Bad Reputation, A Read online

  “That sounds like a worthy cause, Mr. Clarke,” I said.

  “Oh, call me Wendall, please. It would be a real honor to have you on board, Ms. Maclin. I promise your duties will not be extreme.”

  “Let me think about it.”

  “Splendid! I’d really appreciate it.” He gave his wife’s shoulders a little squeeze.

  “Come along, dear. I want you to meet everyone.”

  Her eyes got big. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course! Don’t worry. They’ll love you.”

  Flora did not look convinced. I didn’t have long to wonder about her reluctance.

  Most of the people at the reception gave Wendall Clarke and Flora less than welcoming glances.

  “What did you want to tell me?” I turned to Pamela, although I had figured most of it out.

  “That’s Wendall’s trophy wife. Everyone knows he left his first wife for her.”

  “She seems really sweet, though. Did she actively pursue him?”

  “Oh, yes. She left her husband for him.”

  “Spreading local gossip, Pamela?” came a harsh voice.

  I recognized Larissa Norton. “Larissa” sounds like a lovely waif-like creature that dances in the forest, but this Larissa was a tall dark-haired woman with a firm chin and a highly annoyed expression.

  I held out my hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Madeline Maclin Fairweather.”

  She eyed me with a dark unfriendly stare and did not shake my hand. “Yes, I know. Are you acquainted with Wendall Clarke?”

  “We’ve just met.”

  Larissa Norton transferred her glare to Wendall. “He has some nerve coming back to Celosia and bringing that woman with him, expecting everyone to be thrilled with his plans. Clarke comes swanning into town, and everyone falls over themselves to do his bidding. I can’t believe it. Celosia doesn’t need an art gallery. That’s sheer foolishness. It’ll go under in a week, maybe less. And don’t give me that sad face, Pamela. You haven’t a chance in hell of showing any of your pitiful pictures in Clarke’s gallery or anyone’s gallery, for that matter.”

  Pamela flinched at this cruel remark. “I’m going to ask him anyway.”

  Larissa gave a derisive snort and left. Pamela watched her go and shook her head. “I’m not surprised she’s so upset.”

  “Is she that much opposed to an art gallery in town?”

  “It’s not that. She’s Wendall’s ex-wife.”

  “Oh.” That could sting a little.

  “He became fabulously wealthy, dumped her for a younger woman, and now rolls into town with all sorts of big plans. She’ll be opposed to anything he proposes.”

  “Understandable.”

  “I’d never tell her how delighted I am about the gallery,” Pamela said. “I’ve always dreamed of having my own art show. I don’t see why Wendall wouldn’t help me.”

  “I’m sure he will. He’ll need pictures for his gallery.”

  “As long as he doesn’t put Bea Ricter’s pictures in.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Oh, she thinks she has talent. It’s really sad. She does these primitive things, you know, like painting on old pieces of rotted wood. I’m surprised you haven’t met her.”

  I found it ironic that Pamela would talk down a fellow artist after Larissa’s cutting comments about her own work. “Jerry and I haven’t been in Celosia very long.”

  “Oh, Madeline, I’ve just realized why Larissa was so abrupt with you. She really wanted the job at the theater.”

  “What job? Do you mean playing for Oklahoma? I thought she was sick and couldn’t do it.”

  “She probably said that so Evan would beg her.”

  That explained Larissa’s unfriendly stare. “Is that the sort of thing she’d do?”

  “Oh, yes. I hope Jerry does such a good job that Evan hires him for all the shows. It’s about time Larissa learned she can’t get everything she wants.”

  Watching Larissa’s face as Wendall paraded Flora around the room, I thought, no, she didn’t get everything. I could understand her resentment, but in fact, very few of the people at the reception had welcoming expressions for Wendall and his new bride.

  “Has Wendall done something else to alienate people besides marrying Flora?” I asked Pamela.

  “He was always somewhat of a braggart and a show-off, always talking about how he couldn’t wait to leave this pitiful little hick town and make his mark on the world. Now that he’s actually done it, his attitude is going to be hard to take. Oh, there’s Bea. I’ll introduce you.”

  Bea Ricter was a small round woman, her graying hair cut in an unflattering bowl style. She was wearing a plain, dull-colored jumper over a blouse decorated with brown flowers, green striped socks, and worn red sneakers looking as if she’d just come in from weeding her vegetable garden. All that was missing was a torn straw hat.

  Pamela introduced us. “Bea, have you met Madeline Maclin? Madeline, this is Bea Ricter.”

  Bea’s handshake was firm. “Yes, I know who she is. You need to join the Celosia Art Guild, Madeline. I’m sure someone’s invited you.”

  Pamela looked at me in surprise. “You mean you’re not a member? I thought you were.”

  I’d actually been approached by another member of the Art Guild, but I didn’t want to get involved with what appeared to be a social club. “Thanks for asking, but I’m afraid I don’t have time. My agency keeps me busy.”

  Bea Ricter made a face. “Oh, nonsense. There can’t be that much call for a detective in Celosia. We meet every month at the library. Tuesdays at ten. You should join. It’s very important that we artists stick together.”

  Was there a polite way to refuse? “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

  “I’ll expect to see you there. Now that Wendall Clarke is planning this gallery for us, we have to make certain it’s run properly. We can’t have just anybody’s work in there. Some people do nothing but junk.”

  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,” Pamel
a 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—”