Mama Cracks a Mask of Innocence (13 page)

“It also ties her to the cocaine that Kitty Sharp was using.”

“You think Lew Hunter is correct in looking for drugs on the campus.”

“I don’t want to believe he is right,” Mama told me. “But neither can I believe that Brenda was mixed up in so many things and Tootsie didn’t know anything about it. The more I think about her, the more I don’t like the way she looked after her daughter.”

“I suppose there are parents who just don’t pay attention to their teenagers.”

“Maybe, but I want to talk to Tootsie again about her relationship with her daughter. Since I didn’t have a chance to speak to Tootsie this morning at the memorial service, I’d like to stop by now. We’ll give her the books and school things Dolly asked us to deliver to her.”

We arrived at Tootsie Long’s house just as the UPS man was leaving. Once I’d handed Tootsie her daughter’s books and we were seated, Mama told her of our earlier visit to her house and how we’d seen her leave with a gentleman. “A friend who came by to pay his respects,” she said.

Mama related that Brenda had spent Thursday after school at Stella Hope’s house. “It’s strange that Brenda was at Stella’s house until around eight o’clock that evening and she didn’t call to tell you she’d decided not to go on her class trip.”

“Candi, to tell the truth she might have called. I—I wasn’t home that afternoon. I suppose if I’d talked to her, I would have been suspecting something was wrong when she didn’t come home that
night instead of just sitting here waiting for her to come back from Orlando.” She paused. “Did you learn
anything
else that will help find out who killed Brenda?”

Mama shook her head. “Unfortunately not.”

Tootsie let out a breath, then placed Brenda’s books down on a nearby table. “You don’t think it was wrong for me not to have a funeral, do you?”

“I suppose people were expecting a funeral for Brenda, especially since you had such a fine one for Sonny Boy.”

“That was different,” Tootsie replied, a little tautness in her voice. “I mean I couldn’t go through another one like I had for Sonny Boy,” she said, this time her voice a little more regretful.

Now I was surprised. The way I remembered it when she told us, she seemed elated that she could have provided her husband with such an elaborate send-off.

“I hope people in town will understand,” Tootsie continued, her voice low, solemn. “Seeing Sonny Boy laying in a casket was almost too much to bear. I didn’t want to see Brenda like that.”

“It was nice of the principal to let you have the memorial service at the high school. It was a beautiful tribute to Brenda.”

“I thought it would be a way for the kids to say good-bye. Hattie didn’t much like it, but Brenda was my child and I was the one who had the final say.”

“Were you and Brenda close?”

“As close as most mothers are with their daughters. Why?”

“I know this is a very difficult time for you, but I’ve got to mention some of the things I’ve found out about Brenda,” Mama said softly. “I’ve learned that Brenda was involved in things that upset several people. One in particular was Ira Manson, the young man who deejays at the radio station. Did you know that he slapped her?”

“No,” Tootsie said, a flash of irritation on her face. “Ira is such a nice boy, I didn’t know that he’d struck Brenda.”

Tootsie stood up and walked to the window. “My daughter was always so responsible I guess I gave her a lot of freedom. I mean, it wasn’t like she was going to do anything wrong.”

“Brenda was causing a lot of people emotional pain by her accusations. The last few days I’ve learned that Brenda was stirring up the kind of drama you see in soap operas.”

“I didn’t know,” Tootsie said, her back still to us.

“You know that Brenda called SLED and told them that there was a student selling drugs at the high school?”

Tootsie walked over to a table and snatched a tissue from a box. When she’d wiped her eyes, her expression seemed a little hardened, or maybe irritated, I wasn’t sure.

“Tootsie, are you sure Brenda never once mentioned
the things she was involved in, the people who threatened her, even struck her?”

“She might have told Hattie but she never mentioned it to me.”

“Brenda confided in Hattie?”

“I didn’t know that Brenda was stirring up things. I didn’t know that Clyde Hicks had written letters to her from prison. I didn’t know she’d been in a fight with this Ira Manson. I didn’t know—”

“I’m sorry,” Mama said, interrupting her. “I can see we’re upsetting you. I’ll talk to Hattie. Hopefully, Brenda told her something that will help us get to the bottom of this whole mess.”

We stood to leave.

“Is that man from SLED looking for a black Jaguar?” Tootsie asked, her eyes wide.

Mama looked startled. “How do you know about that car?” she asked.

“I—I don’t know,” Tootsie confessed nervously. “I guess I heard somebody say something about it when I was doing some shopping.”

H
attie Russell’s brick house was a contrast to the wood-framed ones on her street. It had a brick-laid walk that led to a half porch and a detached garage. Mama rang the doorbell.

Hattie answered it dressed in a straight black knit dress, which made her look thinner than ever. She was barefoot, her face was drawn. She wore no makeup, not even a little lipstick.

We followed her inside an exceptionally large foyer which had a cathedral ceiling, a beautiful chandelier and shiny black marble floors. The walls were painted a soft off-white that was perfect for the five or six Afrocentric paintings that were tastefully hung on the walls.

From the foyer we entered the living room, which was bright, with lovely floors, and green plants that
were pushed in every conceivable corner where light could penetrate. There were glass and plants and sunlight everywhere.

The one piece of furniture that stood out was an oak bookcase. It had unique carvings, some kind of African symbols. The books on its shelves were lined up perfectly. I wondered if Hattie had used a ruler to justify each binding.

Then I realized how many of the photographs displayed everywhere held Brenda Long’s face. I had seen pictures of Brenda in her mother’s house but Hattie Russell’s living room seemed inundated with the girl’s face. Over an oak mantel was a large portrait painting of Brenda reading a book. Surrounding it were class pictures: in some Brenda was alone, in others with classmates. No matter how many children were in the pictures with Brenda, however, it was clear that her smiling face was what held the attraction. The smell of a botanic room freshener filled the room with a softness. It was almost as if Hattie had turned her living room into a shrine for Brenda Long.

The only thing that could be called a mess in this room was a pile of newspapers that were stacked in the corner. But they were stacked neatly.

I sat on a Queen Anne chair near the fireplace. It was upholstered in a delicate white with tiny navy blue stripes.

When Mama sat on the couch, Hattie joined her. “Would you like something to drink?” she offered.

Mama and I shook our heads, declining refreshments.
There was a momentary silence, as if nobody knew exactly how to proceed.

Hattie took a deep breath and kept her eyes riveted to Mama’s face. “What have you found out?” she demanded softly.

“Brenda was a Christian girl, like you told us,” Mama began. “It seems that she took her values further than I anticipated.”

“What do you mean?”

“Clyde Hicks and Victor Powell weren’t the only people Brenda was trying to expose. It seems that she was working on uncovering who sold drugs at the high school.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“Did she tell you anything about it?”

Hattie stood and walked over to the mantel. For a moment she didn’t answer. “She told me she suspected somebody, yes.”

Mama looked at me, then back at her boss. “Did she give you a name?”

Hattie shook her head. “I didn’t let her finish what she was saying,” she replied. “Before she could tell me everything, I stopped her and insisted that she leave it alone. I thought she was getting into something that was way over her head and I told her so. I even made her promise to forget it. If I had only listened—”

“What about Ira Manson?” Mama interrupted gently. “Did Brenda tell you that he beat her up because she tried to get a girl named Wendy to spy on him and his boss’s wife?”

“Ira didn’t beat her up. He only slapped her. And Brenda swore that the lick wasn’t hard.”

“Victor Powell didn’t try to molest his stepdaughter. The girl is a virgin.”

Hattie turned to face us. “I’ll drop the investigation.”

“That’s all well and good, but the accusation has broken up a marriage.… Victor has left his wife because he didn’t want an investigation.”

“He didn’t go very far because I saw him and Tootsie together a few days ago. I—I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound so nasty. It’s just that Brenda wanted to do the right thing and I, well, I guess I encouraged her.”

“At the expense of hurting other people.”

“Candi, you don’t understand. Brenda was fine until her hospitalization a year ago!”

Mama shook her head. “No, Hattie, I really don’t understand.”

Hattie thought for a moment. “Candi, let me tell you a story. After you’ve heard it, you might not understand why Brenda was the way she was but you’ll know why she means so much to me—why no matter what the cost or the motive, I’m going to find the person who killed her.”

Hattie glanced up at the clock. It was a little cuckoo clock, very inexpensive and ornate and very much out of place for the simple decor of the room. “Brenda gave that clock to me,” she told us. “It was a Mother’s Day gift. I love it. You know, Candi, Brenda used to tell me that I was her pretend godmother. She used to ask me, if anything ever happened to Tootsie,
could she come live with me?” Hattie began pacing the floor. “Of course, I told her. It’s strange how life works out.… I actually
wished
that something would happen to Tootsie so that Brenda could be with me. It was an evil thing to wish for, but nevertheless I longed for it.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Tootsie isn’t Brenda’s biological mother,
I
am! Looking back now, what happened sixteen years ago seems like a dream. But it was real—it happened when I was in college. The relationship between me and Sonny Boy started and ended in a few weeks. It was insignificant, as meaningless as a fly that lands on a window and then is off to some other place.…”

Hattie hesitated. “I never blamed Sonny Boy, you know. It was the first time either of us had sex. And after it was over, we were satisfied that what we’d experienced together was enough for either of us.

“I had no idea it was so easy to get pregnant. We were young, scared, and ignorant. We didn’t know what to do. I wanted to finish school, he wanted to go into the service. We each felt cheated of our dreams, like we were victims. I hid my pregnancy as long as I could, then I confided in one of my teachers. I told her that I wanted to put the baby up for adoption, wanted to get on with my life. She helped me, got me in touch with a home for unwed mothers, where I stayed until the baby was born. My baby girl was put into a foster home and I went back to school and pretended that it never happened.

“When Sonny Boy showed up a few years later and
wanted the little girl, I helped him get her since she was still in the foster home and hadn’t been adopted. He told me that he had married, that his wife couldn’t have children and that she wanted his child.”

Hattie crossed her arms like she was hugging herself. “It seemed the right thing to do. Sonny Boy and his wife, Tootsie, adopted little Brenda, and I lost touch with them.

“It turned out that the Otis County director’s position became open when old lady Sinclair died. I was ready to leave Columbia, where I worked as assistant director. I knew I could never move into the director’s position there, the competition was too great.

“I really didn’t know that Sonny Boy and his family were living in Otis. When I got the offer and came to look the town over, I ran into him at the cleaners. I told him what happened and I said that I’d decline the position. He insisted that I take the job. He told me that he never revealed Brenda’s real mother to his wife, and that Brenda had been adopted by Tootsie and was told that she was her real mother. He jokingly told me that if anything ever happened to him and Tootsie, it would be my duty to take care of
our
little girl.

“Four years later, when Sonny Boy died and left Tootsie and Brenda almost penniless, it was easy for me to believe that the good Lord meant for me to be near the child, for at least one of her birth parents to look after her and see that she’d be okay. Brenda took to me right off. I hadn’t tried to
develop a friendship with her until after Sonny Boy died,” Hattie added, her voice cracking. “But right afterward, while Tootsie was so broken up over Sonny Boy’s dying, I asked her if she’d mind if I gave Brenda some special attention. Tootsie gladly accepted.

“Maybe it was because of me that Brenda was so judgmental about others. I didn’t want her to fall into the trap I’d fallen into, to make the same mistakes.” Hattie closed her eyes, then opened them. “Brenda was such a good-hearted little girl, Candi. I’m not saying this to make myself feel better. This is not about me. It was my decision to give her up, my decision to let Sonny Boy let her believe that Tootsie was her real mother. I suppose I will always beat myself up about that, but that’s not what’s important right now!”

Silence.

“All week long I’ve been trying to figure out not only who killed my daughter but whether my constant badgering her about doing the right thing, no matter who it hurt, was the reason she was murdered!”

Mama put her arms around her boss and hugged her. Brenda Long had exposed others’ secrets, but she had gone to her grave not knowing a very important one of her own.

A
t six the next morning when I got up, I found my mother at the kitchen table, the notebook she’d been using to jot down notes she’d learned about Brenda was opened in front of her. The smell of southern butter pecan, my current favorite flavored coffee, permeated the whole house.