TWENTY-EIGHT
The trip to Portsmouth was short and relatively smooth once she got past the highway congestion in Boston. When she arrived in New Hampshire she only had to travel a few miles until she exited the road in Portsmouth. She followed Cilla’s directions to downtown center on the waterfront. Portsmouth was clearly a town rich in history and lovingly refurbished by its citizens since the early days of its founding. It retained many of its original buildings and all of its early American flavor. The town square was anchored by a red-brick, white-steepled church. It was easy to imagine those snowy, cobblestone streets when they were peopled by women in mobcaps and bewigged men in greatcoats. She found a parking space quite easily on Main Street and got out of the car.
Cilla Zander was meeting the young organizers of the music festival at a restaurant called Lucky Toast. Even though it was in the next block, it was easy for Alex to spot it. There was a black limousine parked outside and still running. A man in a driver’s uniform, complete with gloves and hat, was leaning against the side of the shiny town car, looking extremely out of place. Alex walked down to the restaurant and nodded to him as she pulled open the door.
Inside, the decor of the restaurant was a genial explosion of kitsch. Kitchen tables with formica tops in primary colors and matching chair seats stood side by side with tables covered by white cotton cloths bright with apple or cherry prints. Each table had a lamp on it, some with Hawaiian hula dancers, others with bucking bronco riders as a base. There were hordes of old posters framed on the walls and lots of warm wood surfaces. The overall impression was homey and easygoing.
Seated in the middle of the room was a table of patrons as mismatched as the décor. Three young people with long hair, North Face parkas and hiking boots were sharing the table with a heavyset woman wearing ropes of pearls and a fur coat. Her hair was shiny black and swung in an expert cut around her creamy-skinned, double-chinned face. She seemed to perch on the very edge of the kitchen chair, her posture perfect, her blue-eyed gaze looking coolly at the younger people at the table.
Alex hesitated and then approached the table. ‘Excuse me, I’m looking for Cilla Zander?’
The woman in furs looked up at her hopefully. ‘Ms Woods?’
Alex nodded. Cilla Zander gathered her expensive handbag and her furs around her and abruptly stood up. ‘My friends, I hate to leave you, but I have another meeting. I would ask y’all to get me those specs that we talked about ASAP if you have any hope of my performers considering your festival.’
‘We’ll do that, Miss Zander.’ The best-looking of the three young people at the table stood up and offered her his hand. He had pale skin, fine eyes and matted dreadlocks falling over the collar of his parka.
Cilla Zander looked at his extended hand as if there were a spider in his palm. She did not offer her hand in return. ‘I hope you know,’ she said in a Southern accent that sounded like molasses over steel, ‘that you have taken me far out of my way, when you were not actually prepared for this meeting.’
‘And we will make up for that,’ the young man insisted, still holding out his hand to her. ‘We really regret that we didn’t have all the answers to your questions, but the planning is still a little preliminary. We will get those answers for you. I promise.’
Cilla extended one pudgy, beautifully manicured hand and basically tapped the young man’s hand with her own. ‘See that you do. I do not appreciate having my time wasted.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said, frowning.
Cilla took Alex’s arm by the elbow and began to propel her to the door. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said. ‘They do not serve alcohol at this establishment. What kind of a business meeting takes place at a restaurant with no alcohol on the menu? That name is very deceiving.’ As she talked she led the way up the street to a fern bar on the next corner. Alex followed her in and Cilla flopped down onto a banquette at a table near the door. Alex sat down opposite her in a chair. Cilla immediately began to scan the room for the nearest available waitress. Once she had her attention and had ordered a drink, she sat back against the banquette with a sigh.
‘I’ll tell you something. There are going to be some heads rolling in my New York office. They set this meeting up without even making sure that we were dealing with bona fide promoters. This is completely unacceptable.’
The waitress, sensing the urgency of her customer’s thirst, appeared quickly with the glass of Makers Mark neat, and set it down in front of Cilla. Cilla lifted it, took a soothing sip and closed her eyes in sensual delight. Then she set the glass down carefully on the table in front of her and smoothed out the napkin underneath.
‘Now then, Alex.’
Alex nodded.
‘Tell me again how you are related to Lauren.’
Alex explained about Dory and made sure to keep her explanation brief and to the point. ‘It was really good of you to see me.’
Cilla rolled the whisky around on her tongue as she listened. Finally she looked Alex in the eye. ‘Walker called and said you were wondering about Lauren’s personal life.’
‘Yes,’ said Alex. ‘The Boston police have reopened the investigation into her murder. They are questioning the same people who were on the scene when the murder occurred. I was thinking about the fact that they never considered anyone as a suspect who was part of Lauren’s life outside of Boston. Like in Branson or Nashville. I began to wonder if there might be such a person. Lauren’s father told me she was gay, but she was busy passing for straight. That can lead to a lot of hard feelings.’
‘Her parents knew she was gay?’ Cilla asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise.
Alex nodded.
‘Hmmm. I guess Lauren finally broke down and told them. Elaine certainly didn’t know about it when Lauren was first keeping company with Walker. Elaine was always calling me, telling me what a storybook wedding it would be for country music if they got married. It was all I could do to hold my tongue.
‘I won’t lie to you, Ms Woods. The only reason I was willing to see you is because I am trying to protect my own investment here. After all, I was the one who set Lauren up with Walker. At the time he didn’t have a gal, and I knew about Lauren. I knew she wasn’t going to be dating any men. But it’s just not good for an entertainer’s image to look like they don’t have any love in their lives. I mean, fans have that problem in their own lives. They want to believe that their idols are gettin’ more ass than a toilet seat.’
Alex laughed in surprise. The expression seemed so alien coming out of this expensively dressed, proper-looking woman. ‘Did you tell Walker that she was gay?’ Alex asked.
Cilla grimaced in disbelief. ‘No. Of course not. That’s the point. He would be furious even now if he found out what I did. He would never have agreed to it. Even at the time I didn’t make a big deal out of it. I just introduced them, said how I was hoping to raise their public profiles, and that nothing did that better than when two stars start dating. I said they should just start seeing one another out in public, even as friends.’
‘Her father said she had to keep it quiet for her career,’ Alex observed.
‘Do you know anything about country music? There is no such thing as gay in country music. On that point, I would have to agree with her father.’
‘So, Lauren was gay, but she didn’t act on it?’
‘Oh, honey, I’m sure she acted on it. She was a grown woman.’
‘Did you know any of her girlfriends?’ Alex asked.
Cilla shook her head and finished off her drink. ‘No, I did not. And I did not want to. It was none of my business.’
Alex felt deflated. ‘So you don’t know any of the women she was involved with? She didn’t live with anyone or anything like that?’
‘Well, she didn’t live with anyone in the eyes of the world. It was just Lauren all by her lonesome. Of course she did have help in the house.’
Alex frowned at her. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that if you have a live-in housekeeper, nobody suspects anything.’
‘You mean, even if they’re not actually a housekeeper,’ Alex said slowly.
Cilla gazed at her coolly. ‘They always had chores to do. Shopping. Cooking. That sort of thing. Probably ran a vacuum once in a while. But they weren’t housekeepers.’
‘Did she have a “housekeeper” around the time she was killed?’
‘She did. A young, pretty one from Alabama. I had to pay her off not to sell her story to the tabloids. But don’t get any ideas. I know exactly where she was when Lauren was killed.’
‘Where?’
‘In Nashville. In rehab. I paid for it.’
‘Oh,’ said Alex, discouraged.
‘There was only one she really cared about, I think,’ said Cilla. ‘It was years before she died. Only lasted about six months but it broke her heart in two. Lauren couldn’t hold on to her. She was a beauty though. Older than Lauren. She had long dark hair and a pretty little mole beside her mouth. Showed up in Branson one day and moved in with Lauren. Lauren was head over heels. It was tough to keep her from telling the world about it. In fact, she wrote some songs about the break-up that had to be rewritten so that you couldn’t tell she was talking about a girl. I believe her name was . . . Joy. Joy. Ironic, isn’t it? Should have been Sorrow.’