The Fame Equation (13 page)

Melody had been found Friday afternoon and this was Monday morning, so the funeral had been put together quickly. Buffy told me yesterday that Davis wanted it that way, to minimize the dysfunctional family’s involvement. The service today was only for family, close friends, Melody’s church and riding center friends, and her music industry family. Buffy said a public celebration of life would be held later, possibly at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, and a special concert for fans was being planned for the CMA Music Festival next June.

After Jon bedded Mickey and Hank down in the tack room, Tony offered to drive, so Jon, Darcy, and I piled into the back seat of their big Ford truck. Annie rode shotgun. Other than the giving of directions, we were mostly silent on the ride to the church. We saw the first satellite news truck a block or so before we got there. A number of others were lined up next to it. All of the local network vans were there, as well as a CMT truck, and several trucks that were unidentified.

Closer to the church, however, past some barricades, the road was free of media. Buffy had told me my name would be on a list, and we quickly cleared the checkpoint, which was before we got to the church driveway. A Mighty Happy volunteer then directed us to a parking space to the left of the riding center. I was glad we were a little early. It looked as if the little church would be packed.

Inside, we were directed to a seat in the middle of the church to the left of the center aisle. I had wanted to sit toward the rear, so I could see everybody, but then realized that all of the key players would be sitting in the middle or front pews. The action, so to speak, would be a little closer to me here. I wasn’t sure what I might discover about Melody’s death at her funeral, but I planned to keep my eyes peeled and ears open.

Robert was sitting one row in front and farther to our left, and he nodded as we sat. Allen and Emily were there, across the aisle and a few rows closer to the front. I also spotted Davis and Buffy in the third row. Augie Freemont, Melody’s booking agent, was sitting with Chas Chadwick, head of the Southern Sky label. In what I hoped was not an obvious move, I turned around to better drape my coat across the back of the pew, and in the process scanned the back of the church. Scott Donelson, the attorney, sat several rows directly behind us. Bill Vandiver sat next to him.

Many of the volunteers and riders I had met during previous trips to the riding center and church also were there, including the sidewalker, Sandy. I knew Melody would be amazed that so many had shown up to send her off to the afterlife, but she would also want people to rejoice, rather than mourn her. Easier said than done.

I checked my watch. Ten fifty-five. The funeral was supposed to start at eleven with a reception immediately after. I had asked about a visitation, but Buffy said Davis had nixed that idea. “The family,” she had added in an ominous tone.

Speaking of family, right on cue, they began to head down the aisle. At least I gathered that the small group was Melody’s family due to the solicitous church usher escort, and the cater-wauling that came from the two women. When they passed by our pew, however, even though both held handkerchiefs to their faces, I did not see any tears on the face of the younger woman, and her mascara looked as if it had been applied with a spatula.

The man in the orange jumpsuit and handcuffs I assumed was Melody’s brother, Bodine. If that wasn’t enough of a clue, the two men on either side of him wore the uniforms of prison guards, and were armed.

Claudine Potts, Melody’s mother, was a tiny woman who looked to be about seventy, although I knew she was in her middle fifties. She was a bottle blond who could have used a little less of the bottle, as her shoulder length hair was thin and brittle. Her grief, however, looked to be genuine.

Melody’s sister Brandyne was in her late thirties. She was doing her share of dry-eyed wailing, and after they sat, I heard her tell her mother to hush up. Brandyne was taller than her mother and Melody, but not tall. Maybe five-foot-four, that was after factoring in the height of her stilettos. She wore a tight, short, leopard print dress that was cut lower than it needed to be. Her hot pink heels and purse matched the pink stripes in her hair.

In contrast, Claudine wore a sedate navy pantsuit that was a size too big. Bodine, as I mentioned, wore prison orange. He was the tallest of the three and seemed equal in height to Bran-dyne in heels. No sign of Melody’s dad. His reason for being locked up in prison must be more serious than Bodine’s.

There was a pause in the air, a stillness of expectancy after Melody’s family and the prison guards settled themselves. I half expected Ruthie to descend on wires from the ceiling, but the only one to make an entrance was Keith, who strode down the aisle at the last minute. Dressed entirely in black, from boots and jeans to t-shirt and suede leather suit jacket, Keith was accompanied by two tall, burly men. One I recognized as a band member, the other must be one of his new security guards. Surreptitiously, I adjusted my coat again and saw two other tall, burly men standing at parade rest at the back of the church. I also spotted Martin Giles sitting in a back pew.

Ruthie arrived then, not from the ceiling, but through the door behind the pulpit. When she spoke, I realized again what a commanding presence she could be. She had the gift of gab, as my Irish father would say.

During the service it was hard for me to concentrate. All I could think about was whether or not Melody’s murderer was in the room. Could it be possible, as Carole indicated, that the killer was someone on Melody or Keith’s team? Was it a “mighty happy” person from her church family or the riding center? Or, as I thought, was it a crazed fan or a person from her past?

I didn’t realize I was crying until Annie handed me a Kleenex, and when I felt an arm around my shoulders I realized it was Jon’s. I hesitated, and then leaned into him, unreasonably glad for his comfort. My best friend was gone and it was time for me to mourn.

At the reception, the Potts family held court, supported by Ruthie. Brandyne kept looking around the room, as if to pose for a hidden camera that might capture her image. Claudine wailed throughout, and Bodine had the grace to look embarrassed, whether by his sister and mother, or his own circumstances, I couldn’t say.

“TMZ has a long angle lens and will be shooting pictures and video of people exiting the church,” Buffy murmured beside me. “There’s also a helicopter circling overhead. Just wanted you to know.”

“Buffy,” I called as she walked away. When I had her attention I lowered my voice. “I know you’re trying to keep the media away, to ensure the respect that Melody deserves.”

She nodded as she eyed the crowd.

“But don’t reporters sometimes turn up things police can’t?” I asked. “You worked for a newspaper. Don’t reporters sometimes inadvertently take a photo that shows a glance between two people, or some other clue that can help solve the case?”

“Sometimes,” she agreed. “But the reporters have to be good––and they have to be honorable enough to turn over anything that might mean something to the police. I’m not sure that lot out there has either qualification.”

She left to talk to Keith and I headed toward the food.

“Hungry?” Tony asked, coming up behind me. “The food looks great.”

It did. Verna Mae’s, a mom and pop restaurant in Bellevue, a commuter city between Kingston Springs and Nashville, had catered, and Verna’s home cooking always made my mouth water. For a year or so, Darcy and I had a standing Wednesday night dinner date at Verna Mae’s. It was mostly so I could catch up with her, ask about her schoolwork and boyfriends, that kind of thing. But since she moved in, we didn’t feel the need. After all, we saw each other every day. But I had missed Verna Mae’s.

I smiled and nodded at two of Verna’s humongous granddaughters, who lumbered behind the serving table. They were almost as big as their muumuu-clad grandmother, who didn’t seem to be present. The girls obviously made good work of their grandmother’s turnip green salads, vinegar slaw, sweet potato casseroles, hot biscuits, buttery grits, fried catfish, melt in your mouth barbecue, and chess and key lime pies.

There was all that and more here, and even though I put tiny amounts of almost everything on my plate, it was heaping by the time I picked up my sweet tea, and Tony and I headed to sit with Jon, Darcy, and Annie.

“Good food,” Tony said, digging in.

“Like get this,” said Darcy between bites of a carob and sweet potato cookie. “I heard Pastor Ruthie say that the record label paid for the whole thing.”

“They did.” Keith set his tea down first, then sat to my right and across from Darcy. Jon was across from me, Annie to my left and Tony was across from her. Under normal circumstances my heart would do little flippy-flops if Keith was this close to me, but today it kept right on beating its usual slow, steady rhythm.

“Well, the label paid for the reception,” Keith said, taking a sip of his tea. He must be practicing Artist Manners 101: the unwritten rule that stated no artist shall ever eat anything in public. Wouldn’t want a piece of broccoli or egg salad to be photographed hanging between the pearly whites. Also would not want a photo of a celebrity, mouth wide open, waiting to chomp down on a sandwich. I looked around the room. No cameras here as far as I could tell, but Keith apparently wasn’t taking any chances. Either that or the Artist Rules were so in-grained that it didn’t occur to him that he could eat.

“Davis is taking care of the rest of the expenses out of Melody’s accounts,” said Buffy plopping down next to Keith. “Melody had life insurance, so I guess the estate will get reimbursed when that comes through.” She looked around the table. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation. This is so depressing.”

Just then Brandyne Potts came over, Claudine and Bodine in tow. “Which of y’all was my sister’s friend?” she asked.

Buffy jumped up, ready to head off trouble. “We all were, Brandyne,” Buffy said. “But Cat and Melody had been close friends for some time now.”

Buffy nodded at me, and I wiped my hands on a paper napkin and stood up to introduce myself. In her hot pink heels, Brandyne was eye to eye with me. I was so busy looking at all her makeup that I didn’t notice her reach back with her right hand until her purse clubbed me on the side of my head. Before I knew it, Brandyne was all over me.

“You didn’t keep her safe!” she shouted as she went for my hair. “What kind of no account friend are you?”

It happened so fast that all I had were impressions. Claudine began to wail again. Keith put his arms around my waist and tried to drag me away from Brandyne, but her hands were wrapped in my hair. Maybe I needed that salon appointment with Bill after all. A shorter cut might have helped here.

I saw Davis, Augie, and Chas out of the corner of my eye. Davis comforted Claudine, who screeched Brandyne’s name over and over. The security guards pulled Bodine away from the fray, then Bodine wrenched himself free and rushed to his sister. Next thing I knew he had put his cuffed hands over her head and shoulders and wrapped the link between his handcuffs across the front of Brandyne’s throat. It worked. She let go of my hair to try to pull the handcuffs away.

Next thing I knew, Keith and I were in the center of a circle of tall men made up of Martin, and Keith’s security team. They hustled Keith and me to the other side of the room, and somehow, Keith’s arms remained around me. Bodine and his guards left, presumably to head back to prison, and Brandyne collapsed into a chair, Ruthie by her side. What had just happened?

“You okay?” Buffy asked, hurrying over.

I touched the side of my head where Brandyne’s purse had made contact. Fortunately for me, she traveled light so I didn’t think there would be any lasting damage. The circle of tall men around Keith and me dissolved, and Martin said, “Miz Cat? Do you want to press charges? Miz Potts gave you a big wallop, so you’re entitled.”

I looked across the room at Brandyne, who still looked like she wanted to knock me into next week. Then I shook my head.

“She’s not worth it, Martin.” When he raised his eyebrows I added. “Let’s just chalk it up to funeral tension and let it go.” Besides, if I filed charges the tabloids were sure to find out, and I didn’t want any trash talk surrounding our goodbyes to Melody.

By this time church ushers were picking up cups and plates, and directing people out the door. When it was just our group and what remained of the Potts family, Buffy assessed us and said, “Here’s how this is going to work. Tony, Jon, and Darcy will ride home with Keith in Keith’s truck.” They all nodded. “Keith, you do not need to be seen at the burial, but we will make a statement for you this afternoon about your friendship with Melody. Davis or I will text it to you and your publicist for an okay before we send it.” Keith nodded.

“Now, to avoid further scandal,” Buffy shot a look at Brandyne who was getting to her feet with Ruthie’s help, “Annie and Cat will go to the burial and stand next to the Potts family. Mrs. Potts,” she said to Claudine, “does that meet with your approval?”

“Yes, honey,” said Claudine, extracting herself from Davis and wiping her eyes at the same time. “Yes, that will be fine.” She, too, shot a look at Brandyne.