn’t like dogs, I don’t like him. It’s very simple,” she said.
“He’s afraid of dogs, there’s a difference,” I pointed out.
“I’m not afraid of dogs,” Blane interjected.
“Real men aren’t afraid of dogs.”
“He can’t help it. Some men just are afraid of dogs.”
“I’m not afraid of dogs, per se,” Blane repeated.
“It just shows what kind of a man he is,” said Charlene.
“And what kind is that?”
“A wimp. And I don’t like wimps.”
“He’s not a wimp.”
“I’m not a wimp,” Blane pointed out.
“You are from where I’m sitting,” she said, addressing the cop directly now.
“Look, I was bitten by a dog when I was a kid, all right?” Blane asked. “Damn thing practically took my leg off. So forgive me for being careful.”
Charlene gave him a critical look, and finally rolled her eyes and set down her Corgis. “Oh, all right. I’ll answer your questions. No, I didn’t kill that idiotic doctor. And no, I’m not trying to ruin Phoenix’s career since the woman doesn’t have a career to begin with. Anything else you’d like to know?”
“Yes,” Blane said, staunchly opening his notebook again and scribbling something. “Are you always such a pain in the neck?”
This drew a sudden gasp from Charlene and a snort from me. Charlene pressed a hand to her bosom and then, as Blane fixed her with an unwavering look, finally relented. “No, I’m not always such a pain in the neck, Detective. I do, however, thoroughly dislike being accused of things I had absolutely nothing to do with. Like this Phoenix affair, for instance.” She gave the detective a thin-lipped smile. “I have to hand it to you. You’ve got some nerve, Detective Jamison.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, ma’am,” he said.
“Oh, and please stop calling me ma’am. I’m not that old. Just call me Charlene. Everybody does.”
“Even we call her Charlene,” I told Blane with a chipper smile.
“Yes, I noticed that. Shouldn’t you call her grandma or something?”
“Oh, I simply abhor the term,” said Charlene with a shiver.
“She hates it when we call her grandma,” I said. “Makes her feel old.”
“I’m not grandmother material, Detective,” Charlene said, “so I simply don’t allow it.” She darted a quick look at me. “You seem to get along awfully well,” she told me. “Do you like this cop, Mia?”
“We’re collaborating on this investigation,” I said, ignoring the question. Like my mom and dad, Charlene likes to insert herself into our lives, and playing matchmaker is one of her favorite pastimes.
“He is very handsome,” she said, ignoring me and studying Blane as if he were a Corgi she was contemplating adopting into her home. “And he’s got a rugged quality that becomes him. I think you should date him, Mia.”
“Thanks for the advice, Charlene,” I said dryly. “But we’re enjoying a professional relationship and we’re going to keep it that way.”
“Oh, how boring is that? At least ask her out—what did you say your name was, Detective Jamison?”
“Blane,” said Blane, who’d been following the back and forth between me and my grandmother with rapt attention.
“Well, Blane, I’ll warn you that there will be a great deal of sales resistance to overcome with this one. She’s not like Maya, who’s basically a slut, or Marisa, who’s the ugly duckling and as a consequence never says no when opportunity knocks—”
“So you’re telling a complete stranger that my sisters are both sluts?” I asked.
“He’s not a stranger, honey. He’s a cop. The police are our friends.”
I cl
icked my teeth together and did some gnashing. Why did I ever think this was a good idea? “Can we get back to the issue at hand?”
“The issue at hand is you and your non-existing dating life,” said Charlene.
Blane, who’d been following with rising surprise, now said, “You don’t have a boyfriend?”
“No, I don’t have a boyfriend,” I snapped. “Not that this is any business of yours—or yours, for that matter, Grandma.”
Charlene smiled indulgently. “Whenever she gets upset she starts calling me Grandma. She believes it will upset me, which it doesn’t, since I know she’s only lashing out.”
“You look like a person with a boyfriend,” said Blane.
I turned on him with a vengeance. “What’s that supposed to mean? Is there a stamp on my forehead that says ‘Taken’ or something?”
“Well, no,” he admitted, taken aback by my vehemence. “It’s just that you’re… pretty, I guess. So I just figured you were… spoken for.”
Charlene laughed, rocking back on her couch and clapping her hands together with glee. “Please tell me you’re going to ask her out on a date, Dale.”
“Blane.”
“Whatever. I think the two of you would make a really cute couple.”
“He’s not going to ask me out on a date!” I snarled. “So enough with the matchmaking routine already and just answer the damn question.”
She raised her finely penciled eyebrows. “What question?”
“Any question!” I cried. “Dale—ask her a question!”
“It’s Blane,” he reminded me gently.
“I knew that!”
“I would like to say a few words during your press conference, Charlene,” Blane said.
“Sure. Say whatever you like.”
“Just a short official statement giving a brief overview of the tragic events and its circumstances and assuring the public that the Sapsucker Police Department is doing everything that lies in our power to find out what happened.”
“Fine. I was going to state for the record that I had nothing whatsoever to do with the death of this voice doctor—no matter what certain parties claim—and that I’m absolutely confident that the police will bring the culprit to justice.”
“I wouldn’t say that if I were you,” I said.
“And why the hell not?”
“Because you’re admitting that you think foul play is involved—that Mrs. Reckitt was murdered.”
“So? Wasn’t she?”
“We don’t know that,” I said, casting a quick look at Blane.
“We’re not sure what happened, exactly,” he said, backing me up. “And until we do, I think it’s best not to give out too much information.”
“If this was murder, it will have serious repercussions on Charleneland,” I added, hoping Charlene caught my drift.
She stared at me for a moment, then said, “Oh,” when my words hit home. “You mean people will stop coming if they know someone was murdered?”
“We don’t know how they will react,” I said. “But I think it’s better to prepare for the worst.”
“You mean Phoenix was right? They’re going to close down Charleneland?”
“I hope it won’t come to that,” I said. “But this is no laughing matter, Charlene. A woman was murdered on one of our rides. This will have consequences.”
She buried her face in her hands in a dramatic gesture. “Oh, no,” she said, her shoulders rocking. “This is the end! Phoenix was right. This will destroy us!”
“We won’t let it destroy us,” I said, though I wasn’t too sure it wouldn’t. “But try to keep your statement brief and to the point. Don’t mention any details about the incident, and whatever you do, don’t say that Mrs. Reckitt was murdered.”
She looked up again, wiping non-existent tears from her eyes and pushing back her voluminous platinum hairdo. “Of course. I’ll handle this like a professional. Like that time I gave an acceptance speech when I received the Achievement Award at the American Music Awards ceremony and my teleprompter malfunctioned. I simply kept on smiling and told the crowd how much I loved them and they gave me the biggest applause ever. It just warmed my heart.”
“Well, maybe this time don’t expect a big applause,” I said.
Chapter 14
The time had come for Charlene’s daily show. As usual, it was scheduled at four o’clock, and would last until five. Only this time the show would feature songs dedicated to Doctor Reckitt, and would start with statements by Charlene and Blane.
I had expected a few camera crews, as the news of the incident had spread, but I hadn’t expected to find the place loaded with reporters, eager to catch a glimpse of Charlene and an update on the drama. Even the national networks had sent crews to Sapsucker to cover the event. I think it was the first time a Charlene Simple show had seen such a packed house.
The arena where the show took place was right at the heart of Charleneland. We scheduled hourly shows throughout the day, usually local talent dying for a chance to perform live, but also a lot of artists that had been with us for years. Maya habitually did a show every couple of days, and was working her way up to doing one every day, just like Charlene. The last show of the day was of course the highlight, and the one that drew the biggest crowd.
But never like today. The arena was packed, and camera crews were jostling for the best seats in the house. I took a peek through the curtain from the wings and bit my lip. Christ almighty. I just hoped Charlene didn’t put her foot in her mouth. Blane was right next to me, and looked just about as nervous as I was feeling. Cops aren’t used to performing for a big crowd, and he clearly hadn’t expected this when he drove up to Charleneland this morning.
“Did you expect to address the nation when you got this assignment?” I asked.
“No, I certainly did not. Holy crap. Where did all those reporters come from all of a sudden?”
“Well, Sapsucker PD did send out a notice,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, but just for local media. I see CNN, Fox News, MSNBC, CNBC…”
“It must be that Charlene-Phoenix bitch fight,” I said. “Maya was right. It’s gone viral.”
“This doesn’t bode well for our investigation.”
“Why? We can still carry on like before.” I kinda liked partnering up with Blane. I wasn’t prepared to date him, like my dad or Charlene seemed to suggest, but he was capable, likable and easy on the eyes. Not that that mattered, as I wasn’t going to date him. Did I just repeat that twice? My bad.
“No, I mean if the media are going to be traipsing all over Charleneland, they might get in our way. Plus, if they’re going to start badgering our witnesses-slash-suspects, it’s going to make it that much harder for us to get them to tell us what happened. They might change their statements—embellish them to get more attention. I’ve seen it happen.”
“With the rapper,” I said.
He shifted his gaze from the arena to me. “Yeah. With the rapper.”
“What happened, Blane? If you don’t mind telling me.”
He raked his fingers through his blond curls. “Well…”
“I won’t tittle-tattle. I promise.”
“I know you won’t,” he said. “You’re not the tittle-tattling type.” He took a deep breath. “When I transferred from the Sapsucker PD to the LAPD it wasn’t as a detective. They made me a traffic cop at first, with a clear trajectory to a possible promotion if I didn’t mess up. To be clear, I wasn’t a detective before, either. I was just a regular officer, hoping to improve myself by signing up for the LAPD.”
“You went from being a big cop in a small town to a small cop in a big town.”
“Something like that.” He glanced around. “So I was doling out traffic tickets one day, as one does. Only I was assigned to Bel Air. So I was writing up this nice BMW convertible that was parked in a tow-away zone when this huge guy comes up to me and starts calling me names. It takes me a while to realize that this is his car and
that he was shopping at some boutique around the corner. So I give him my usual spiel, about this being a no-parking zone, but he was having none of it. Starts shoving me, so I shove him back. As one does. One thing led to another and I end up taking him in a chokehold so I can take him in.”
“I guess he didn’t like that.”
“No, he did not. And neither did his golfing buddy the mayor, or the mayor’s golfing buddy who serves on the Board of Commissioners. Turns out that big guy was May-B.”
“The famous rapper? The one who’s married to Charity?”
“That’s the one. So the same day I was shipped back to Sapsucker and I’ve been here ever since.”
“It’s a great story. You should tell it more often.”
“It’s not exactly something I’m proud of. I blew my big chance by arresting the wrong guy.”
“You were right to arrest him. He shouldn’t have gone off on you like that.”
“Yes, well, being right never bought anyone a career.”
“Look at it this way. If you’d stayed in LA you would never be opening a Charlene concert at Charleneland. How many people can say they did that?”
“Not many, I’m sure,” he said with a smile.
“It’s the chance of a lifetime!”
He gulped again when the lights of the cameras in the room flashed on, lighting up the stage. The crowd was getting antsy. “Looks like they’re getting ready for the main event.”
“You’ll do just fine,” I said.
“Thanks. I hope I don’t screw this up.”
And with these words, he walked out onto the stage. His brief message was received well, though it was clear that people weren’t really interested in what he had to say. They wanted Charlene, and as usual, the diva let the crowd sweat for a while.
My mom and dad joined me, and so did Maya and Marisa. We’d decided that we were going to do this as a family. We hugged to ward off the nerves fluttering in our bellies.
“Where is Charlene?” asked Mom. “She should have been out five minutes ago.”
“The kid is doing great,” said Dad, referring to Blane, who was still reading from the brief statement he’d composed.