C H A P T E R • 51
I went across the street to the Kit Kat Klub. Al, Adrianne and Samantha were all there. A piece of Miles’ “Sketches in Spain” was on the jukebox.
“Sam said. “You look frazzled. Al told us what was in the will.”
“I get the house and instructions about money for the bar and the newspaper. He gave me a way out. But not any time soon.”
“You had to be an outsider to go after those stories. And you had to be a badass to walk across the no trespassing signs,” Adrianne said. “I like that in a person.”
“I’m not as outside as I like to be. I’ve made a point of not getting involved in Miss Viola’s business. Until tonight. I’m not sure Daddy would want her dead unless he could do it himself.”
“Damn. You’re full of surprises,” Al said.
“I know. But she was here when I was not. She made him laugh. And they did business together—music business with this bar—his second favorite thing after the newspaper.”
“She is not the helpless victim, you know,” Samantha said. “The sister knows how to get into trouble, for sure. But she can also get herself out of it or find someone who will.”
“She asked me to help,” I said. “I’m not sure what that means and whether I want to do it or can do it from the coast—even if that’s where I want to be. This trip has reminded me that there are places to go and things to do besides making the same movie over and over.”
“Shhh.”
Viola came in the front door and we watched her glad-hand the groups of drinkers as she walked through her bar towards us.
I said, “And I’m really interested in finishing the bar makeover.”
People welcomed Viola into the rather wide circle of their personal space, and she must have held court for ten minutes before she finally almost got to where we were. She was jumpy, wired, like she was on something. Is panic a controlled substance?
A large fierce woman stepped between us and her attention slid back and forth. Sometimes she eyed me while she continued her conversation with Viola.
“You know we always have a nice spread. I want to let them know you’ll be there. I want my youngsters to see a woman doing business for herself and not for some man. I did call your office number and the bar. But I know they don’t tell you things.”
It came out all in a rush as if to keep her from being interrupted.
“You know I love your dinners, but I think I’m out of town next weekend. I’ll check and someone will call you.”
She was being dismissed and she didn’t mind.
“And Pearl. You need to put the story in your daddy’s paper.”
“We put in the announcement. Did you see it?”
“Little bitty mention. I saw it.” She looked like she smelled something bad. “We get a big crowd. You should send somebody.”
“Send a photo and they’ll print it.”
She sniffed at me, thanked Viola again and again, and backed away, actually bowing a little.
“You’re good.”
“She’s been giving those dinners since I was one of her youth. That plaque’s going to cost me some money.”
“Cheap at twice the price if the money really goes to the children.”
She waved her hand as if to swat my words away. “It does. But I didn’t come here to talk about her young people. You left before you said good night to Virginia. She wants to say good night.”
I said, “Viola, I really need you to get Virginia out of there. She could get hurt.”
“She’s staying with me.”
To slow her down and make the point that I don’t respond well to being summoned, I finished my new martini slowly before I followed Viola outside. We stepped off the curb as allowed by the traffic light and I did the thing we all do as I checked to establish I had the light as I continued across the street. The car kept coming. I jumped onto the sidewalk in front of me and turned around to see Viola back up. But she couldn’t turn in the heels, so her movements were jerky and awkward, like she was waving at the car. It kept going after she went down.
I took off running down St. Nicholas Avenue as the Chevy dodged the cars blaring their horns when it took the light. Lt. Knight would have had her gun in her hand by then, ready to shoot out the tires. In fact, she probably would have outrun the fool. But I didn’t have the gun in my bag. As it was, I only got close enough to see there was no rear plate before he sped away, leaving me to go back and face the second real life traffic death I’d witnessed off-screen in my whole life and all in the same week.
But when I got through the few people who obscured her, I found Viola alive and sitting on the curb, dabbing at her eyes and smoothing her clothes and hair.
“What’s broken?” someone asked. “You done really pissed somebody off.”
“Nothing’s broken,” Viola told him. “I fell. He didn’t hit me.”
I stared at her and allowed the short breaths left after the run to land and settle. And from the place in my gut, the awareness turned into a clear understanding of what had just happened.
A witness got my attention when he pointed at me and said, “Did you see her run down the street like she was going to outrun that Impala? Damn. Go ahead on Lt. Knight.”
I gave him the thumbs up.
The witness helped Viola get up but the rest of the group who had gathered around her were already dispersing. She didn’t have to convince the police to let her leave the scene because they never came.
“This is serious now. They’re trying to kill me,” she said to me. “Or, scare me like they tried to scare Ceel. We need to talk about how you can help me get out of this terrible mess.”
“Oh, hell no,” I said. “I’m not helping you do anything. That car was aiming at me.”
“You’ve always thought too much of yourself,” she said.