Best Enemies (A Triple Trouble Mystery)

by Lynn Emery

  “Where’s your ring?” Willa blurted out then pressed her lips closed. He’d taken her by surprise with that one.

  “Divorced three years now. Two sons.”

  “Didn’t mean to get in your personal life.” Willa suppressed a sigh of relief, and then wondered at her reaction.

  “Not a problem. Besides, I know quite a lot about your personal life. Only fair I think.” Cedric smiled at her and Willa smiled back.

  “I don’t know about you, but Jack’s family tolerated me at first. Then we had a few run-ins and well.” Willa let out a sigh at the memory of tense holiday dinners with the Crown family.

  “I got along with the family a whole lot better than I did with my ex-wife,” Cedric quipped. “Anyway, I’ll keep looking to find out more.”

  “Sure would help if we could find this mystery file MiMi keeps talking about. You don’t have any ideas where Jack might have hidden it? No wall safe or hidden door leading to a secret room?” Willa swung her chair around looking as she spoke.

  “That would be great but, no.” Cedric shook his head and wore an amused expression.

  “Been watching too many suspense movies, I guess. Okay, then we keep looking.”

  “Right.” Cedric tapped closed the file but did not stand. “Have you done any thinking long-term? About the business I mean.”

  “I’ve been just trying to keep my nose above water at least with everything going on at once. But sounds like Jack and you had good ideas about where to take Crown Protection.”

  “Thanks. When you’re ready we can talk about future directions once the estate is settled. Remember, I am interested in buying the business. Of course if you’re not ready for that we can discuss other options,” Cedric added with a crisp nod.

  “Other options,” Willa echoed. She gazed at him steadily.

  “Sure. I’m willing to run the business for a period of time, with you as a partner of course. That way you can preserve your interest in the business while I grow it. I’ll increase the value of Crown Protection. ” Cedric looked at Willa with a kindly expression. “Being a parent I know you’re thinking of the future of your kids.”

  “Right. Well you’ve given me food for thought,” Willa said, her throat tight with restrained anger. The cinnamon rolls and coffee were a ploy to soften her up for this pitch?

  “I have a proposal if that will help. I know how much is on your plate now. I outlined the options so you can weigh which one is best for you. No rush.” Cedric stood. “Be right back.”

  “You’ve already got it all written up?” Willa blinked at him hard.

  “Rough, real rough draft. I’ll e-mail it to you. Oh, and get on this Strafford thing while I’m at it. Need anything else before I go?” Cedric seemed energized, eager to get the ball rolling on his future.

  “No thanks,” Willa replied mechanically.

  “Talk to you later then. Bye.” Cedric strode out, and had the nerve to whistle as he left.

  “Yeah, bye.”

  Willa stared at the closed door and listened to the quiet ticking of the fancy clock on her wall. Her paranoid evil twin spoke up. That other Willa had been born out of necessity when she was a kid. She’d survived more times than she could count because of her “twin.” First a crack crazy mother, the predator men that came in and out of their lives, four foster families and more. Willa had finally suppressed that constantly angry, suspicious part of herself after two years with Mama Ruby and Elton. But every now and then that twin popped up to help her out of a dicey situation. What if Cedric was lying about the Strafford file and knew more than he was telling? She hit a key on the computer to stop the abstract screen saver from twirling around. Time to do some of her own research.

  ***

  By seven-thirty that night Willa had finished a days work. After Aunt Beryl and Mama Ruby both assured her the kids were fine with them, Willa decided to visit her sister. Jazz lived in a section of the city that used to be nice. After a series of changes in the neighborhood, the area around North Blackwood Boulevard had become wild. Instead of hardworking blue-collar families, the enclaves of apartment buildings and duplexes now housed way too many who had no jobs and too much time on their hands. How they filled up the hours was the problem.

  Willa punched in Jazz’s phone number and spoke into the intercom. The electric gate rattled opened thirty seconds later. She pulled into one of the two parking spaces in front of Jazz’s townhouse. The Tudor styled two-story homes looked neat and quiet. The residents paid a price to keep it that way. Willa resisted the urge to wave at one of several security cameras installed strategically under the eaves of the buildings. When she got out of the car, a tall woman was walking a pair of fox terriers with matching lilac ribbons around their necks. Frankie wore her auburn weave pulled back into a long ponytail. Her white T-shirt had the words “Total Woman” in fluorescent pink across the chest. Dark blue Capri leggings hugged her muscular legs.

  “Hey, Frankie. How’s tricks?” Willa waved to the statuesque transsexual.

  “Girl, please,” Frankie shot back. “If tricks was any good I’d quit that stupid day job I got. How you doin’, baby?” She gave Willa a brief sisterhood hug.

  “I’m doin’,” Willa replied with a shrug. “I refuse to complain.”

  “Amen. No room on the pity pot around here. You just keep hangin’ in there, sweetie. Have they caught the no good little thug what killed Jack?” Frankie pulled on the leashes to keep Paris and Milan in line.

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, I’m keepin’ my ears open. If I hear anything at the club I’ll give you a call.” Frankie co-owned a dance club called Juke Joint across town.

  “Thanks, Frankie. I appreciate it. How’s Howard doing these days?” Willa looped arms with Frankie as they both walked in the direction of Jazz’s front door.

  “Stubborn and asshat crazy as always. Love me some Howard though.” Frankie laughed and shook her head. They had been together for fifteen years, ever since Frankie had the operation to become a woman. “Girl, let me get back home before he comes looking for me. He’s got some stupid idea that this guy in building twelve wanna get with me. I’m like, ‘Howard, please. That man is gay. I’m a girl now. Okay?’”

  Willa burst out laughing. “He thinks a gay guy wants you?”

  “Nah, that man ain’t gay. I just told Howard that to finally shut him up. Brother is fine, too.” Frankie fanned her face to indicate the man in question was hot.

  “You better behave. Don’t mess up a happy home for a little excitement,” Willa warned, shaking a finger at her.

  “Girl, you right. But Howard better quit talkin’ before he gives me ideas. See you later. Look, there he is now.” Frankie waved at her significant other. “Tell Jazz I’m gonna call her later.”

  “Hey, Howard,” Willa called out and waved at him.

  “Afternoon. Hope you takin’ good care of yourself,” Howard called back.

  “Doing my best.” Willa smiled at him.

  She watched Frankie and Howard meet each other halfway then walk toward their home. She went up the short walkway to Jazz’s door and rang the doorbell. A hip-hop rhythm bonged through the walls. Seconds later Jazz opened the front door and waved her in. Jazz tapped the wireless headset she wore to indicate she was on the phone. She wore a flowing caftan with a revealing slit up the front. The rainbow colors of the fabric matched her painted toenails and fingernails. Rhinestones glued to each nail completed the look. Yet somehow the style did not look overdone on Jazz. Her long flowing hair, a weave, was piled high on her head.

  “Yeah, Lorraine, I heard you. You need to just fire her ass, all right? Nah, I don’t wanna hear that sh—” Jazz glanced at Willa then gestured with one hand. “Get yourself something to drink and eat. You know where everything is. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  “Sure.”

  Willa walked through the spacious living room to Jazz’s kitchen. She wanted to hear the rest of that conversation with Jazz’s bo
ss at Candy Girls, but her half-sister went upstairs with the phone. After getting a plastic bottle of iced tea Willa leaned against the counter top and looked around. Dirty dishes sat stacked in both sides of a double sink. Several cups with cold coffee were scattered around and corn flakes littered another portion of the counter.

  “Geez, the maid has the year off,” Willa muttered.

  She went back to the living room. Willa grunted at the contrast. This room was fairly tidy, if you didn’t count the sequined thongs and skimpy halters scattered on the sofa. To be safe Willa selected to sit on the matching small sofa. A hard object poked her in the ribs. Moving away from the source of her discomfort, Willa glanced down at something round and shiny. She pulled out a set off handcuffs. Willa used the tips of her fingers to pick them up. She dropped them into a wicker basket next to the sofa. The rest of the room was stuffed with an odd assortment of bric-a-brac, including a dozen collectible dolls. Mardi Gras masks decorated one wall. A portrait of Jazz in one of her costumes hung over the fireplace.

  “Aunt Ametrine would have a stroke if she saw this place,” Willa whispered. Then she giggled as she thought up schemes to make that happen.

  Jazz came back at that moment. She gathered up the lingerie into a ball and tossed them onto another chair then flopped onto the sofa. She propped her long brown legs on the sofa cushion next to her. “So what up?”

  “Everything, including the rent,” Willa quipped.

  “I heard that,” Jazz retorted. She reached down and came up with a glass of wine that had been on the floor. “Sorry about all the crap that went down for you and the kids. Life’s a B.”

  “Yeah.” Willa took a swig of tea from the bottle in her hand.

  “So what brings you to Sodom and Gomorrah, pray tell?” Jazz swept a hand out.

  “Don’t start. Besides, that would be Candy Girls,” Willa said. The club where Jazz performed her “erotic interpretive dances” was supposedly an upscale gentlemen’s club.

  “Now who’s starting something?” Jazz threw back at her. “Every year you sound more and more like Ametrine.”

  “That’s going too damn far,” Willa tossed a small round fringed pillow at Jazz’s head.

  Jazz laughed as she batted it aside. “Uh-huh. So tell me the truth. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

  “Can’t I visit my baby sister just because?”

  Willa shrugged leaned back against another larger pillow at her back. She frowned then pushed it aside. The room was crowded with things, like the rest of the townhouse. Jazz seemed intent on making up for not having her own possessions as a child. The result was any place she’d ever lived was crammed with an odd assortment of stuff. Although the dolls gave Willa the creeps, she knew what they represented to Jazz.

  Her sister snorted and emptied the wine glass. She went to a small bar in one corner of the room and poured more wine into it. “Yeah, right.”

  “Look, this thing with Jack—”

  “Him being dead you mean,” Jazz broke in sharply. Never one to dodge the real deal, Willa’s retreat from facing harsh truths grated on Jazz. When Willa flinched, Jazz stopped before drinking more wine. “Hell, I shouldn’t have said that. Just habit.”

  That was the closest Jazz had ever come to apologizing, to anyone. Willa nodded and looked down at the strange orange carpet. “Anyway, you never know. We should be closer. And I got stuff coming at me so fast I don’t know who to trust.”

  “Ruby, Ametrine and Beryl. They always did care about you,” Jazz replied. She perched on one of three leather bar stools.

  “And they care about you, too.” Willa looked at her.

  “Uh-huh.” Jazz’s expression implied she did not want to have that old argument again.

  Willa did not want to go there either. Jazz had bounced from home to home while Willa had been adopted. Though Mama Ruby had tried to help her, Jazz had proved too much of a challenge. “I’m just saying you and I should do stuff together.”

  Jazz sighed and put the glass on the bar. “Yeah, okay.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. That’s fine. We’ll do lunch or something ever so often. Feel better?” Jazz took a large clip out of her hair. The weave cascaded down.

  “I mean it, Jazz.”

  “I said fine.” Jazz flipped thick waves over one shoulder. “Lunch, diner, a movie. Whatever.”

  “Okay, great,” Willa pressed on forcing cheer into her tone. She wanted to say more, to hug Jazz and talk about their past. A big lump of fear anchored Willa to the sofa cushion. Maybe one day.

  “And I’m worried about Anthony. You know, he’s hanging out with these kids from the hood, getting into trouble. Nothing serious yet,” she added quickly when Jazz opened her mouth to ask. “I’m just saying. You know how fast nothing serious becomes a whole lot of something real bad.”

  Now she had Jazz’s attention. Anthony and Jazz had always had a special bond. When Jazz had learned her seventeen-year-old sister was pregnant she’d been one happy eleven-year-old kid. Once Anthony was born his tiny feet hardly touched the floor or ground for Jazz carrying him on her hip. She’d decided to be a very hands on aunt.

  “He’s awright. Just don’t ride his back about it. Ain’t nothin’ pushes a kid to the street faster than that.” Jazz spoke with the voice of experience. “I mean a few scraps at school ain’t too bad, and—”

  “How do you know?” Willa cut in.

  “Girl, please. You know I specialized in trouble on the few days I showed up at school.” Jazz waved a hand.

  “No, I mean how did you know he’d been in trouble at school? I didn’t mention exactly what he’d been up to.” Willa squinted at her.

  “Well, uh. What else could it be? I mean that’s common with kids these days.” Jazz looked around at the array of bottles on a shelf behind the bar. “Want some of this wine? It’s an expensive red something or other. This guy gave it to me.”

  “I don’t want any wine. Jazz, has Anthony been talking to you?”

  “No, well maybe he mentioned something about it. That principal is a tight-butt. Mrs. What’s-her-face. She’s a combination of your mother and your Aunt Ametrine.”

  Willa ignored the dig at her adoptive family. “Jazz, the police think Anthony knows something about Jack’s murder. They asked for his alibi.”

  Jazz went very still. “So? He was at home or with a friend.”

  “He lied about where he was. Did Anthony talk to you about this?” Willa leaned forward.

  “I don’t wanna get in the middle of this. Besides, you always freak out. I mean, good God almighty. You wanna wrap those kids up in some freakin’ antiseptic black bourgie fantasy life,” Jazz blurted out in a rush then took a deep breath and let it out.

  “Oh. I see.” Willa put the bottle of tea down hard on the glass coffee table in front of her. “So you’re in a damn position to critique my child-rearing methods now?”

  “I’m just sayin’ you need to loosen up and let Anthony breathe. He feels like you’ve got all these rules and standards that you keep revising every minute.”

  “It’s called life, Jazz. I don’t want my child to become another paragraph in the newspapers crime reports. Young black male arrested or sixteen-year-old found shot to death. He’s so angry, so bitter and it’s too soon for him to feel that way. I want him to feel like he’s got a future to look forward to.” Willa’s voice got louder as she spoke.

  “He’s a typical kid, and just like a lot of typical kids he’s gonna buck authority, girl. If you push his back against the wall he’s just gonna keep pushin’ back. I oughta know.” Jazz fished a pack of small cigars from a pocket of her caftan, took one out and lit it with a lighter shaped like a naked couple. She sucked in deeply then let out a stream of smoke.

  “So what? Just let him do whatever? Oh hell no. I’m fighting to keep him from having a negative label stuck on his back.” Willa shook her head. “No, I won’t let it happen.”

  “Jack always said yo
u were too jumpy when it came to Anthony. Willa, your kid isn’t like our brothers. Okay? He’s not like our father either. You trippin’.

  Both women stopped talking at the mention of their two biological brothers and father, all in prison. Willa pressed a shaky hand to her forehead. Jazz jumped off the bar stool and paced for a few minutes. They avoided looking at each other. Willa sucked in a few ragged breaths. This conversation reminded her too much of her childhood. The thought of Anthony being in any juvenile system would keep her awake another night.

  “I’m just so scared, Jazz. Detective Miller is asking about Anthony. And Anthony is being stubborn. He won’t tell me where he was that night and— ”

  “And nothin’, girl. Anthony probably wasn’t doin’ anything more than chasin’ after some teenage booty..” Jazz took another puff from the slender brown cigar. She sat down again and grinned. “You could be a grandmother as we speak.”

  “Damn, I’m serious,” Willa spat back. “This is a murder investigation and Miller is asking about my child!”

  Jazz stopped grinning and waved the hand holding the cigar around in the air. “Hell, take it easy, all right? Look, I’ve got more experience with this than you.”

  “Umph,” was Willa’s only response.

  Jazz had been arrested a few times for public indecency, shoplifting and possession of marijuana. No felonies, but her boyfriends had been another matter. The last two were gangsters, both suspected of drive-by shootings. Willa worried that Anthony was identifying with his young aunt in the worst way, seeing her lifestyle as exciting or cool.

  “If Miller was truly building some kinda case on Anthony they’d at least drag his long tall butt down to the police station for questioning. He’s a minor so Miller’s got to be careful. They don’t have any evidence, but he’s fishing. Miller is hoping to push the right buttons and flush out some details. Just tell Anthony to keep his mouth shut, don’t talk to no cop unless you’re with him and things will be fine.”

  Willa took a turn pacing the space in front of the long sofa. “I guess you’re right.”