Diva's Last Curtain Call (10 page)

The one on her left was a plain, no-frills, dark brown casket made of what looked suspiciously like pressboard with a bright, gaudy, yellow satin lining, and the casket on her right was a dull stainless-steel affair lined in a garish red with black fringe on the little pillow. Not exactly the Cadillacs of caskets, but what can you expect on the budget burial plan? I guess I should be happy they weren’t cardboard boxes, though that brown one looked a little suspect. I spied a gleaming mahogany casket trimmed in gold with beautifully carved flowers on the front. I went over and lifted the lid revealing the silky pale green embroidered satin lining. As far as caskets went, this one was a beauty. Talk about going out in style.

“How much is this one?” I asked with real enthusiasm.

“This is one of our top-of-the-line models. It’s ten thousand dollars. We don’t offer layaway,” she added quickly, pissing me off. Layaway? That’s a hell of a thing to say to someone who may not have much time left. Then, realizing I wasn’t really dying and had no need of a casket, I chilled out and turned to give her a brave smile.

“Can I have a few minutes to make up my mind?” She looked at her watch, indicating that a few minutes would indeed be all I could have.

“No problem, Kendra. I’ll be in my office at the end of the hall if you have any questions.” I smiled my thanks and watched as she left the room, pulling the double doors closed behind her and leaving me to choose between the two equally ugly caskets in private.

Before I could fully focus on what I was going to do, I heard a loud voice from behind the closed doors.

“Aunt Ticia! Your husband’s trippin’ for real. You better check his ass before I do,” I heard Sonny the hearse driver say as he passed by the showroom. I heard his loud voice get fainter the farther down the hall he got. I went over and pressed my ear to the door and could hear Ticia’s voice scolding Sonny in hushed angry tones. I couldn’t hear everything she was saying but caught the words
customer, showroom, shut up
and
your ignorant behind
and knew Sonny was getting a verbal beat down. I opened the door a crack, looked down the hall and saw Ticia grab Sonny by the front of his shirt and pull him into her office and shut the door. More loud angry talk could be heard from behind the door. Great! This was just the opportunity I needed to find a hiding place. I quickly opened one of the double doors to the showroom and had started to leave when I spotted Roger Walker heading down the steps from the family’s home on the top floors. I jumped back into the showroom and shut the door. The phone in the foyer rang and Roger answered it. I cracked the door again and heard him talking. I waited, but Roger didn’t appear to be about to end his conversation anytime soon and I realized that wherever I hid would have to be in the room I was already in and the only place to hide was in one of the caskets. Crap!

I
t was now or never as I heard the door to Ticia’s office open. I hurried across the room and opened the lid of the pretty mahogany casket. Hell, if was going to have to hide in a casket, it was damned well going to be the prettiest one. I flung one leg up into the casket and then hoisted myself up the rest of the way until I was sitting inside. I looked over at the double doors and could see the shadow of two sets of feet underneath the bottom of the door. I pulled the lid shut and lay back in the soft, silky lining just as I heard the door to the showroom open.

“Have you made up your—” I heard Ticia begin then stop when she saw the room was empty. “Kendra?” I heard her say. “Now see, you scared my customer away with your big mouth. Boy, I oughta kick your behind!” Ticia said in a shrill, highly pissed-off voice. I had no idea the placid Ticia Willis-Walker could get so annoyed. Then again, the most mild-mannered person can snap when you mess with their money. “Go set up the guest book for the memorial service and then clock out before I wring your neck.” I heard Sonny mumble something unintelligible then heard what sounded like the light being flipped off and doors being shut. Now, all I had to do was wait for the service to start.

It was hot inside the casket. I wanted to get out but kept hearing Ticia’s voice in the hallway. I started to sweat despite the fact that I’d propped the lid open a crack with a roll of mints from my purse. I held my watch up to the dim light streaming through the lid and saw that it was quarter to six. I could hear more people in the hallway and realized the guests were arriving. After about ten more minutes, I was unable to stand it any longer. I opened the lid and started to get out when I saw one of the double doors to the showroom start to open. I quickly lay back down, closed the lid and held my breath. I could hear the voices of what sounded like boys, two or three of them. I couldn’t be sure.

“We’re not supposed to come in here. If my mom catches us I’m dead meat,” pleaded the voice of one boy.

“DJ, man, let’s bounce. I knew Creepy Clementine wasn’t nothin’ but a pussy,” said another boy cruelly. I heard laughter from yet a third boy.

“Yeah, I ain’t never seen a cat so afraid of his mama.” Both boys were laughing now. I knew that Roger and Leticia had a teenaged son named Clement. That name, combined with the fact that his parents ran a funeral home, must make school a torture for poor Clement Walker.

“Okay, you can look around, but only for a minute. We’re supposed to be studying,” said Clement, trying unconvincingly to sound nonchalant.

“Hey, I wonder what it feels like to be inside a coffin,” said the voice of the boy named DJ. “Hot and uncomfortable,” I was tempted to shout.

“I’ll give you LaTonya Marshall’s phone number if you get inside,” said the other boy, sounding as if he was getting closer.

“No! I told you we aren’t supposed to be in here,” pleaded poor Clement.

“Tonya Marshall’s digits? Hell, for a chance to tap
that
ass I ain’t scared of no coffin or your mama, Clementine,” said DJ. I almost had a heart attack as the lid to the casket started to lift then slammed shut.

“I said no! We gotta go,” said Clement, sounding like he was about to cry.

“Hold this fool, man,” commanded DJ of the other boy. I could hear a struggle and decided not only was it time for me to get out of the casket, I wanted to teach DJ and his friend a lesson. I waited for the lid to lift then said in a low, deep growl, “I love company!” I grabbed the shocked-as-shit DJ by his shirt and pulled him into the casket and held him tight as he started to struggle. DJ let out a shrill, high-pitched scream, much like an actress in a B horror movie, tore out of my grasp, leaving most of his T-shirt behind in my hands, and bolted from the room. I guess he won’t be getting LaTonya Marshall’s digits after all. Lucky girl.

Clement and the other boy ran into each other several times, like the Three Stooges minus one, in their attempts to get out of the room. Once they were gone, I quickly hopped out of the casket and had started to leave when I heard footsteps rushing down the hall. I quickly opened the lid of a shiny black coffin nearest the door and jumped inside. If I’d known when I got up this morning that I’d be playing musical caskets, I’d have stayed in bed. The double doors to the showroom flew open. I heard Roger Walker’s angry voice and Clement’s scared breathless one.

“Over here, Dad. There was someone in there, I swear,” said Clement, sounding near hysteria.

“Boy, you better not be lying to me. I don’t need this mess.”

“I’m not lying,” said Clement.

I lifted the lid just a hair to see what was going on and saw Roger Walker standing over the mahogany casket. I watched as he lifted the lid, revealing it to be empty. His scowl could have curdled milk. I thought Clement might faint. It was my fault he was about to get into trouble and I felt really bad about what I’d done. But there was nothing I could do about it now. Besides, much to my horror, Clement wasn’t about to let it go.

“See, here’s DJ’s shirt!” said Clement excitedly. Crap! I must have dropped the shirt in my haste to get out of the casket. “That monster ripped it right off his back. I knew I wasn’t seeing things. It’s probably still here in one of the other caskets.”

“Monster?” said Roger skeptically. “What are you talking about?”

“It was this old ugly hag. She was dressed all in red.”

An old, ugly hag in red? That little nerd! And it’s called
burgundy,
thank you.

“I’ll look on this side and you look on the other,” said Clement as he went down one side of the room cautiously opening caskets one by one.

Roger was just staring at him like he was an idiot. I quickly closed the lid. I felt myself go cold and stiff with panic. Maybe by the time he got to the black casket I’d actually be dead, giving me a true reason for being here. I heard his fingers on the lid of my hiding place. The gig was up. Or was it?

“Have you two lost your minds?” said the voice of Ticia Willis-Walker, aka my savior, from the doorway of the showroom. “We got folks arriving for the memorial service and you two are running around like you don’t have good sense. What are you doing in here?”

“Ma, I saw a—” began Clement. But his mother wasn’t having it.

“Clement Mortimer Walker, you shouldn’t have seen anything because you’re not supposed to be in here, are you?”

Mortimer? That poor boy is screwed coming and going.

“No, ma’am,” mumbled Clement.

“Then get your narrow tail up those steps before I put my foot in it, and get that homework done and don’t ever bring those knuckleheads into my house again,” she said through gritted teeth.

I heard Clement mumble, “Yes, ma’am,” as he passed by my casket on his way out of the room. One down, two to go.

“Are you going to help me, Roger? I’ve got programs to hand out and there are still more flowers arriving. I can’t do this all by myself and what in the world did you say to Sonny?”

“Don’t start on me Ticia. You act like you’re the only one who works around here—” Roger and Leticia fussed their way out of the showroom. I heard the door shut behind them and was finally able to let out a sigh of relief.

I could finally get out. I’d changed my mind about attending the memorial service. I just wanted to go home. But I soon discovered it wasn’t going to be that easy as I pushed on the lid of the casket. It was jammed. I pushed harder and harder, but the lid wouldn’t budge.

I took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. Suddenly it seemed as if there wasn’t enough air and my breathing became ragged. I started to freak out. I was screaming, though I doubted anyone could hear me. I felt the casket move ever so slightly with my frenzied efforts to get out. Maybe if I could rock it off of its stand onto the floor, the lid would pop open. I started rocking my body from side to side for several minutes. The heavy casket moved a little but not enough to tip it onto the floor. I was becoming sweaty and lightheaded and knew my efforts were decreasing my air supply. Tears of frustration welled up in my eyes. I didn’t want to die. I could only imagine what people were going to think when they found my body. No. I wasn’t going out like this. I had to get out. I closed my eyes, and was just about to start rocking again, when the lid to the casket opened. Air rushed inside and I gulped it in, noticing that it smelled of Lagerfeld cologne. I opened my eyes and found myself staring up at the handsome face of a shocked and speechless Morris Rollins.

“What are you doing here?” I asked feebly as he helped me out of the casket.

“What am
I
doing here? I came in here for some privacy to use my cell. Kendra, what’s going on? Who put you in that casket?”

“You’re here for the Vivianne’s memorial?” He nodded and I quickly explained why I was there and what had happened. For a second he looked confused, as though he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or yell at me. But the former finally won out and he leaned against one of the other caskets, his body heaving in an effort to hold in the side-splitting laughter that was dying to get out. I just glared at him, though the humor of the situation wasn’t lost on me, and I could feel a smile tugging at my lips.

“Kendra, I swear, besides God you’re the only person I’d want on my side if I ever get into trouble,” he said, wiping his streaming eyes. That made me smile.

“Well, I should probably go. Thanks for saving me,” I mumbled, turning to leave.

“No, wait,” he said, stopping me. “Why don’t you come to the memorial service as my guest? Least that way you’ll have a legitimate excuse for being there and you can mix and mingle to your heart’s content.” It was an excellent idea, since I hadn’t managed to find out a single thing to help my sister. But I knew there had to be catch.

“And that’s all there is to it, huh? You’ll let me be your guest?” I asked skeptically.

“Of course, you’ll owe me a dinner, preferably a home-cooked one, as payment. I mean, after all, it’s the least you could do. I did save your life,” he said devilishly.

“Fine, let’s go,” I said, turning my back on his grinning face and leaving the room.

We headed down the hall where I could see well-dressed people being greeted at the door of the viewing room by Ticia Willis-Walker, who gave me a confused look as I walked up to her accompanied by Rollins. I spoke up before she could say anything.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Willis-Walker, for taking off earlier. I had a family emergency and had to run home.”

“Not a problem, Ms. Clayton,” she said, not really paying attention to me but to my handsome companion, who was giving her his biggest panty-melting smile. I hoped she was so bedazzled by Rollins that it wouldn’t occur to her that I was trying to crash the memorial service of a woman whose murder my sister was being questioned about.

“I hope it won’t be a problem, Leticia. Kendra and I have some church business to discuss so I asked her to be my guest for the service. I hope you won’t make her wait for me in the car,” he said gravely.

Ticia gave me a startled look and then patted my arm comfortingly. It hit me that she must be thinking that I was meeting with Rollins to discuss my possible funeral service. This was getting depressing.

“Go right in,” she said handing us programs with a picture of Vivianne, gorgeous and smiling, on the front. It was a fairly recent picture that I’d never seen before. Vivianne was dressed in a green twin set, black slacks and pearls and was standing under a large tree with her arms crossed. I wondered if it had been taken on her property.

Most of the chairs in the room were already filled and we took seats in the back. I could see Cliff and Stephanie Preston sitting in the front row with Kurt slouching and sour-faced in a chair a row behind them. Harriet Randall was seated in the front row on the opposite side of the aisle. I noticed she was openly giving the Prestons dirty looks, but either they didn’t appear to have noticed or didn’t care. Vivianne’s casket, a duplicate of the beautiful mahogany-and-carved-flower model I’d recently been hiding in, was sitting in front of the room. I was surprised to see it was closed and draped in a profusion of yellow roses and baby’s breath. I wondered if something had been wrong with Vivianne’s face that prevented having an open casket. I didn’t recognize any of the other people in attendance and guessed by some of the youthful hairdos framing old faces, capped teeth and varying degrees of faded flashiness, that they must be ex-showbiz people. Many of them were stopping to hug a teary-eyed Cliff or nod at Harriet who, depending on their position on the entertainment food chain, either gave them a small tight smile or a queenly wave of her hand. A sudden image of Joy Owens in about forty years popped into my head when I looked at Harriet’s grim face. Stephanie and Kurt got ignored all together. Kurt didn’t seem to care but Stephanie looked hurt.

“Why were you invited?” I asked Rollins when we were situated in our seats.

“Harriet Randall is a member of Holy Cross. She asked me if I’d come for moral support.” Harriet at Holy Cross? Or any church for that matter? But then again, a person who bit a police officer and bashed people with a patent-leather purse would definitely be a candidate for spiritual healing. Was she a murderer, too? Could Donald Cabot be right in his suspicion that Harriet killed Vivianne?

“Why wasn’t the service at Holy Cross?” I asked.

“Because Vivianne was an atheist. She didn’t want a church service. She also wanted to be cremated and have her ashes spread out under the big Hollywood sign in Los Angeles. But I don’t think Harriet could bear not having a grave to visit. I’m going to let her know I’m here. You should probably keep your distance. I don’t know if Harriet will recognize you as Allegra’s sister. Just try and stay out of trouble, you hear me?” I gave him a mock salute and watched him head off to greet Harriet. Harriet showed the first signs of grief that I’d seen in her when Rollins put his arm around her in comfort. She buried her face against his shoulder and sobbed for a few minutes. Either Vivianne’s death had finally hit her, or she was trying to cop a feel.