The Fame Equation (21 page)

I had to feel the teensiest bit sorry for Claudine. After all, she had every expectation that she or Brandyne would inherit the bulk of Melody’s estate. The news she received had to be a huge disappointment. On the other hand, if Claudine had not abandoned Melody for the party life when Melody was still a child, then Claudine might have had a very different morning.

“But if she had bought her new house, I would’a gotten that, too?” Claudine asked through her tears.

“Not necessarily. That would have been something called real property,” said Frank. “I can’t speculate on what your daughter might or might not have done with it, or about the terms of her purchase.”

Claudine sat, defeated, until the young woman who had checked my ID at the door came to escort her out. Just about everyone else was in the hallway by now and I followed Claudine out the door. We picked up our IDs, cell phones and other electronic devices, and signed for our letters. My hand shook as I reached out to take mine. What had Melody written to me? I’d have to wait to find out, because whatever it was, I wanted to read it in private. While we all waited for an unusually slow elevator I tucked the letter into my purse, then drifted toward Ruthie and Allen. They had been the big winners today, if you could call it that.

“I am stunned, just stunned,” Ruthie said, shaking her head. Her body posture was respectful of those of us who had not just walked off with more than half a million dollars, but standing next to her, I could tell that she was as happy as a pig in sunshine. “Many of our people leave us a little something when they pass on to glory, but nothing like this. You’ve seen our cemetery, Cat. There’s only a few dozen souls there. We haven’t had much experience with large bequests.”

“We will have to pray about how to put Melody’s gift to its highest purpose,” said Allen. “Praise God.”

“Praise Melody,” said Ruthie. “Of course we would so much rather have her bright spirit here with us. There was so much good she could have done.”

Ruthie was beginning to get emotional so I patted her on her shoulder, and moved away. What was I supposed to do? Congratulate her? “Gee, Ruthie, I’m so glad my best friend got whacked so your church could get a pile of cash?” Or maybe I should have commiserated with her. She did seem genuinely rattled about Melody. I am never good with overt displays of emotion and avoid them when I can. Like now.

I found myself next to Bill Vandiver, who was leaning on the wall next to the elevator. “Whenever she came in to get her hair done we’d talk about the sports car I was going to buy someday,” he said, tears glistening in his eyes. “I’ve always wanted a silver 1963 Corvette Sting Ray with a split window, and now that I can afford to indulge myself and get one, I’ll never be able to take her for a ride in it.”

I absolutely understood his feelings. I was a bit overwhelmed myself. One hundred thousand dollars! Not to mention all of the intellectual property stuff, which I didn’t even come close to understanding. I smiled ruefully, though, as I thought of all the electronic devices that Melody had left me. She certainly had a sense of humor, because she knew how technologically challenged I was.

I pictured my friend on her back porch, glass of her signature iced tea in hand, as she decided who would get which of her assets. In my mind’s eye, I could see her writing down names and bequests, then crossing them out and writing in new names and numbers. Certainly, Frank Barwell had been correct when he said Melody had only finalized her will after a lot of careful thought and deliberation. I wasn’t yet sure what I would do with the money, but whatever it was, I’d be sure to do something that Melody would have approved of.

“Cat?” I realized that most of the people had already gone down in the elevator, and just Bill, Martin, and Bobby Lee were still here with me. “I asked if you wanted to go get some tea or something.”

I looked at Bill as if I had never seen him before. My head was clearly someplace else. “Um, sure.” What the heck. I didn’t know Bill well and hopefully he wouldn’t feel the need to comment on my hair, but we had both been good friends of Melody’s. It was fitting that we spend some time together. Melody would have liked that.

“Martin, Bobby Lee?” I asked. “Do you want to come with us? There must be a coffee shop or a deli somewhere close by.”

Martin was rubbing his shoulder where Brandyne had connected. I wondered what her hand looked like. Martin was a beefy guy.

“No thanks, Miz Cat. We’d better get on back,” said Martin. “We’ve both got reports to write and I’ve got a meeting this afternoon. Bobby Lee needs to get back out on patrol.”

He gave me a look that I knew meant he’d be by later to fill me in on whatever was running through his head. Martin was a lot like his brother, and by now I could read those Giles boys like a book. The elevator arrived and we all rode down in silence, lost in our own thoughts. At the lobby level I asked at the information desk and was directed to a small café a half block away.

Bill and I walked the short distance and after scanning a menu that was written on the wall behind the counter I ordered hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and a huge, luscious brownie. Bill got a bowl of homemade chicken soup, two large slices of lemon cake, and a water. We took our food to a table in the corner, and I snagged napkins and silverware on the way.

My brownie was warm and melt-in-my-mouth delicious and I tried to eat it, rather than inhale it. While I was busy with my brownie, I studied Bill. Tall, thin, gray haired and goateed, he was fashionably chic in dark dress pants, light dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and unbuttoned suit vest. There was something inexplicably Nashville about him.

“That,” he said after eating his first slice of cake, “was quite the little scene in the lawyer’s office. Can you believe her family? I mean, Melody told me about them and why she stayed away, but I really wasn’t prepared for that.”

“It was interesting,” I agreed.

“So here’s what I think,” he said starting in on the other slice of cake. He noticed me staring at his untouched soup. “It’s hot. I’m waiting for it to cool off.”

Of course. Even if that wasn’t the case, I’d go for the cake first, too.

“I think,” he continued, “that Brandyne killed her sister.”

My thought processes about who had killed Melody were still so muddled that I stopped eating my brownie to listen.

“Cat, here’s what I saw at the lawyer’s office. Brandyne and her mother were fully expecting to inherit most of Melody’s money. Fully expecting to. There was no love lost between them and Melody. They didn’t care about her, and that Brandyne is a schemer. She saw the money, and she also saw the fame attached to being the sister of the tragically killed Melody Cross. Remember Nicole Brown Simpson’s sister, Denise? She was all over the news for years after Nicole was killed. Years. I think Brandyne wanted that kind of fame, and her sister’s money, for herself.”

I went back to my brownie while I thought.

“You could be right,” I admitted. “But what about Davis Young? I was sitting next to the detectives from Cheatham County and I think they are interested in him.”

“Davis?” Bill asked. “Maybe, but Melody’s career was brand new. He could have managed her into being the next Taylor Swift. Melody had that kind of talent and appeal. Davis could have made a lot more money with Melody over the years than he got today.”

“But what if he needed the money now?” I asked. “As her manager, would he have had any knowledge that he was a beneficiary in her will?”

“Possibly. I will say this. Melody trusted Davis, and as you know, she didn’t trust many people. If Davis killed her, that would be a big abuse of trust.”

“I can’t imagine it being anyone,” I said. Suddenly I had a huge flash of anger toward whoever had killed Melody, and my entire body filled with tension. Annie told me that grief comes in stages and that anger was one of them. Guess I had reached that point. Sometimes when I was mad I said things I didn’t mean and I didn’t want to do that here. I took a deep breath and measured my words.

“I feel like I have been robbed of a life-long friendship.” I took another deep breath. “And Melody was robbed too, of a long and full life. And you, Bill, whoever killed Melody robbed you, too. You’d been friends for a long time. I swear that one day I will punch her killer in the face and spit in his eye.

I realized I was too worked up. My upper body had been swaying back and forth in my chair, and my arms had been flying all over the place. I was even in danger of knocking over my hot chocolate. Couldn’t have that. I took another breath.

“Sorry,” I said. “Probably, I wouldn’t spit.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Bill said. “All the people who loved her feel just like you do. Besides, I see you have a little fire in you. Melody needed that in a friend.”

Bill moved his cake plates away and pulled the soup bowl closer. “On another note, what do you think of those church people? Melody spent a lot of time there.”

Hmmm. What did I think?

“Allen is pompous and patronizing, but a hard read,” I finally said. “Emily seems to compartmentalize her life and be different people within her boundaries. Does that make sense?”

Bill nodded, and I continued.

“Ruthie is kind of drab until she turns on the charm. I’ve heard her preach, though, and she is moving. Did any of them kill Melody? I don’t know. I’ve always heard you should follow the money and they got most of it. Did they know they were getting it? Impossible to tell. But maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way. Did Melody seem off to you recently? Nervous?”

“No,” said Bill. “If anything, she was excited about the single and the tour. You know what’s interesting, though. You know who wasn’t there today?”

I didn’t understand what he was getting at.

“Chas Chadwick. The label head. Not that you’d expect anyone to write their label head into their will, but he is a person I could picture killing someone. He’s got that dark, thoughtful look, and as insecure as label jobs are these days, you have to know that whatever decision he makes is going to be for the good of the label, not the artist. Maybe Melody had something on him and was going to blow the whistle.”

My reply got stuck in my throat when I spotted a man trying not to look in our direction. It was the same clean-cut guy I had seen in the restaurant with Buffy. What were the chances of that? Especially when this downtown café was not all that close to Hillsboro Village, where Buffy and I had eaten. Bill saw the look on my face.

“What?” he asked.

“Don’t turn around now,” I said, “but in a minute, casually check out the guy in the blue shirt sitting near the far wall. Brown hair, young, clean cut, reading a paper.”

Bill gave me a quizzical look, then knocked his fork off the table and bent down to get it.

“Never seen him before,” he said, straightening up.

“This is the second time I’ve seen him. The first time was yesterday in Provence, in Hillsboro Village with Buffy. The coincidence just strikes me as odd.”

“What, that a nice looking guy would look your way in a restaurant?”

“No,” I smiled in spite of myself. “There’s just something about him that I don’t trust.”

“How about I go over and talk to him,” Bill said.

“No!” I hissed.

“Seriously, I can pretend to mistake him for someone else, start a conversation.”

Before I could protest, Bill was out of his chair and walking toward the man. That’s when Mr. Clean Cut put down his paper and bolted from the café.

I
WAS SUPPOSED TO RIDE
Sally that afternoon, but my excitement about the will and my nervous energy about the mysterious Mr. Clean Cut ruled that out. Horses are intuitive and pick up on human emotion quickly. As herd animals, they need their people partners to be the herd leaders. When a horse knows the human is not capable, trouble arises in the form of poor behavior from the horse. In addition, most horse related accidents are due to human error. I knew that this afternoon I could neither earn respect from a horse nor make good judgments.

Jon needed to know of the change of plans, and rather than text him, I decided to tell him in person. We’d been talking more lately and I wanted him to know that I would be fine by tomorrow.

He was standing at the gate to the arena, sending a text. That in itself was unusual, as Jon rarely texted, but the big smile on his face was even more uncommon. Not that it was any of my business, but I wanted to grab the phone from his hands to see who he was texting. I restrained myself, however. Jon was allowed to have a life. I just didn’t like mysteries.

When Jon saw me, he quickly stuck the phone in his pocket, and turned his gaze to Gigi, who was trotting around the pen with her tail up over her back. A raised tail was a sure sign of a horse in good spirits. With Gigi, though, that was her natural state of being.

“News?” Jon asked as he scanned my face.

“Yes, but I’m not ready to share. I, uh, need some time to process. Can you longe Sally over some ground poles?” Cavaletti, or ground poles, helped a horse develop cadence and balance.

Jon nodded. “Maybe try some low risers?”

“Sure. Four to six inches off the ground will make her use some different muscles. See how she does.”

Jon didn’t ask what, specifically, I needed to process, and that was one thing I liked about him. He respected a person’s space.

“Will you come for dinner?” I asked. “Brent and Darcy will be there and I can fill everyone in at once.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, fingering the phone in his pocket.