Diva's Last Curtain Call (9 page)

“I’m going to kill her,” I said, sitting up abruptly, causing Rollins to chuckle. Little did he know I wasn’t entirely referring to Lynette.

We drove back to the Heritage Arms and Rollins and I went inside to the motel’s front desk to leave a message for Lynette to call, only to be told she’d checked out. Now I was really going to kill her. I didn’t need this.

“Try not to be too mad at her, Kendra. Marriage is a big commitment. I bet a day or two away from it all is just what she needs to get her head on straight,” Rollins told me on way back to my apartment. I certainly hoped he was right. At any rate, if Lynette wasn’t back the next day, Greg could tell Justine himself.

“Thanks, Reverend Rollins,” I murmured as I was about to jump out of his car.

“Let me know what happens,” he said softly, squeezing my hand before I got out. I was relieved to see him go. The less time spent alone with him the better.

I was feeling restless and hopped in my car and headed over to Mama’s house hoping to snag some lunch. Instead, I found myself unable to park at her house. There was a big van belonging to Channel Four news blocking the entrance to the driveway. My sister, dressed in a beige pantsuit with her hair pulled pack into a conservative French roll, was standing in the middle of Mama’s big front yard giving an interview to Channel Four news reporter, Tracy Ripkey. I didn’t see my grandmother anywhere and wondered if she knew what was going on. I also didn’t see Noelle Delaney. Did Allegra even bother clearing this with her producer?

“What is it you’d like viewers to know about your involvement in the murder of Vivianne DeArmond, Miss Clayton?” asked Ripkey. Her big blond bouffant hairdo looked like a cloud of yellow cotton candy and must have been taking up too much camera space because a member of the camera crew silently motioned for her to move so they could get a closer shot of Allegra. My sister was looking solemn and righteous as she gazed into the camera and spoke.

“I’d like everyone to know that I am completely innocent. In fact, I’m a victim, too. Whoever killed Vivianne DeArmond is still out there free while I’ve been placed under a cloud of suspicion.”

“Do you feel you’ve been treated unfairly by the Willow police department?” Allegra visibly shuddered. Her face crinkled up as if she’d caught a whiff of something foul.

“I think the Willow police department needs to be looking in every direction and not just at me.”

“Can you tell us about finding Vivianne’s body?” asked Ripkey.

“I can’t comment on that due to the ongoing police investigation. But I will say that Vivianne was looking forward to our interview and told me she had an exciting announcement for her many fans.”

An exciting announcement? This was the first I’d heard about any announcement. Was Allegra telling the truth or just trying to get more attention for herself? The only other person who could back up her claim was dead. How convenient.

“Do you have any idea what this announcement was?” asked Ripkey, trying hard to look cool and professional but failing big-time. The way her eyes were shining with excitement told me she knew she’d landed a big story.

“She never said,” Allegra replied, shaking her head sadly. “I wonder if we’ll ever know.” Her bottom lip quivered and her eyes widened in childlike wonder. What a ham. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

Ripkey wrapped up the interview and the camera crew started packing up their equipment. I walked over to Allegra, who was removing her microphone, and caught the tail end of the conversation.

“That was wonderful, Allegra. I’m sure we can run this as an exclusive tonight on the six o’clock news,” said Ripkey excitedly. She thanked my sister profusely, and Allegra held up her hand in mock protest.

“Not a problem, Tracey. I wanted to tell my side of the story. Thank
you
for giving me the opportunity to tell it.”

Tracey finally noticed me standing there and looked over at my sister, who continued to smile and ignore me. What was her problem now?

“I’m Kendra Clayton, Allegra’s sister. Nice meeting you,” I said, holding out my hand to the reporter when it became apparent no introduction would be forthcoming from Allegra. Tracey Ripkey’s eyes lit up with a greedy gleam.

“Great! I’d love a quote from you, as well, Kendra. Can you tell me how you feel about what’s going on with your sister?” she asked, fumbling for her microphone. Allegra glared at me and I finally realized she thought I was trying to steal her thunder.

“I’m sorry but I don’t have any comment at this time.” I grabbed Allegra by the elbow before the eager reporter could protest, and ushered her onto the porch. I could feel Tracey Ripkey’s disappointed stare boring into my back. I waited a few minutes while they finished packing up and left before confronting my sister.

“What was that all about? I thought Mama said you couldn’t hold a press conference here?”

“No. What Mama said was that I couldn’t hold a press conference on her front porch, back porch, or anywhere in between. I was in the front yard, and besides,” she said, plopping down into one of the wicker chairs. “It wasn’t a press conference. I came over her to see Mama and she wasn’t home. That reporter and her camera crew showed up and asked me for an interview as I was getting back into my car to leave, and I figured, what the hell. Since
Hollywood Vibe
doesn’t have my back, why should I keep my mouth shut and take this lying down?”

I glanced over at the driveway and noticed a red Honda Civic instead of her rented black Camry. “Whose car is that? I asked, gesturing toward the driveway.

“I had to rent another car. The police impounded my other rental this morning. I don’t know what they expect to find,” she said softly.

I didn’t like the sound of that. This just wasn’t getting any better. They truly thought my sister had something to do with Vivianne’s murder. I was worried because I’d yet to hear from Donald Cabot. What else could I do to help Allegra? While we sat silently on the porch, Mama arrived home with some groceries. We helped her unload and put them away as she heated up leftovers from last night’s dinner for our lunch. We were all subdued and silent as we ate. Mama was reading the paper and I caught a glimpse of something about a memorial service for Vivianne as she folded it up. While Mama and Allegra washed up the lunch dishes, I took the paper and went into the bathroom to read. It wasn’t really much of a story, just a notice about a private memorial service for Vivianne DeArmond being held at the Walker and Willis Funeral Home at six that afternoon. The service was by invitation only. Too bad, because I planned to be there, invitation or not.

I was parked in front of the three-story turn-of-the-century mansion that had been the Walker and Willis Funeral Home for the past fifteen years at four that afternoon dressed in a dark burgundy pantsuit with a black silk blouse. The black beaded purse of Vivianne’s that I’d bought was looped around my wrist. I watched for about a half hour as people came and went. How was I going to pull this off? I needed to get in there and hide before Vivianne’s service started. Then I could mingle with the family and maybe find out something that could help my sister. As I sat watching, a hearse pulled into the driveway that ran alongside the house. Roger Walker, one of the owners of the funeral home, came up out of the basement from an unseen side door. I could hear him fussing at the driver from where I was parked.

“I’ve been waiting for an hour, Sonny. Where the hell have you been?” demanded Roger, looking grumpy. Roger Walker was a tall, thin, chinless and eternally annoyed man in his early forties with big eyes that looked permanently startled. It was a good thing he mainly worked in the basement with the deceased and spent limited time with their families because his people skills were about as lively as the corpses he spent the majority of his time with.

“What’s the big rush? This guy ain’t got no place to be but in the ground,” chuckled the tall and muscular Sonny, who looked too cool for school in his black shades with a toothpick dangling from the corner of his mouth.

“You’re screwing up my schedule. We’re backed up as it is, and you’re out joyriding. I better not hear about you using the hearse to run that girlfriend of yours around town. Just ’cause you’re Ticia’s nephew don’t mean you can’t be fired.” Sonny flipped Roger the finger when he turned his back.

Roger was busy helping Sonny unload the body from the back of the hearse, and I was tempted to sneak into the house through the open basement door while their backs were turned. But I knew the embalming took place in the basement and I wasn’t about to try and sneak past any dearly departed souls. Plus, I’m not exactly the Road Runner. I was wearing high-heeled shoes and knew I wouldn’t be able to zip across the yard and down the basement steps unseen.

Finally, I got out of the car and headed across the street. I walked up the front steps of the funeral home and walked inside. Like most old Victorian mansions, the foyer was small and dark and it took a second for my eyes to adjust. I could hear people talking and followed the sound to the front parlor where Roger’s wife, Leticia, was talking to an elderly couple. Leticia was slightly overweight and very attractive with such a pleasant and charming personality that people were constantly amazed she was married to Roger. I stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before she noticed and gestured for me to have a seat on one of the sofas in the back of the large room. I parked it on a brown leather love seat and waited while Ticia Willis-Walker finished her business with the elderly couple, who were looking mighty uncomfortable, as though they knew it was only a matter of time before they made their last stop at Walker and Willis and didn’t want to be spending any additional time there.

The room we were in was quite nice with comfy leather furniture and plush maroon carpeting. There were vertical blinds in the windows instead of curtains and the taupe walls were covered in Monet reproductions. Cut-glass bowls filled with scented potpourri sat on most of the tables around the room. Ticia must be trying hard to make the house feel like something much more pleasant than a funeral home, especially since she, Roger and their two kids lived on the top two floors. In this room, at least, she’d succeeded.

Finally, the couple left, with a bundle of flyers on various funeral plans clutched in their hands, and Ticia turned her attention to moi. Now, my problem was: What the hell was I going to tell her?

“It’s Kendra, right?” asked Ticia, smiling a little uncertainly and sitting down in the leather chair opposite me. She was dressed in a light-gray skirt with a royal blue blouse. A multi strand of silver beads hung around her neck and shiny silver hoops dangled from her ears. Her hair was short and natural and was beginning to go gray. I wasn’t surprised she was unsure of my name since I’d attended very few funerals in my lifetime and wasn’t at all unhappy that she didn’t know me better.

“Yes, that’s right. I’m sorry to stop by without an appointment, Mrs. Willis-Walker, but I had some time on my hands and wanted to talk to you about my situation.” Just what my situation was I’d yet to figure out.

“Oh, honey,” said Ticia softly, leaning forward and taking my hand. “You’re not ill are you?” she looked alarmed and gave me a much-needed idea.

“Yes, I am,” I began and slumped my shoulders. “I’m going to be having some major surgery soon and I just wanted to make some arrangements for myself, you know, to spare my family the ordeal in case things go…badly,” I said, looking away dramatically. “I don’t have a lot of money so I thought I’d come and talk to you about my options. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, honey,” said Ticia, patting my hand. “I’m sure you won’t be needing any arrangements for a very long time, but it’s so thoughtful of you to want to spare your loved ones from having to make arrangements for you,” she said, like she truly meant it, and then, ever mindful of the fact that she was in business to make money, added, “What kind of arrangements were you thinking about? We have a nice prepaid budget plan that includes a casket, burial plot, two floral arrangements and a nice headstone that includes up to ten words of engraving.”

My life summed up in ten words or less. What in the world would I want on my headstone? Here lies Kendra Clayton, never wed, but always well fed. That was exactly ten words.

“Kendra, are you okay?” asked Ticia, sounding concerned that I might be about to expire on her nice leather love seat.

“I’m sure that plan will be fine,” I said, giving her a weak smile. She got up to get me some brochures. I looked around for a possible place to hide. It was already going on five o’clock.

“There are two models of caskets to choose from with this particular plan. We have them in our showroom on display. Are you up to taking a look?”

No!
I wanted to scream. Picking out my own casket was something I couldn’t ever imagine myself being up for. But instead I said, “Are you sure you have time to show me? I read in the paper that Vivianne DeArmond’s memorial service is being held here. Don’t you have to get ready?”

“Everything is all set for the memorial. We’re closing up in about a half hour to get ready for the guests. So, I still have some time. The showroom is just in the next room.” She gently took my hand and pulled me to my feet.

I followed her out of the room and down the long hallway and glanced into another room along the way. There were chairs set up and the room was almost filled to capacity with floral arrangements. I caught a glimpse of a large photo of Vivianne sitting on an easel and realized this must be the room the memorial service was being held in.

“This way,” said Ticia, standing aside to let me enter a room about the same size as the one we’d just left. But instead of being filled with tasteful furnishings, it was filled with about a dozen shiny new caskets with the lids closed.

“They’re all so nice. How will I ever choose?” I said, hoping she’d didn’t detected my tone of sarcasm.

“Actually, these are the two that you can choose from with the plan you’ll be getting.” She led the way down the aisle that ran between the caskets to the back of the room and gestured like a game-show hostess to two coffins, one on either side of her. Then she lifted the lids on both of them.