by Angela Henry
Timmy sighed, sat back in the rocker, and gave me an exasperated look. “I was set up, Kendra,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
I didn’t know what I was expecting him to say. But somehow I thought I was going to get a more original answer. Weren’t the prisons filled with innocent people who blamed their predicaments on either bad luck, or having been set up by the government or persons unknown? I didn’t know what to say. Instead, I resorted to the one thing that always gives me comfort during a stressful time: food.
“Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?” I asked, getting up from the couch and heading into my tiny kitchen. Timmy was hot on my heels.
“Naw. I ain’t hungry. I’m serious, Kendra. I was set up and I know who did it!”
I pulled two cans of Pepsi from my fridge and tossed one to him. “Okay,” I said, pulling the tab on my can. “Let’s hear all about it.”
I didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic and felt bad when I saw the hurt look that flashed across Timmy’s face. I sat down at the kitchen table and gestured for him to sit as well. We sat in awkward silence with Timmy looking like a sulky child for several long minutes during which I realized I was treating Timmy like he was still a crackhead. I was fine with him as long as everything was okay but at the first hint of trouble, I automatically figured he had to be lying. There was only one way to find out.
“I’m listening, Timmy,” I said softly. “What’s going on?”
“Well, you know I had some problems a while back with drugs?” he said, not quite able to look me in the eye. I nodded.
“Back in Detroit when I was usin’, I stole somethin’ from a guy who sold drugs and was tight with my dealer.”
“What did you steal?” I asked.
“That ain’t important,” he said, shifting nervously in his seat.
“Well, it must have been pretty damned important if he’s setting you up for someone’s murder.”
“It’s not just what I stole that’s the problem. It’s what happened after I stole it. See, the dude sees me steal it outta his ride, and starts chasin’ me. Must have chased me for three blocks. I’m jettin’ when all of a sudden I hear somebody holler and then this big thud. I look back and see the dude flyin’ through the air. The car that hit him just kept on goin’, didn’t even stop.”
“He’s dead?”
“Yeah. Now, his boy, Vaughn Castle, who I used to buy from, is out to get me ‘cause he blames me.”
“So why set you up? Why isn’t he trying to kill you?”
“Cause everyone knows he’s got a beef with me, and if I turn up dead they gonna be lookin’ at him. If he catches another case it’ll be his third strike. He’ll get sent away for life. Inez was his girl. Hell, I think he smoked her himself. Then he saw an opportunity to get back at me by settin’ me up.”
I didn’t know what shocked me more, what Timmy had just told me about his past, or finding out that Inez Rollins was dating a drug dealer. I hadn’t known Inez well. But I knew she was a talented beautician, hardworking and, according to Lynette, full of plans to open her own beauty shop. So, she must have been ambitious as well. She’d always been polite and friendly whenever I’d seen her out in public. And she was a minister’s daughter, for crying out loud. She just didn’t seem the type to get involved with a drug dealer. But what the hell do I know about the types of women who date drug dealers? Diddly squat, apparently. Suddenly, my boring little life didn’t seem so bad.
“How did he set you up? What evidence do the police have against you?”
“Somebody said they saw me runnin’ away from the crime scene. Ain’t nobody seen me runnin’ away from anywhere,” he said angrily.
“That’s it? That’s why the police are after you?” Timmy started shifting around in his seat again and I knew there was more to the story.
“Well, when they came to the crib today, I heard them talking to my mom. I was takin’ a nap, and when I figured out what was goin’ on, I snuck out my window. I called my mom and she said they found somethin’ in my car and towed it away—”
“Please don’t tell me you used my phone to call your mother,” I said, interrupting him. All I could imagine were the police tracing the call and showing up here, surrounding the house, and dragging Timmy and me off in handcuffs after tear-gassing us. I needed to stop watching so much TV.
“I ain’t that stupid, Kendra. Chill. I know they can trace that kinda shit. I used a pay phone. I don’t even have my cell. I lost it.”
“You said this happened in Detroit. What is this Vaughn guy doing here? Did he follow you?”
“Naw. He lives here. Runs drugs from here to Detroit. Man, I didn’t want to come back here, but with no job, a record, and no diploma, I had to go wherever my mom went. I didn’t have no place else to go.”
“So, now what? Are you going to the police?” It was a stupid question and I knew it. But hope springs eternal when you’re trying to remain uninvolved.
“Are you crazy?” he said, jumping up from the table so quickly his chair fell over with a bang.
“Calm down, Timmy It was just a question.” I was hoping my landlady, Mrs. Carson, hadn’t heard the loud noise and gotten scared. Ever since my brush with death four months ago, she’d been keeping a closer eye on me than usual.
“What about your mother? What does she think?”
“My mom knows I didn’t kill nobody,” he said, picking up the chair and slouching back down into it. “She told me to lay low until she could figure something out. She don’t want to see another son locked up.” Timmy was referring to his older brother, Dell, who was in prison for armed robbery. I knew Olivia Milton had to be freaking out right now.
“Will you help me? I didn’t do it, Kendra. I swear. You believe me, don’t you?” He looked so scared, and who could blame him?
I closed my eyes and pressed the cold can of Pepsi against my forehead, trying to relieve the throbbing headache that had suddenly crept up on me. Did I believe Timmy? I really didn’t want to because I knew what believing him would mean. The last thing I needed was to get involved in another murder investigation. But the problem was that I did believe Timmy and I knew that with his past drug history and criminal record the police were going to view him as guilty until proven innocent. The deck was stacked against him.
“Yes,” I said, opening my eyes, “I believe you. But there’s just one thing I need to know.” I looked him in the eye.
“What?” he replied warily.
“Are you using drugs again?”
“Hell naw!” he said, sitting up straight in the chair for the first time.
“Then I’ll do what I can.” Lord help me.
FIVE
I slept badly that night, which I figured was normal for someone with a fugitive from the law who snored like a freight train sleeping on her couch. Timmy and I had talked for hours about everything from how he got involved with drugs—an ex-girlfriend who died of an overdose—to his love jones for Shanda Kidd. I didn’t have the heart to tell him about the other man I’d seen Shanda wrapping herself around the day before. The mere mention of her name seemed to be the only thing that perked him up. Poor guy.
I got up early to get ready for work and tiptoed around quietly so I wouldn’t wake Timmy, who slept like he didn’t have a care in the world. Before I left, I set out a box of Cap’n Crunch with a note taped to it, warning him not to make too much noise or go anyplace, and for God’s sake, not to use my phone. Mrs. Carson may be in her seventies but she can hear a fly fart on the moon. I headed to Perkins to grab some breakfast and kill some time before going to work. While waiting for my blueberry pancakes, I noticed that the half-dozen other people in the restaurant were all engrossed in the newspaper. Even a couple of the servers were huddled together reading a copy. I grabbed an abandoned paper from a nearby empty table and nearly fainted when I saw Timmy Milton’s face scowling at me from the front page. It was his mug shot from when he’d been arrested for drug
possession a few years ago. He looked horrible. His eyes were bloodshot and vacant, his hair looked like an overgrown hedge, his face was gaunt, and his dry lips looked as flaky as a glazed doughnut. He looked like a complete stranger. No one who didn’t know him then would ever recognize him from this picture. Olivia had probably refused to provide an up-to-date photo. Good for her.
Next to Timmy’s photo was a picture of Inez Rollins. The story detailed how Timmy was wanted in connection to Inez’s brutal murder. The article alluded to evidence found in his car, as well as an anonymous witness who had supposedly seen Timmy running away from the crime scene. The police were hoping the witness would come forward and were even offering a five-thousand-dollar reward for any information leading to Timmy’s arrest. My mind immediately turned to all the things that five thousand dollars could help me buy, like a new car. All I had to do was make a phone call. I quickly pushed the thought out of my mind. I knew if I turned Timmy in, I would not only be betraying a trust but his mother would beat my ass. Like most people, I try to avoid ass-beatings at all costs. Besides, I knew Timmy didn’t kill anyone. Why would he have killed Inez? The article didn’t mention a motive for the murder. But with Timmy’s history, I guess a motive wasn’t necessary.
Glancing at Timmy’s picture in the paper reminded me of the conversation we’d had last night. Timmy felt that his arrest for drug possession had saved his life. Since he was underage and had never been in trouble before, he’d gotten off with probation, was released into the custody of his mother, and was ordered into rehab, where he was able to finally kick his habit. He was doing everything in his power to regain his mother’s trust, which had been shattered by his drug addiction and all that it had brought with it. Timmy’s lying, stealing, and disappearing for days on end had damaged his relationship with his mother. But Olivia’s faith in her son’s innocence showed that it hadn’t been damaged beyond repair.
I wolfed down my pancakes and headed off to work with all the enthusiasm of a socialite forced to wear Payless shoes. I had been successfully staying out of Noreen’s way but I knew by the dirty looks she was always giving me that we were headed for a blowup. It also burned me to know that any confrontation would probably just end up making me look bad. Noreen’s sweet-little-old-lady appearance had a way of making her look like she was incapable of doing anything other than baking cookies and reading stories to kids. Mama had suggested that I deal with her by killing her with kindness. I just wanted to kill her.
When I arrived at the center, there was a note taped to the classroom door that said Noreen would be out that day for doctor’s appointments. I was so happy I did the Snoopy dance, making some kids heading to the gym for the morning latchkey program laugh like little lunatics. I didn’t care. I was going to have a Noreen-free day.
Not having Noreen breathing down my neck gave me an opportunity to think about Timmy’s predicament and what in the world I was supposed to do to help him. Everyone seemed a little preoccupied this morning, especially Shanda. We could barely get the students to do any work. All they wanted to do was talk about Timmy and the murder. When Shanda left the classroom to go to the restroom, I decided to find out just how worried she might be about her non-boyfriend and if she might know something that could help him. When I walked into the small, two-stalled restroom Shanda was splashing water on her face. I could see that she’d been crying.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I said, putting an arm around her.
“Timmy didn’t kill anybody—” Shanda jerked away from me, giving me a look so hateful it took my breath away.
“You think I’m worried about Timmy’s ass?”
“Well, I thought—” I began, not knowing what I was going to say.
“Did you know that Inez was my cousin?” she asked, shocking me.
“Shanda, I had no idea. Why didn’t you say something?” I couldn’t believe that Inez was murdered a week ago and Shanda never said one word about being related to her. Why?
“Our fathers are half brothers, they have the same mother. We’ve never really been close. She was older and my mother thought she was too wild for me to hang around with. Then after her mom, my aunt Jeanne, died, and her father, my uncle Morris, remarried, she stopped coming to church and wouldn’t have anything to do with the family anymore.”
“Didn’t she like her stepmother?” I asked.
Shanda smirked. It was a nasty little look that was gone quickly enough but left me feeling like there was an unpleasant side to her that I’d yet to fully see. “Oh, it’s just a bunch of family drama, Kendra. I won’t bore you with it.” In other words, it was none of my business.
“Was there anything weird going on in Inez’s life?” Even if they weren’t close, Shanda may still know what was going on in Inez’s life, especially if it was something scandalous.
“I hadn’t talked to Inez in a long time. I don’t know what was going on with her. But a couple of weeks ago I did overhear my parents talking about how Uncle Morris offered to give Inez some money so she could buy her own shop. She told him to go to hell. If I ever talked to my daddy like that, he’d wash my mouth out with soap,” she said, flipping a braid over her shoulder.
“You don’t really think Timmy killed Inez, do you?”
“I don’t know Timmy very well. I don’t know what he’s capable of. If the police are looking for him, then they must have a good reason.”
“What reason would he have to kill her?”
“Who knows? Maybe that stuff he used to smoke damaged his brain,” she said angrily as she walked out the door.
I hoped like hell Timmy didn’t ask me anything about Shanda when I got home that evening. I didn’t want to be the one to tell him his dream girl thought he was a deranged murderer.
By seven o’clock that evening I felt like I’d been put through the wringer. Estelle’s was hopping and after three hours of continuously seating people, my feet were throbbing. Not that I was complaining much. Being busy kept me from thinking about anyone else’s problems. The rest of my day at the literacy center hadn’t yielded anything that could help Timmy. Shanda was in a funky mood for the rest of the morning and wouldn’t answer any of my questions, no matter how inconsequential I tried to make them sound. A quick trip home to change clothes for my shift at the restaurant revealed a depressed Timmy who was so bored and restless that he’d cleaned my entire apartment, including my fridge. As much as I’d love to have a full-time cleaner, I had to help the kid before he went stir-crazy and did something stupid.
When business slowed down, I took my break and headed back towards Alex’s office. Before I could knock, I heard muffled sobs from behind the closed door. Giving in to my undeniable nosiness, I opened the door a crack and peeked in. Alex was leaned back against his desk supporting a weeping Olivia Milton. Olivia’s face was pressed against Alex’s chest, in a way that was sure to leave an imprint of her face on his white shirt, and her arms were wrapped around him so tight, I expected him to be blue in the face. But he wasn’t. Alex’s eyes were half closed and his face was partially buried in Olivia’s cloud of curly hair. He looked aroused. Which embarrassed me in much the same way as it did when I once walked in on my parents doing the nasty. Can you say therapy?
Alex and Olivia had been high school sweethearts. When Alex did a stint in the army right after high school, his best friend, Jesse Milton, made his move. By the time Alex came home on his first leave, Jesse and Olivia were married and she was pregnant. Alex was heartbroken and didn’t speak to either of them for years. Eventually, time and a new love, Gwen, healed his wounds and he became friendly with the Miltons again. I always wondered what would happen if Olivia decided she wanted Alex back. Looking like a fragile, paler version of Pam Grier, I imagine Olivia could probably get whoever she wanted. I just hoped she didn’t want Alex because Gwen would beat her down.
I quickly and quietly closed the door and waited a few minutes before knocking loudly and walking in. They were standing apart now and Olivia was wi
ping her eyes. I walked over and gave her a hug, which she returned.
“How are you?” I asked. I had decided not to tell her Timmy was hiding in my apartment. That way she wouldn’t be telling the police a lie when she told them she didn’t know where he was, or lead them to him by calling or coming over. I just hoped I could keep my mouth shut. Crying mothers really got to me.
“I’m hanging in there, Kendra. I’m just praying that they’ll catch whoever really killed that girl soon, so they’ll leave my baby alone.” Alex and I exchanged glances. Neither one of us wanted to be the one to point out to her that the police weren’t going to be looking for anyone else since they were sure Timmy killed Inez.
“Do you know where he is, Livvy?” asked Alex, massaging her shoulders.
“No, I haven’t heard from him since he called me yesterday. I told him to stay wherever he is until I can find a good lawyer. The police showed up again this morning with a warrant for his arrest. They said they found a tissue with that girl’s blood on it in Timmy’s car. But that can’t be true ‘cause I know in my heart he didn’t do it. I just hope wherever he is, he’s okay.”
She looked like she was about to cry again and the urge to tell her where he was gnawed at me. So I quickly asked, “Did they say if they have a time of death? Timmy must have an alibi, right?” Somehow, I’d neglected to ask Timmy this myself.
“They didn’t say. But they did ask me where he was between nine and midnight the night that girl was killed. He was at home.”
“You sure, Livvy? Weren’t you at work?” asked Alex.
“Are you asking me if I’m sure he was at home between nine and midnight? No. I’m not 100 percent sure. But, when I got home the next morning he was on the couch asleep and the TV was still on. He knows I worry so he always lets me know if he’s going out. He didn’t say anything about going out that night. He doesn’t have any friends here.” Olivia blew her nose.