Bad Reputation, A (3 page)

Pamela gave me a look as if to say,
see what I mean?
“That's up to Wendall to decide, I guess.”

“Why should it be up to Wendall?”

“Well, his design was chosen for Elegant Dreams Perfume.”

This was a sore point with Bea, who made a dismissive snort. “For some tacky shopping network. I'm talking about real, honest-to-goodness, taken-from-nature-and-the-earth art, not some sissy design.” She eyed Clarke as if he were a dog she'd found digging holes in her garden. “Is he going to show your stuff, Pamela?”

“I haven't asked, but I'm sure he will. I would hope he'd include everyone in the Guild.”

“I'd better have a word with him,” Bea said.

Pamela and I watched with some apprehension as Bea crossed the room to Clarke. She poked his shoulder and started a fierce dialogue. We couldn't hear everything they said, but at one point Bea's voice carried well enough.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Wendall Clarke! You need to do the right thing, and you know what I'm talking about.”

Pamela gulped. “Oh, my goodness. I can't believe she said that.”

Wendall Clarke didn't appear offended for himself or for his new wife. His voice was calm but firm, and he made certain he was heard. “Why don't we discuss that later? I'm sure we can come to some agreement.” He patted her shoulder. “Come on, now. No hard feelings, eh?”

Apparently, there were some very hard feelings. They talked a little while longer, and then we heard Wendall say, “That's not going to happen.”

Bea grumbled back to us. “He's got some nerve!”

“What did he say?” Pamela asked.

Bea, distracted by her argument with Wendall, muttered under her breath about how Wendall was going to be sorry.

“Wendall Clarke's never been sorry a day in his life,” Pamela said, “and he's not going to be sorry if the gallery goes well. What did he say about including the Art Guild's work? Is that what he meant by ‘That's not going to happen'?”

“He's the same arrogant jerk he always was.”

“Or did he mean we shouldn't worry because he's not leaving anyone out?”

“Thinks I wouldn't forget what he's done.”

“But the gallery—”

Bea rounded on Pamela. “Just shut up about the gallery.”

“Well, excuse me.”

Bea frowned and didn't say anything else, but she glared at Wendall and Flora the rest of the afternoon. Now I was curious about what Bea might do to make Wendall sorry, and what he meant by “That's not going to happen.” Knowing my fellow Celosians and their tangled relationships,
something
was going to happen.

Chapter Four

Back in my office, I called the theater to speak to Evan. I asked him if Larissa Norton wanted to be musical director for the show.

“She told me she didn't want to do it,” he said. “She said her health wasn't good and she wanted some time off. Actually, she left us in the lurch. If Jerry hadn't been available, I'm not sure who we could've called.”

“You're absolutely sure she doesn't want the job?”

“Yes. And just between you and me, Madeline, I am very relieved. Larissa is a wonderful musician, but she can be extremely difficult to work with. At least with Jerry, I know we won't have to put up with screaming fits and hurt feelings. And he plays just as well as Larissa, maybe better.”

“I don't think he's conducted an orchestra before.”

“I'm sure he can handle that. The people I asked him to call have all had experience playing for musicals. They'll love him. He worked with several of them on
Music Man
. I don't think there will be any problems.”

It always worries me when someone says that.

“Thanks, Evan. What happened to
How to Succeed in Business
? I thought that was the next show.”
The
Music Man
director had been certain Jerry had a lock on the lead role in
How to Succeed
as the conniving young man who schemed his way to the top. The director hadn't known this would have been perfect typecasting.

“We found out Parkland and Abbingdon both planned to do that show, so we changed our plans. People love
Oklahoma
. I think we could do it every year. Will we see you at tryouts tomorrow night? You'd make a convincing Laurie, or even Ado Annie.”

My days on stage were over, thank goodness. “Only to drop off Jerry.”

After I hung up, I had a phone call from someone I hadn't heard from in years, an old pageant pal, a veteran of the pageant wars.

“Madeline! It's a voice from the past, Miss Little Valley Princess Supreme!”

I recognized Billamena Tyson's voice right away. After all, how many times had I heard her bellow “Tomorrow” from
Annie
for her talent? “Billamena.” Isn't that name sad? Her mother had wanted something original. “Billie, where in the world have you been hiding? It must be ten years since I saw you last.”

“It took me that long to pry my mother off my arm! I had to beat her over the head with my tiara to make her let go.” Billie's raucous laugh made me hold the phone away from my ear. She'd been a large, aggressive little girl whose mother, like mine, had insisted she be in pageants. Billie had enjoyed the experience as much as I did.

“At least you and your mother are close. Mine hardly speaks to me.”

“I wish mine didn't! Do you know she's still after me to be Mrs. America? I have purposely put on fifty pounds to save myself. But I hear you've truly broken the mold and become an investigator! How exciting!”

“Thanks. And what are you up to these days?”

“Nothing so bold. I married a great guy, second marriage for both of us, no kids yet, and I work as a secretary at an insurance firm. But I didn't call to talk about the good old days of way too much makeup on our poor little baby faces. I hear you married Jerry Fairweather.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Congratulations! And is he still doing those little games of his?”

I thought of the scheduled séance at Deely's and tried not to sigh. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Oh, but that's good news, Madeline, because I need his help.”

What could she possibly need Jerry's help for? I was afraid to ask. “Do you need to speak to the dearly departed?”

“What?”

“Jerry holds fake séances—did hold fake séances. His very last one is tonight if you want to get in on it.”

“No, not that. My husband and I were conned, and I want Jerry to find the people who did it. Or maybe you could find them! Let me hire you.”

“I'd be happy to let you hire me, Billie, but I'd need to have all the details. Where are you? Can we meet somewhere?”

“I live on the other side of Parkland on Pumpkin Lane. Do you know where that is?”

My mother's neighborhood. “Yes, I do.”

“How about tomorrow evening around six?”

“All right. I'll bring Jerry along as creative consultant.”

“Wonderful, thanks! I'll dust off my many Ultimate Grand Supreme crowns so you'll be jealous!”

***

When I got home, Denisha Simpson was waiting on the front porch. Denisha, a self-possessed little black girl, and her best friend, Austin, an energetic little white boy, had adopted Jerry as their older brother and were often at the house, usually around mealtimes.

“Well, hello, Denisha.”

“Hi, Madeline. Jerry's practicing the piano for
Oklahoma
.”

From the front parlor window, I could hear a pretty good attempt at the title song. “Are you trying out for it?”

“I don't know if there are any kids in it, but yeah, I might.”

“What about Austin? He might like to be a cowboy.”

“No. He thinks it's silly. And he's the reason I'm here today. I need to ask you something.”

“Sure. Have a seat.”

Denisha sat down in one of the rocking chairs. Her dark brown eyes were serious. “You know that Austin and I are going to Camp Lakenwood this summer.”

“Yes, I hope you enjoy it.”

“I'm much more excited than Austin. He thought camp would be boring without TV and video games. This was before he found out Kennedy was going, too.”

“Kennedy?”

“Kennedy Marshall. She's in our class. All the boys like her, and I know why.”

I knew the girl Denisha was talking about. I'd often wondered what possessed her parents to name their daughter after a president partly known for his assassination. I expected Denisha to comment on Kennedy's flowing blond hair and shiny pink perfection. I was ready with the Everyone is Beautiful in Her Own Special Way speech.

“She's got that new Wow System,” Denisha said. “It's like Wii, only better. Austin's into that.”

“Oh.”

“He's been over at her house every afternoon. He doesn't want to ride bikes or play in the creek or nothing.” She sighed. “I tell you, I'm at my wit's end.”

I tried not to smile. I'd heard Denisha's aunt use that expression many times when dealing with her niece. “I think the newness will soon wear off,” I suggested.

Denisha dug into the pocket of her shorts. “I want to hire you, Madeline.”

“What would you like me to do?”

She unfolded three dollar bills. “Find out if Kennedy is Austin's girlfriend.”

“Couldn't you just ask him?”

“I don't want him to think I care.”

“I see.”

Denisha gave me a very grown up look. “You know what it's like, Madeline. You and Jerry were best friends before you got married, and when he was hanging around with another girl, you weren't very happy about it.”

“That's because she was not the right one for him.”

“Exactly. And Kennedy Marshall is not the right one for Austin, only he's too dumb to see it, just like Jerry was.”

I had to chuckle. “You've made your point.”

She indicated the dollar bills. “Is that enough?”

“More than enough.”

“Thanks, Madeline. When can I expect results?”

“I'll get on it right away.”

Denisha stood and shook my hand. “Thank you.” She went down the porch steps, picked up her bike, and rode away.

Jerry came to the door. “All clear? Looked like some serious girl talk.”

“Come on out.” He propped himself on the porch rail. ”Denisha has hired me to find out if Austin and Kennedy Marshall are an item,” I said.

“Kennedy Marshall? Male or female?”

“A female classmate. A very pretty blonde classmate with the latest video game system.”

“Uh, oh.”

“The pretty blondes are on the move today.” I explained about Wendall Clarke, Flora, and Larissa Norton.

“That's eerie. It sounds exactly like what I've been listening to lately,
The Ballad
of Baby Doe
.”

“Okay, I don't know that one.”

Jerry has a fondness for opera, and it's odd sometimes how the stories reflect what's going on with my cases. “It's based on a true story. Horace Tabor made a fortune back in the 1800s in silver mines. He left his wife to marry a beautiful woman nicknamed Baby Doe. The opera's about the relationships of those three people.”

“I'm guessing the ex-wife wasn't very happy with Horace.”

“She has some particularly scathing songs to sing. She refused to divorce Horace, so it was quite a scandal when he took up with another woman. In the opera, everybody shuns them, the silver mine fails, Tabor goes crazy—”

“And everybody dies.”

“Yep. Beverly Sills was the composer's favorite Baby Doe. You've got to hear this aria.”

The downstairs parlor used to be where Jerry held his séances. He surprised me by hiring Nell to paint the walls bright yellow, and then he parked a gleaming golden-brown baby grand piano in one corner. He went inside his music room to root through his CDs. After a while, a beautiful soprano voice soared to impossibly high notes. Jerry came back to the porch. “What do you think?”

“I think that's gorgeous.”

“It's called ‘The Willow Song.' That's what Baby Doe is singing when Tabor first sees her. Love at first sight for both of them, although Baby Doe knows he's the richest man in Colorado, so I think she was a bit of a schemer.”

“This is too strange,” I said. “Wendall calls Flora ‘Baby.'”

Jerry laughed. “Baby Flo! Perfect.”

“What exactly happens in this opera? Does anyone get murdered? I want to be ready.”

“No. There's a lot of singing about gold becoming more popular than silver, and Tabor backs the wrong man for president, so there's a lot of singing about that, too. At the end of the opera, Tabor is broke and ill. He spends a long time having a breakdown and dies in Baby Doe's arms. The real Baby Doe froze to death in her cabin at the silver mine.”

“These stories are always so cheerful. What about the ex-wife?”

“Her name is Augusta, and when Tabor loses everything, she sings about wanting to help him because she still loves him, but she doesn't go back to him.”

“I seriously doubt Larissa wants to go back to Wendall. She won the gold medal in the If Looks Could Kill competition today. She even had one for me.”

“You? What did you do?”

“I'm married to the man who took her theater job. Evan says she often pulls this trick so he'll beg her to stay.”

“Too bad. It's my job now,” he said. “I like
Oklahoma
. It's not as stirring as
Ballad of Baby Doe
, but at least everyone comes out of it alive—no, wait, everyone except Jud, but he's a complete villain. No one's really evil in
Baby Doe
.”

The music had changed from Beverly Sills' glorious soprano to a strident female voice singing her demands and wanting to know what Horace Tabor had been up to. I didn't even know this opera and I felt sorry for him.

“When are
Oklahoma
rehearsals?”

“Tryouts are tomorrow night, and rehearsals will be every weeknight from seven until nine or ten.”

That should cut down on Jerry's scheming time. “What about the Christmas cantata?”

“‘The Glory of Christmas' is in the bag. I called the church this morning to tell them I'd do it.”

“Can you do both productions?”

“Sure. You know how Wednesdays are around here.”

I had been surprised to find out that Wednesday nights in Celosia most people went to church, usually for choir practice, but also for family night dinners and Bible study groups. “So Evan will let you off on Wednesday night?”

“Up until the last two weeks.
Oklahoma
opens the end of November, and the cantata's not until December fourteenth.”

I felt a sense of relief. Two things to keep him occupied. No, wait, I'd almost forgotten about Billie. “There's something else you can do,” I said. “My friend Billie Tyson called and told me she and her husband had been the victims of a con. She'd like to hire both of us to find the people responsible.”

“What happened?”

“We're going to meet tomorrow so she can fill me in. Sound interesting?”

“I'll be glad to help. How about your other case? Anything new to report?”

“The search is on for Pamela's missing letter.”

“Any clues?”

“Nothing exciting. It's buried in mounds of papers she's been collecting for most of her adult life. I have to sift through several file boxes and stacks.”

“What's so important about it? Are we going to get to solve another riddle?”

“Again, nothing as thrilling as a mysterious riddle. The letter gives her permission to build onto her shop.”

“So we both have jobs. Peace reigns once again in the Fairweather household.”

“I'm taking advantage of this peace to do a little art,” I said.

Uncle Val had used the upstairs parlor as his study. When we first saw it, it was a typical Victorian parlor with overstuffed chairs, a marble-topped table, an old phonograph, and bookshelves filled with leather-bound copies of the classics. I kept the table with its fancy glass lamp and the bookshelves, but the phonograph and chairs went to an antique dealer. I moved in my easels, paper, and art supplies and converted the space into a studio. The light was perfect, and there was plenty of room to spread out my projects and leave them until I'd finished. I was halfway through a landscape of the fields around our house and spent a constructive hour shading in some grass and getting the clouds just the way I wanted them. In this blissful state, I forgot about Wendall and Larissa, Pamela's letter, Denisha's concerns, even poor frozen Baby Doe. But something nagged at the back of my thoughts. I finally put down my brush and gave the picture a critical look. It wasn't the picture. The picture was coming along fine.