Schooled In Lies (26 page)

However, her slumped shoulders and sad eyes told me the joke was on her. She was in love with him. And had done a pretty good job of convincing herself that she wasn’t like all of the others when in fact, she was worse because she was still hanging on hoping for an upgrade in her booty call status. Poor Cherisse.

“That still doesn’t explain why this was in your bathroom,” I said, holding up the silver compact.

“She must have left it at my house.”

“I saw her with this the day she died. The last thing she told me was that she was leaving town in a hurry. Why did she come to see you when she was so hot to get out of town?”

She threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “Can you hear yourself? You honestly believe I could have murdered Ivy Flack? Me?”

I looked at her closely without speaking. She started biting her thumbnail and wouldn’t look at me. I was making her awfully nervous for some reason. Only someone who had something to be guilty about would act so nervously. Something wasn’t right. I was looking at this all wrong. I thought about that nasty abortion rumor about me in high school. I’d cried on Cherisse’s shoulder about it the day I went to study at her house. She’d comforted me because she thought I was going to be her new friend. When she’d asked me if I was okay the next day, I’d blown her off because Lynette and I were friends again and I didn’t need her anymore.

“You were helping Ms. Flack, weren’t you? You two were in on it together. All that stuff you told me about her blackmailing you over an affair with your old boss and you thinking she pushed Julian off the roof was just a smoke screen so no one would suspect you two were partners, right?” She just stared at the ground. I pressed on.

“You were sleeping with Gerald and he confided everyone’s secrets to you, didn’t he? And you told her everything he said, including that old rumor about me having had an abortion. For her it was about getting the money to start over someplace else. But for you it was a way to get back at us all for the way we treated you in high school, not to mention everyone thinking you were to blame for Julian’s death.”

She suddenly smiled and looked quite pleased with herself. She started clapping. “Give that girl a gold star. You figured it all out, didn’t you? You’re just so damned smart. For your information, Ivy Flack was probably the only real friend I ever had back in high school. I would spend hours crying in her office. She always knew just what to say to cheer me up. My own twin sister ran off and left me, but Ivy was always there for me. We kept in touch after high school. I went to see her at work the day she found out her ex-boyfriend was getting out of prison and she told me his sister was threatening to spread lies that would ruin her.”

“My God, Cherisse,” I said softly. She didn’t hear me and continued on.

“It was my idea for her to fake her death and disappear, but she needed money. So, yeah, I gave Ivy the information to blackmail the reunion committee. I was even the one who made all the phone calls telling them how much they needed to pay to keep their secrets buried and why the hell not? Audrey’s husband makes a lot of money, Dennis’s family is rich, and Gerald wastes so much money trying to live the good life it wouldn’t kill him to give up a few thousand, and then there was you.” She gave me a disgusted look that made me flinch.

“But you knew that rumor about me was a lie. Why would you set me up to be blackmailed?”

“I didn’t know it was a lie,” she replied innocently. “All I had was the word of some chick who used me and pretended to like me, to get back at her best friend. And how reliable is the word of someone like that? I decided a long time ago that the rumor about you must have been true. Your uncle has that nice restaurant. I figured you could get money from him. I never thought you’d go to the police.”

I felt sick to my stomach. “Cherisse, I am so sorry about what I did to you. It was so long ago. I was just a thoughtless kid. What’s your excuse for the way you’re acting now?”

“You’re right. It was a long time ago. But the scars will last me a lifetime. Do you know I’ve been in therapy for years over what happened in high school? But you better believe that I will not be used or made fun of ever again. Do you hear me?” She stepped forward so abruptly I was forced to take a step back. “All the people who wronged me got exactly what they deserved, or soon will,” she said cryptically. She turned and walked towards the building.

I called out after her. “Did you kill her? Was she supposed to split the blackmail money with you and didn’t? Was she supposed to take you with her and wouldn’t?”

She didn’t stop walking until she got to the door, then she turned back. “She just came over that day to tell me good-bye. She gave me the compact to remember her. It was a gift. As you’ve already pointed out, it was never about money for me.” She smiled and then turned and walked into the building.

Chapter Nineteen

BEING ON SOMEONE’S SHIT LIST is not fun. However, being on someone’s shit list and not knowing it, is even worse. I had no idea Cherisse had been holding a grudge against me for all these years. I could have told her the truth about her so-called friend Ivy Flack, but why bother. If Ms. Flack had been able to comfort her during her dark high school days, then who was I to take that away from her? She had certainly been a better friend to her than I had. Maybe Ms. Flack was trying to make up for what she’d done to Maurice Groves, when she was just a teen herself, by befriending another troubled teen.

As I drove, I tried to decide if I should tell Harmon about what I’d found out. There was absolutely no proof that Cherisse had aided Ms. Flack in her blackmail scheme. And to be honest, I did believe her when she said she didn’t kill her, which brought me back to the same questions: who killed Ivy Flack, and was her death related to Clair Easton’s murder? Beyond Gerald, I could see no clear connection between the two women, and even that connection wasn’t a strong one because of what Cherisse had told me about Sunny Abou being the one who really stole Clair Easton’s money. There had to be something else that linked them. But what was it if it wasn’t Gerald Tate?

I almost felt sorry for Gerald. Almost. He’d messed with the wrong women. Sunny was being deported and would likely take the account number to the bank account in the Cayman’s with her. Even though Clair Easton was dead, all his boss would have to do is follow the trail Sunny left right back to Gerald. And Cherisse may be in love with him, but in a twisted act of passive aggressiveness, she’d helped her friend Ivy Flack blackmail him for something he didn’t even do. I’d bet money it wasn’t just to get back at him for the way he treated her in high school, either. Most likely it was so he’d cry on her shoulder and make her feel needed. Ain’t love grand?

I arrived home tired and cranky. My wrist was still throbbing and I took a couple of ibuprofen and lay down on my couch. A couple of hours later, I was awakened by the sound of movement from down below in my landlady Mrs. Carson’s house. My living room was directly over her kitchen. Figuring it was just Mrs. Carson puttering around making her dinner, I turned over and started to go back to sleep. Then, realizing Mrs. Carson was still on her cruise, not due home until Sunday, and it was only Thursday, I sat bolt upright.

I got on the floor and pressed my ear against the Oriental rug by my couch to see if I could hear anything else. After a few seconds of silence, I heard the distinct sound of footsteps in the kitchen down below. Mrs. Carson was not a wealthy woman and had nothing much of monetary value to steal. But she did have a prized sterling silver tea set that had been passed down through her family from her great-great-great-grandmother. If a thief made off with that tea service, it would probably kill her. I should have called the police. But when do I ever do what I’m supposed to do? Instead, I got up and grabbed the keys to Mrs. Carson’s house, that she’d left so I could water her plants, and the baseball bat that I kept for protection because I refused to get a gun, and headed out my door.

I crept down my steps all the while peering in the darkened window of Mrs. Carson’s kitchen. I saw a shadow move quickly past the thin white cotton curtains. I rushed down the remaining steps with the bat slung over my shoulder like I was about to hit a homerun. I arrived at Mrs. Carson’s slightly ajar front door at the same time as the man who was coming out of it. Without even waiting to see who it was, I started screaming and swinging at the man’s head like it was a piñata, while he danced around ducking and swooping like a large bird.

“Heifer, are you crazy!” yelled the man, who turned out to be Mrs. Carson’s youngest son, Stevie. Notice I didn’t say Stevie wasn’t a thief. That’s because Stevie Carson’s fingers were so sticky he could touch his own head and leave behind a bald spot.

“Stevie? What are you doing here? I thought you were in jail.”

Stevie straightened up and looked around nervously. Come to think of it, Stevie always looked nervous and with good reason. Someone was always after him. Sometimes it was the police; most of the time it was people he’d either stolen from, or sold stolen merchandise to. He was a wiry, rail thin, middle-aged man of average height, with a pencil thin mustache that outlined his full upper lip and beady little eyes that darted around so much he never really looked you in the eye. He was dressed in a black sweat suit that was covered in what looked like cat hair, black combat boots, and a fishing hat covered in lures. His thinning Afro was peeking out from the sides of the hat. Mrs. Carson had four other hardworking and law abiding children, but for some reason Stevie was by far her favorite. Go figure.

“Got out two days ago, if you must know.” He pulled the hat down further on his head and looked over my shoulder nervously. I turned and looked, too. No one was there.

“Are you staying here?”

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head vigorously. “Came by to drop off that crazy ass cat. My old lady, you know Sweetie, doncha?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. I shook my head no. Stevie had been living off and on with the same woman for more than twenty years. But since Mrs. Carson automatically hated every woman her favorite son had brought over, Sweetie, had never been welcome in her home.

“I said I’d take care a that cat for my mama while she was gone. She had my sister drop it off at Sweetie’s crib before they left on that cruise. By the time I got out a the county lockup that dang cat had clawed up Sweetie’s curtains, pissed all over her house, and killed her pet parakeet. She told me it was her or the cat. So, I brought it back home. I’ll come by and feed it, but it can’t stay with me.”

Stevie wasn’t the most reliable person in the world. I knew in order to save Mrs. Carson from coming home to a dead pet I’d have to step up even though Mrs. Carson’s Siamese cat, Mahalia, and I hated each other with a passion.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll feed her until your mother gets back.”

“Good lookin’ out,” he said, grinning at me and exposing perfect straight white teeth. Stealing and dental hygiene appeared to be the only things Stevie took seriously. He pushed past me on his way down the porch steps.

I went inside Mrs. Carson’s house and flipped on the light switch. That small movement sent searing pain through my wrist, which hadn’t felt too bad when I’d been awakened from my nap but was now throbbing again due to my batting practice with Stevie’s head. I flexed it and it felt stiff. I was alarmed to see it was also starting to swell. I don’t know what I was thinking swinging that bat around like I was Xena Warrior Princess. I’d re-injured my wrist. I looked around for the cat, not bothering to call her because I knew she wouldn’t come to me, and finally found her perched on top of Mrs. Carson’s china cabinet. She was staring down at me with almond-shaped blue eyes filled with their usual distain.