Death in Reel Time (2 page)

*  *  *

After Marydale and Coco were gone we talked logistics for a bit and decided that for the next session we'd set up shop in Olivia's dining room, since working at home was easier for her. Her recovery was going well and she was getting her strength back, but her stamina was lagging.

“We'll get you started on your heritage scrapbooks,” I said, “but to streamline the process Esme and I will take a few of the boxes of artifacts home with us each day. We'll organize the material and put it into proper containers. Our task for today is a preliminary interview, and the first question we always ask is if there's any
particular
thing you want to know about your family history.”

“Absolutely,” Olivia replied immediately. “I want to know about my father. He ran off before I was born and I know very little about him. He was a forbidden subject in my family. What I eventually pieced together was that he ran off to avoid being drafted into World War Two. It brought terrible shame on the family. I'd like to know what became of him.”

“Okay, tell me everything you know about your family,” I said, grabbing a yellow legal pad and pen from my bag.

“Starting with what?” Olivia asked. “I don't know where to jump in.”

“Just tell it however it comes to you,” I said. “We'll help you sort it all out and make sense of it later.”

I had my pen at the ready, but just then a loud
crack
split the air. I lost my grip on my pen, my legal pad, and my wits. Esme and I both startled and ducked down, clutching the arms of our chairs.

“Tony's home,” Olivia announced breezily, craning to look out the front window.

“Sorry,” Beth said, bending down to look at us, her face at a tilt. “His motorcycle needs some engine work. It backfires at the most inopportune times. That's Tony Barrett. He's one of my former students from Morningside High.”

Esme and I both sucked in a breath as we sat up straight. I pushed my glasses up on my nose and adjusted my jacket, freeing the button from where it had caught on the chair cushion. This had not been my day for decorum.

“Tony's become a filmmaker,” Beth went on, “and he's come back to make a documentary about Morningside. He's been staying in Mom's basement.”

A moment later a young man I gauged to be in his early twenties stood framed in the living room doorway, his motorcycle helmet cradled under one arm. He had the brooding good looks of a brat-pack movie actor. His dark hair fell casually over one eye and he scooped it back and gave us all a white-toothed grin.

“Were you surprised?” he asked Olivia.

“You knew about this, too?” she asked.

“Yeah, it's cool.” He walked over to Esme and me and put out his hand. “I'm Tony, and I know who you two are.”

“Are we famous or infamous?” Esme asked dryly, shaking the proffered hand.

“Fame and glory all the way,” Tony said, reaching across to give my hand its turn. “Listen, I know we just met and
you don't know me,” he said, “but I wanted to ask if I could elbow in on this project. A buddy of mine is doing these family history scrapbook videos and it's been a great gig for him to support his other work. I'd love to have one for my portfolio and I was thinking maybe I could do one for Olivia. It could be my gift to thank her for letting me roost here for a while.”

I considered. “I suppose,” I said, looking over at Esme, who stuck out her lower lip and wiggled her head to and fro before nodding her assent.

“Great,” he said. “When are you gonna start?”

“We were just about to begin the initial interview,” I said, retrieving my pen and pad from the floor.

“Can I grab my camera?” he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

I turned to Olivia. “Are you okay with this?”

“Sure, why not?” she said. “Though if I'd known I was going to have all this excitement today I would have primped a little more this morning.” She smoothed the front of her red T-shirt and patted at her hair.

After Tony left the room I worried that I'd agreed too soon to his involvement. Video scrapbooking was a new trend, one I'd wanted to explore, but I wondered how the presence of the camera might affect the interviews and how much it might slow down the process. Esme must have been having the same second thoughts as she whispered out of the side of her mouth, “Just so he knows, he works on our schedule, not the other way round.”

I was pleasantly surprised when Tony came back a moment later with only a small camera mounted on a slim
tripod. I'd been anticipating an intrusive shoulder-mounted camera and an array of hot lights. He set up quickly in an out-of-the-way spot by the window and asked us to pretend he wasn't there.

Though I suspected that might be easier said than done, after a few minutes I forgot about the camera and it seemed Olivia did, too, though she was still struggling to find a way into her story.

“Let's try this,” I said. “Start off with ‘I was born in . . .' ”

She nodded. “I was born in Crawford, North Carolina—that's about seventy miles from here—in January 1944. My mother's name was Irene Damaris Lockwood Hargett. People called her Renny. She was born August 17, 1924, and she died in 1981. I never knew her parents, my grandparents. Their names were Thomas Lockwood and Victoria Lockwood. I don't know middle names and I don't know my grandmother's birth name, nor any dates for them. They were foreign missionaries and they died in a ferry accident somewhere overseas just after I was born. They never set eyes on me.

“My father, the black sheep of his family, was named John Lamont Hargett. I think most people called him Johnny. He ran off before I was born, so he never saw me, either. His parents died young, too, so I didn't have any actual grandparents in my life. But my father's older brother, Riley Hargett, was like a grandfather to me. He and his wife, Celestine, lived right next door to Mama and me. They never had children of their own and they doted on me. I loved them dearly. Riley died in 1985 and Celestine passed a little over a year ago, at the golden age of ninety-seven. She lived alone in her own house until her dying day. That's about all I know.”

“So if my math is right, your parents were very young when you were born,” I said.

“My mother was nineteen,” Olivia said. “Not too unusual for those times, I guess, but she'd be considered too young today. These days the gals are waiting longer to start their families, sometimes too long.” I caught a sidelong glance in Beth's direction before Olivia went on. “I don't know my father's age. I really know very little about him. It was like the whole family just tried to erase him after he showed himself a coward.”

There was a noise in the front hall and we all turned in unison as Beth's husband, Blaine, appeared in the doorway, looking preoccupied. “I figured I'd find you here,” he said to Beth.

“Yes, we're giving Mom her present,” Beth said, her voice bright.

“Oh yeah, happy birthday, Olivia,” Blaine said absently.

“Not my birthday,” Olivia said with a weak smile, “but thanks, Blaine.”

Most townspeople would say Beth was lucky to have snagged the most eligible bachelor in these parts. Blaine Branch was the scion of a rich family and was handsome to boot. And as the owner of a large sporting goods store called The Sporting Life, he was a pretty big cheese in the Morningside business community. Still, I thought Blaine had gotten the better end of the bargain.

He'd given the rest of us only a cursory nod when he came in, and he went on conducting his business with Beth as if we weren't there, which earned him a checkmark for bad form in my tally book.

“Remember, Alan's coming in tonight. I promised we'd have a nice supper for him. Could you make one of your good dishes and make sure the guest room's all squared away?”

“I will,” Beth said, turning back to her mother. “You remember Alan Corrigan, our college friend? He was Blaine's fraternity brother. He's coming for a visit.”

“Oh, yes, Alan,” Olivia said, managing to pack a lot of ambiguity into those three little words.

“We're just wrapping it up here,” Beth assured Blaine. “I think Mom's about due for a rest. Tony and I have an interview set up with Charlie Martin in about an hour. I'll be home after we finish that.”

“Charlie Martin?” Blaine said, searching his mental database. “That old geezer you hired to put the flowers in our front beds?”

“Charlie Martin,” Olivia jumped in. “The older gentleman who is one of the few remaining World War Two vets around and who is a whiz of a fix-it man and a talented gardener. Plus, he's a very nice fellow.”

“Sure,” Blaine said, tipping his head back to accept Olivia's subtle reprimand, then turning to Tony. “I thought you said this film thing would only involve Beth a few hours a week. This is starting to eat up a big chunk of time.”

Tony shrugged. “She's great with people. They open up to her.” He tilted his head, letting his hair fall over his forehead, and fed Blaine a look that could only be described as defiant.

Blaine dismissed him with a scowl and turned back to Beth. “Just make sure dinner's done on time. Why don't you fix that shrimp-and-grits thing you do? Alan likes that.”

“Sure,” Beth said. “I could do that.” Her smile never faded, but by the way her body tensed I could tell she wasn't happy.

I'm no chef, but Esme's a foodie and I saw her eyebrows raise slightly, so I knew what he was asking was probably not a whip-it-up-quick dish. I was surprised at how different Beth seemed around her husband. The calm, confident woman of five minutes ago had now devolved into a rabbity girl.

“I'll help, Beth,” Daniel said. “I'll shop while you and Tony are filming with Charlie.”

I noted that Daniel pointedly avoided looking at Blaine.

“Good, then,” Blaine said, checking his watch. “I gotta get back to work. You all have fun with your”—he hesitated, then gave a vague wave of his hand—“whatever it is you're doing here.” He gave a general nod to match the one he'd given us in greeting and Beth got up to walk him out. From where I was sitting I could see past the hallway to the front door. I watched as they said their good-byes. Blaine took Beth's upper arm and pulled her to him for a kiss. After she closed the door behind him she stood for a moment rubbing her arms as if to warm herself. I wondered if the crisp fall day had turned nippy. She looked up and our eyes met. She smiled and dropped her eyes. I felt heat creeping into my face. I'd been caught being a voyeur. I quickly looked away and got back to business.

“We're yours for the next two weeks,” I said to Olivia, “then we have a job down in Wilmington and we'll be away for maybe as long as a month. Esme and I will take three or four of these boxes with us for tonight and archive them for our next session, whenever you'd like that to be.”

“Could you come again tomorrow?” Olivia asked. “Maybe late morning?”

We agreed on 11 a.m. and Olivia went upstairs to rest. Beth made a cup of tea to take up to her while Esme and I shuffled through the boxes to decide which ones to take on this trip. Tony had gone off to round up his gear for the afternoon's filming and Daniel sat at a corner desk scribbling a grocery list for Beth's dinner party. I sighed. Daniel's immediate offer to step in and help his sister in a pinch had made me wish, not for the first time, that I had a brother.

When Beth came back she apologized for the hubbub. “We'll make sure there aren't so many interruptions next time, I promise.”

She'd barely gotten the last word out of her mouth when we heard a car door slam outside. Beth looked out the window and mumbled something under her breath. “I'm so sorry, excuse me,” she said, already heading for the door.

We watched as she practically ran down the sidewalk to intercept a man getting out of a sporty car. I don't know modern cars much. Ask me about old autos like Packards, Edsels, '57 Chevys and I can rattle off makes and models. It's a skill set I developed while analyzing old family photos. But anything past the fin era and I'm clueless. But I could tell this one looked expensive.

At first Esme and I tried to look busy and pretend we weren't watching, but soon we were standing there with Daniel, blatantly staring out the window. When the man turned toward the house I saw it was Peyton Branch, Blaine's younger brother. He and Beth were by the car and Peyton was gesticulating wildly, his face red. Beth was trying to calm him down, but with little effect.

“Those damn Branches,” Daniel said, his fists clenched at his sides. “Blaine wants to throw his own sister to the wolves and Peyton's here bullying mine.”

Peyton was a history teacher and an assistant coach at our alma mater, Morningside High. He and I had gone through school together, he being a grade ahead of me, and we'd been friends during our undergraduate years in Chapel Hill. He wasn't as handsome as Blaine and he wasn't such a smooth operator, but I'd always found him a congenial, down-to-earth guy. I'd never seen him like this. He definitely had a lather up about something.

“Should one of us go out there?” I asked.

“Not just yet,” Daniel said with a sigh. “Beth will be ticked off if we don't let her handle whatever it is. She thinks she ought to be able to handle anything that comes her way.”

The argument continued but Peyton appeared to simmer down as Beth made calming gestures, smoothing the air with her hands. Finally he got back into his car and drove away. Beth hung her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“You know how Mom's obsessed about finding out why her father ran off?” Daniel asked, his eyes fixed on his sister. “Well, there's way worse things than having a man disappear from a woman's life; sometimes the bad news is he stays.”

E
SME
'
S ON A SMOOTHIE KICK
, so most mornings my alarm clock is preempted by the whir of the blender. Not that I'm complaining; the smoothies are delicious and way healthier than the lumberjack breakfasts she used to serve up. Given my small frame even one extra pound makes my clothes fit funny.