1980
“It sounds
wonderful, Darling. I told Edgar you’re
writing the next In Cold Blood. He’s ready to offer you an advance.”
“Well, I’m
not ready to accept one,” Louella said.
“At this point, this is just an exercise in research. I don’t even know
if I’ll be able to get all the information I need to finish a book.”
“I’m sure
you’ll work it out. Of course, I’ll tell
him anything you want. You just take
your time and write another masterpiece.”
“I’ll see
what I can do.”
“Of course
you will, Darling. Of course you
will. I’m sorry I have to run. I’m having lunch with the head of Columbia
Pictures.”
“Of course
you are.”
“I’ll speak
with you in a few days.”
Louella
placed the phone on its cradle. Cut off
from her agent and from her other life in New York, she found herself alone
once again in a small motel room in Alabama.
She stared at the phone for a long time.
Her next
stop—like most of her previous stops—was a small bungalow situated just off of
the highway.
Louella
climbed the steps to the front porch. She
adjusted her hat and straightened her dress.
Her purse hung from her left elbow.
She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and then delivered three
sharp raps to the door with her knuckles.
After a
short wait, a young woman opened the door.
She looked to be in her mid to late teens. She wore a red and white striped t-shirt that
hugged her breasts and short white pants cut off at the thigh. Louella waited for a greeting, but the girl
only stared at her with an expression that mixed boredom, defiance, and
indifference.
Louella
stumbled through an introduction. “Good
morning. My name is Louella Harper. I spoke with a Ms. Sherman on the phone. I have an appointment to meet…”
The girl
tilted her head slightly toward the ceiling.
“Mom,” she yelled. “Some woman’s at
the door.” She spun around without
another glance in Louella’s direction.
She left the door open as she walked away, her see-sawing hips punctuating
her swagger.
A woman in
a gray dress hurried to the door trying to attach her Sunday hat. Louella judged her to be in her mid-forties. “Laverne,” she scolded. “This is Louella Harper. She’s a famous author and an invited guest.”
Laverne
shrugged before disappearing around a corner.
The woman reached
for Louella’s hand. “It’s so nice to
have you in our home, Ms. Harper. I’m Hannah. Please come in.”
Louella
smiled and extended her hand. “Thank you
for inviting me.”
“You’ll
have to forgive my daughter. She hates
all the attention directed at the family and she’s still upset about Lucy. Even though they were cousins, they thought
of each other as sisters.”
“It must
have been devastating for her,” Louella said. “And for the rest of your
family.”
“Oh, you
can’t imagine. Half the family curses
the Reverend’s name, the other half is trying to clear it.”
Hannah
escorted Louella to the living room, offered her a seat on a white sofa with a
red paisley pattern design. “Would you
like coffee or tea?”
“Coffee
would be lovely,” Louella said.
Hannah
disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Louella to sit and study the room. This wasn’t the first time she’d been left in
a formal living room on this trip. She
was surprised at how similar they all seemed to be. Stiff couches, a few upholstered chairs,
portraits of children on the wall, and the general appearance of a room used
only on rare occasions.
Louella was
still waiting for her coffee when a woman entered the room. She gazed at the floor and sighed loudly then
plopped down into the chair nearest Louella without acknowledging her
presence. A gold compact mirror appeared
in her hand that she then used to powder her nose.
She was
fortyish with a prominent chin and cheekbones.
She wore a black dress and a black hat with a lace veil over her
eyes. As far as Louella knew, no other
tragedies had occurred in the family in the last three years, but she
recognized the woman from a sketch made by a courtroom artist that had appeared
in the newspaper.
“Are you
Cassandra? Hello, I’m Louella Harper.”
The woman eyed
her carefully then slowly the corners of her lips curled into a smile. “Charmed, I’m sure,” she said, extending a
gloved hand.
“It was so
nice of you to agree to meet with me,” Louella said.
“Anything
for you.” Cassandra said. It was ten in
the morning, but her eyes were bloodshot and Louella wondered if she was fully
cognizant.
“Is it okay
if we start the interview now?” Louella asked.
“As you
wish,” Cassandra said.
Louella
lifted her pocketbook from the floor to her lap and began rifling through it. “Have you lived around here all your life?” she
asked. She located a pencil and stored it between her teeth until she found a
small notebook. Her purse dropped to the
floor.
“All my
life,” Cassandra said. Her manner of
speech was breathy and dramatic; she emphasized every syllable.
“And when
did you meet the Reverend?”
Cassandra
tilted her head in a moment of reflection.
She placed a gloved hand to the base of her neck. “It was like a fairy tale. The first time I saw him I was seventeen
years old. He was up in the pulpit
preaching, and I thought I’d never seen such a handsome man. I knew right then I was going to marry him.”
Louella
scribbled a few notes, opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by
Cassandra’s continuing monologue.
“Of course,
he was married already. My friends told
me it was a sin even to think about him.
I would have to wait until years later when the stars finally aligned for
us and my fairy tale came true.”
“Forgive me
for asking this, but did you have an affair with him prior to that?”
Cassandra
leaned away from Louella and looked at her in an appraising manner before
continuing. “The Reverend would never do
such a thing. It went against his belief
system. It wasn’t until after his second
wife died and I ran into him one morning at the Piggly Wiggly that we finally
started talking. He offered to cook me dinner.
“My friends
said I was crazy. They said, ‘Don’t you
know who that is?’ They acted like, if I went to his house, he would murder
me. I was a little frightened, but I
knew I had to go.”
“You had
been married prior to that?” Louella asked.
“Married
and divorced. With two children. Lucy by adoption, and my son Max.” The
thought of her son appeared to fill her with joy and she echoed his name. “Max.
I’m sorry, I can’t introduce you, but he’s out visiting friends.”
“Please
tell him I’m sorry I missed him.”
Hannah
entered the room carrying the coffee set on a silver tray. “So, how is everyone doing?” she asked in a
singsong voice. She placed the tray on a
glass-top table and began pouring cups from a stainless steel coffee pot. “Cream and sugar?”
“No thank
you,” Louella said. She took a cup and
saucer and held it in her lap while she turned her attention to her notebook,
now balanced on the sofa’s arm rest.
With her free hand, she flipped to a list of prepared questions.
Hannah
finished pouring the coffee and took a seat in one of the white upholstered
chairs. “Don’t mind me,” she said. “You
won’t even know I’m here.”
Louella
continued to study her questions. “Mrs.
Baxter, do you believe your husband caused the death of any of his relatives?”
“People
want to believe in gossip,” Cassandra said, “but the truth is a hard thing to know.”
“I know exactly
what you mean,” Louella said.
“Oh, I just
thought of something you might like to see,” Hannah said. She placed her cup of coffee on the
table. “I’ll be right back.”
“After his
first wife passed away,” Cassandra continued, paying no attention to her
sister, “the paper ran a big article that made him a marked man, but just
because a man is accused of one thing, that doesn’t mean he’s guilty of
something else. It’s not right to think
so. It’s not right in the eyes of God!”
“Maybe you
could tell me a little bit about Lucy and what happened the night she went
missing.”
“She was
such a sweet girl when she was little.
She used to help me around the house.
She would clean and fetch things for me.
She was my little Cinderella.”
Louella
eyed her over her reading glasses.
“I loved
her so much,” Cassandra continued. “So
did my husband. Even though she was
adopted during my previous marriage, he thought of her as his stepdaughter.”
“You said
she was sweet when she was little. Did
something change?”
“Oh yes,”
Cassandra said. “When she got older, she
didn’t want to go to school. She started
running away from me for short periods.
She thought she could make it on her own. She wouldn’t help around the house
anymore. It was like she wasn’t our Lucy
anymore.”
As Louella jotted
down notes, she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. She heard the floor creak and caught sight of
Hannah’s daughter Laverne lurking in the foyer. She leaned forward and watched her pace in and
out of the empty door frame.
“When will
you be holding auditions?” Cassandra asked.
“Excuse me?”
Louella said, as if snapping out of a daydream.
“For the
movie. When will the auditions be held?”
“What
movie?” Louella asked.
Cassandra
lifted her hands toward the ceiling.
“This,” she said. “All of
this. I’ve been told I’m a wonderful
actress.”
“Have you?”
“I can do
any emotion.” She ducked her chin toward
her chest and flashed Louella a sultry stare.
Then she looked up at the ceiling and placed the back of her wrist
against her forehead as her face twisted into an expression of despair.”
“That’s very
impressive,” Louella said.
Cassandra
beamed.
“But I’m
writing a book.”
Cassandra
looked at her perplexed. “I was told
there would be a movie.”
“Well, I
suppose it’s possible. My last book was
made into a movie.”
This seemed
to mollify Cassandra. “Of course, of
course, but when the time comes…” She sat back into a lounging position in her
chair. “…I hope you will consider me for
the part of me.” She opened her mouth in
silent laughter.
Louella was
still wondering how best to explain the amount of involvement, or lack thereof,
a book writer has in an adapted film production, when she became aware of a
voice rising in the foyer. She looked up
from her notebook and saw Lavern standing in the doorway.
The girl
was leaning forward with her hands on her hips.
Her face contorted in anger and her head made little stabbing motions in
Louella’s direction.
“I don’t
remember giving you permission to come here.
I don’t remember giving you permission to write stories about my
family.”
Louella’s
mouth fell open, but her words got stuck in the bottom of her throat.
“Quiet
down, girl,” Cassandra snapped.
Laverne ignored her. “You don’t have any right to do this! You don’t have any right to come in here, and
get into our business, and try to steal my family’s stories.”
“Laverne,
you are being rude.” Hannah appeared at
her daughter’s side, holding a leather brief case.
Laverne turned
to her mother. “I’m not the one telling
stories about people who aren’t here to defend themselves.”
“You get to
your room this instant and don’t come back until you can act civil.”
“Mother, I
am too old to be sent to my room.”
“If that
was true you wouldn’t be acting like this.”
As Laverne
stomped off to her room, Cassandra shook her head knowingly.
Hannah
lowered her shoulders and sighed. She
walked over to Louella and set the briefcase down beside her on the sofa. “I am so sorry for the behavior of my
daughter, Ms. Harper. I hope it doesn’t
reflect too poorly on me.”
“No, No, of
course not,” Louella mumbled.
Hannah unsnapped
the briefcase. “Anyway, I found these in
the Reverend’s den when I was helping Cassandra move in with me and I thought they
might be of some use to you.”
“Yes, thank
you,” Louella said. She forced a smile
in reciprocation of Hannah’s kindness, but the girl’s words echoed in her mind,
and it was with some hesitation that she accepted a stack of papers.
“What’s
that?” Cassandra asked.
Louella
leafed through stack. “These are insurance
policies,” she said absently. “There
must be twenty different policies here.”
She scanned the names listed on the forms. The names of the insured changed with each
policy. She found Cassandra’s name on one, also Laverne, Max, and Lucy, but the
list extended, she suspected, to everyone else in the family. There was even a policy on Melvin
Little.
The policy amounts varied between fifty and two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Only the name of the beneficiary
never changed, not in any meaningful way. Sometimes, he used his full name, and sometimes he varied his name through a combination of first and
middle names and initials, but in each case, the person due to collect the money when
the insured person died was Reverend Will Baxter.
Go to Chapter 23
