Schooled In Lies (16 page)

But that didn’t keep me from thinking about her all day long while I worked seating the steady stream of diners that poured through the restaurant’s doors. The one thing that kept popping into my head was the irony of Ms. Flack’s plan to fake her own drowning at the reunion picnic only to die in water for real. I had a hard time believing that her death had been an accident. Someone had murdered her. But I also had a hard time envisioning the man she was so terrified of, Calvin Lee Vermillion, climbing through her bedroom window in his frail condition and tossing her into a tub full of water with her blow dryer. From what she’d told me about him, electrocuting someone wasn’t his style. Calvin Vermillion would most likely use his fists and his feet to settle any score he had with Ms. Flack. Besides, he’d just been released from prison that morning. Ms. Flack had been dead since last night. So, who had killed her, and more importantly, why?

By three o’clock I was beat. I had a late lunch of a piping hot chicken potpie in the restaurant’s kitchen before I took off for home. I was heading past the public library when it occurred to me that Calvin Lee Vermillion wasn’t the only one Ms. Flack had testified against. What about the other three members of the Righteous Whites? Where were they now? Could one or all of them have been responsible for Ms. Flack’s murder? In order to find out, I’d needed to know their names. I pulled into the library’s parking lot and hesitated before getting out. Back in the Spring I’d been banned from the library for sixty days. I’d been falsely accused of looking at porn on the Internet by two geeky teenaged boys who were mad at me when I didn’t give up my terminal so they could sit together. It so happened that one of the boy’s mothers was one of the reference librarians. I’d been unceremoniously booted out on my ass and hadn’t been back since.

I toyed with the idea of going over to the Kingford College library. In the end, I got out and headed inside. I wasn’t about to let some creepy kids keep me away from a place my tax dollars helped to run. I headed back to the periodicals section trying hard not to look over to where the computers were for fear of seeing the boys in question. When I got back to the desk, I was disappointed to see the same librarian who’d kicked me out three months ago manning the desk. Great.

“Can I help you?” she asked, giving me a strange look. I could tell she was trying to remember where she’d seen me. She, on the other hand, looked just the same as she had three months ago. She still had the same thick bangs that hung in her face like a sheep dog, hair her troublemaking son had inherited from her.

“I’m looking for information on a crime that was committed about 30 years ago in Urbana. A black man was murdered by a white supremacist group called the Righteous Whites.”

“Hmm. That would have been the late sixties and we don’t have the Urbana paper on microfilm before nineteen seventy. But, I’m pretty sure the
Willow News-Gazette
probably covered the story. Do you know what month it happened?” she asked, still looking at me strangely.

“I’m not really sure. Can I have microfilm for nineteen sixty-six through nineteen sixty-nine?” I replied smiling at her sweetly and hoping I could get the info I needed before she recognized me as the pervert she chased away back in the Spring.

“I’ll be right back.” She returned minutes later with 3 rolls of microfilm.

I settled in at one of the microfilm readers and got to work searching through nineteen sixty-six. It took me almost an hour to slowly scroll through the film. I didn’t find anything and loaded the film for sixty-seven. I had eyestrain and a roaring headache as I viewed the second roll of film. Lucky for me I found the story with the headline, “Urbana Man Found Beaten To Death,” after twenty minutes. The murder had occurred July 9, 1967. I skimmed through the article and read the details of thirty-six-year-old Maurice Groves’s brutally beaten body being found next to his car by a passing motorist.

But there was no mention of any suspects or arrests in the murder. I scrolled through the rest of the roll. Except for articles about Maurice Groves’s funeral, and the outcry from the local NAACP that the police weren’t doing enough to solve Groves’s murder, I didn’t find another article until almost the end of the roll. It was dated December 28th with the headline, “Arrests Made in Groves Murder”.
According to the article, a witness to the murder had come forward and identified multiple perpetrators that had led to the arrests of Calvin Lee Vermillion aged 25, Shane Powers aged 24, Donnie Boone aged 24, and his brother, Ricky Boone, aged 22. The four had been charged with second-degree murder. A large picture of a younger, heavier Calvin Vermillion grinning at the camera was below the headline. His look of proud defiance turned my stomach. In contrast, a smaller picture of the Boone brothers and Shane Powers showed three young men who looked terrified. Shane Powers, in particular, looked like he might be sick.

I was rewinding both rolls of film when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was the shaggy librarian. Looking quite contrite, I might add, and holding a video cassette.

“Ma’am, it just occurred to me who you are and I’d really like to apologize for what happened back in May,” she said, turning slightly red.

“Really?” I said not meaning to sound so huffy. She cleared her throat nervously and continued.

“Yes. My son, Wayne, had no right to do what he did to you. I’m so sorry. You’re not the only one he’s pulled that nasty little trick on. My husband and I are so upset over his behavior we’ve packed him off to military camp this summer. Three months of fresh air and exercise with no computers or television will do him a world of good,” she said beaming. Thinking back on my unpleasant encounter with her son, I seriously doubted it but smiled at her anyway.

“Is that for me?” I nodded toward the tape in her hand.

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot,” she said, holding out the video. “This is a documentary that was made by one of the sociology professors at Kingford. It’s about that white supremacist group you mentioned. The Righteous Whites? It’s about twelve years old. But I thought you might find it useful.”

This must be the documentary Ms. Flack had mentioned when I’d confronted her at work yesterday. I’d forgotten all about it. The name on the video case was Righteous Lies. I was so excited it took everything in me not to snatch it out of her hand.

Once I got home, I eagerly put the tape in my VCR and spent the next twenty minutes watching Calvin Lee Vermillion spouting hatred for every race that wasn’t white. He’d been interviewed at London Correctional Institution in 1985 and was dressed in faded prison garb. He obviously hadn’t been missing any meals behind bars and had made use of the prison’s weight room. He was muscular and heavily tattooed with his gray-streaked dark hair slicked back from his forehead. He was also missing one of his front teeth. According to Calvin Lee, the mud people, as he referred to minorities, were responsible for everything from inflation, wars, drugs, and illegitimacy. He also, just as Ms. Flack claimed, blamed his victim, Maurice Groves, for being out on the road that night. Predictably, Calvin Lee was a high-ranking member of London Correctional Institution’s Aryan brotherhood. The interviewer, a doctor of sociology named Ben Brock, asked Calvin Lee what he would do if and when he was let out of prison.

“Kill the lying little bitch that helped put me in here,” he responded, point blank, scowling at the camera. That certainly verified what Ms. Flack had told me. Did Calvin Lee’s cohorts, Shane Powers, Donnie and Ricky Boone feel the same way?

More than a little tired of listening to Calvin Lee’s ignorant ass, I fast-forwarded through the tape to the interviews with the other three Righteous Whites. But at the beginning of Shane Powers’s interview the tape suddenly stopped. I tried to fast-forward it, but it wouldn’t budge. Fearing my VCR had eaten the tape, I quickly hit the eject button. I was relieved to see my VCR readily spit the tape out. I examined it closely and saw that the film was twisted and knotted inside the case. I tried unsuccessfully to unravel it. There was only one thing left to do. I called the Kingford College operator and asked to be connected to Dr. Ben Brock’s office in the sociology department. I didn’t really expect professor Brock to be in his office on a Saturday and he wasn’t. His voice mail said he was only in his office on Monday and Wednesday afternoons. I left him a message to call me regarding his documentary. Now all I could do was wait.

I spent the rest of my Saturday cleaning and doing laundry. Afterwards, I took a nap and was awakened from a frightening nightmare where I was naked and being chased through the woods by an angry torch-wielding mob that included Audrey Grant, and the rest of the round table crew, and Ms. Flack and the Righteous Whites, by a loud knocking on my door. It was Carl and he’d brought a large pizza with him. Smart man. I gave him an awkward smile and stood aside to let him in. Even though we’d pretty much made up, there was still some lingering tension between us.

“I got pepperoni and extra cheese on one half for you and the works on the other half for me,” he said, setting the box down on the trunk in front of my couch that served as a coffee table.

I got paper plates, napkins, and a two liter of Coke from my fridge and we dug in. I told him all about finding Ms. Flack’s body, and he had pretty much the same reaction as Gwen. I was rapidly becoming known as a corpse magnet to my family and friends. We ate in silence for a while. I didn’t want to start a fight, but I had to know.

“How’s Vanessa?” I asked cautiously. Carl just shrugged.

“I guess she’s fine. I haven’t talked to her in a couple of days.” He wiped his greasy fingers on a napkin before pulling off another piece of pizza.

“Has her husband accepted the fact that he’s going to be a daddy yet?”

“I think so. That’s probably why I haven’t heard from her. Dude found out she was crying on my shoulder and suddenly everything changed. Last time I talked to her they were going shopping for stuff for the nursery.” He laughed.

“She wanted to make him jealous so he would think he might lose her. So, I was right.” I shook my head. “She
was
using you, just not in the way I thought.”

“It’s what she does. I was married to her, remember? I know how she operates. She never had any real interest in me. I tried to tell you that.”

“And you don’t mind?” I asked, trying hard not to get pissed when I thought about all the trouble she’d caused between us.

“Not really. I’m not interested in going down that road again. Despite what you think, I’ve never forgotten what she put me through. But she can’t hurt me anymore because I don’t love her. I love you. Do you love me?” He cocked his head to the side. He looked like a little boy, and I felt my heart swell with love and affection.

“You know. Get married and start a family of our own. Have some little Carls and Kendras running around. I’m ready to be a daddy. I’ve been ready for a long time. What do you think?” he asked eagerly.

What did I think? I stared at him in shock and felt the love and affection swelling in my heart evaporate like water drops on a hot griddle.

Chapter Twelve

I WAS IN A WEIRD mood when Monday arrived. And was it any wonder? Carl had proposed to me. I still couldn’t believe it. I also couldn’t believe my reaction. I’d told him I’d think about it. Why the hell had I done that? I wasn’t ready for marriage. I damned sure wasn’t ready for babies. I can barely get my ass out of bed to get ready for work everyday. How was I going to get up every couple of hours to feed a baby? Then there was the question of breast-feeding versus bottle-feeding. Would I be a stay-at-home mom or would I work? Would Carl expect me to move to Columbus to be with him or would he move to Willow to be with me? Then there was the question of why I was even having these thoughts because I knew I wasn’t ready for marriage and babies. I couldn’t even commit to a pet or a potted plant. How the hell could I get married? Plus, I suspected that Carl, though I knew he loved me, really wanted to be a father more than he wanted to be a husband.

I was at work grading papers when Iris Reynolds, the program secretary, came to the classroom. Iris was dressed in a sleeveless beige dress with a navy blue satin ribbon laced into the bodice. It was a pretty dress, but on Iris it looked like a sack and did nothing to brighten her sallow complexion. I was happy that she’d recently gone back to her natural brown hair color from the unflattering blonde she’d been sporting for a year. She gave me a smile, and I felt bad for the unkind thoughts about her dress. Iris is one of the nicest people I know, even if she has absolutely no tact and isn’t afraid to talk about anything. No subject is taboo to Iris.

“You have a phone call from a Dr. Brock. Do you want to talk to him or should I take a message?”