“How did you know?” she said in her small, tight voice.
I edged toward the pedestal near the chair, close to the urn with her husband's ashes. The light from the fire, rather than the sun's rays, drew my attention to the golden lid this time.
“You know something, Rebecca? There were half a dozen women your husband could have caught it from. Hell, he even made a drunken pass at me, at a party a couple years ago. I knew he was a tramp, your late great Honorable Clayton Donovan, so I turned him down. He was one of the biggest cock hounds in the city. You talk about Celia being a whore. He was nothing but a whore, and he betrayed you every time he left your side.”
“No!” she said, and for a moment I thought I'd gone too far because she raised the gun slightly, narrowing her eyes. My heart jumped, and I cursed myself for pushing her.
And then the phone rang.
Once. Twice. Three times. We stood transfixed, both of us. She turned to look at it, wondering who would know to call at that moment, who could have broken the spell between us, and that was when I made my move, turning fast in one quick motion, grabbing the urn from the pedestal, hurling it to the floor with all my might. The sound it made when it hit was as loud as her scream as she swooped down to gather what lay at her feet.
“Clayton!” It was a wounded moan like an animal makes when it's been shot. She fell down in the mix of broken china and her husband's ashes, dropping the gun to her side, and I went for it fast, nearly tripping over the man's remains as I dove for it.
“No!” she screamed as she grabbed for the gun, and we fell on the floor together, my head banging hard against the edge of the dead man's chair. She got the gun, grabbing it from my hand, and I pounced on her, surprised by the smooth silk against my arm. I pulled back my fist and whammed it hard into her jaw, and she moaned, dropping the gun again. I scrambled to get it, grabbed it, and struggled to my feet.
“He's gone,” she whispered, with a look on her face I knew I would never forget.
“He's been gone.”
“You took the last I had of him.”
“Your choice, lady, not mine.”
She stood up, and began to walk toward me. My heart jumped.
“Shoot me!” she said. “Please shoot me. I have nothing else to live for. Nothing else. Shoot me.”
“Stop!” I stepped backward.
“Shoot me, damn you! I don't want to live anymore. Shoot me or I'll take that gun and shoot you and then myself. But I'll kill you first.”
“Step back,” I said.
She kept coming, her husband's ashes clinging like dust to her fancy black robe.
“Stop! Don't come any closer!” I didn't think I could shoot an unarmed woman; there was no way I could do it.
“Shoot me! Please, please shoot me!”
She was close enough now to get the gun. I took another step back, and she tried to grab it, her tiny hands grabbing and scratching my wrist.
And I thought about Celia lying there on that floor, her body filled with bullets, and Annette sipping that last drink with her trusted old friend. I thought about Jamal's laughter as we drove fast down the Parkway, about how much I loved him and how we were all each other had, and I knew at that moment that I'd be damned before I'd let this crazy woman make a motherless child out of my boy.
So I did what she asked.
EPILOGUE
When all was said and done—after the cops had gone, Rebecca's story told, and I was at home with my son—Jake dropped by to make sure I was all right.
“I really feel bad about the last time I saw you,” he said, as I poured the champagne he'd brought to celebrate my solving the case.
“You mean last week with what's her name?” I asked, and he smiled without comment. We laughed easily then, like we always did, and I wondered, not for the first time, if I should share my true feelings.
But something had changed between us, and I didn't know if we could get it back. I didn't want Jake to leave my life, but if he did there was no way to stop him. I could only hope he'd return. If you hold too tightly to your past, you'll destroy your future. That was one good lesson I learned from Rebecca Donovan.
Larry Walton called after Jake left. He'd heard about what happened, and realized his call to Rebecca that day may have saved my life. I thanked him for it, and when he asked me out, I said I'd go. Who knew what could come of it? A good meal, perhaps, and friendship if we were lucky.
I put Celia's locket in the place where I keep my precious things: Johnny's cuff links, Jamal's first gift, the paper dolls my grandma cut from newspaper.
“Catch you later, girl,” I whispered as I closed the drawer.
And I slept well that night, like a baby in her papa's arms. My son was safe, I had two good men who cared, a new car that was running fine, and I'd caught the person who murdered my “used-to-be-best-friend.” At least for now, all was right with the world.
DYING in the DARK
A CONVERSATION WITH
VALERIE WILSON WESLEY
A CONVERSATION WITH VALERIE WILSON WESLEY
Q: Why did you create Tamara Hayle?
A: I wanted to create a detective—African American, female, single mom—who had not been seen in crime fiction. Increasingly, many women are raising children by themselves. As the mother of two daughters, I know how tough it is to raise a child, and it's especially difficult when you're doing it by yourself. I have great admiration for single moms. I wanted to give them their “props,” as the kids put it.
Q: Why did you choose Newark as a setting?
A: I love New Jersey, and I live near Newark, so it's easy to research settings and locations. My husband grew up in Newark and has a keen sense of the city's history, so I can write about it with a certain authenticity. Newark is a city of immigrants, like Chicago, New York, and Liverpool in the UK. But it has its own particular character. It is constantly reinventing itself which makes for interesting stories.
Q: Why after four years, did you write a new Tamara Hayle Mystery?
A: It was time! This is also the ten-year anniversary of the series. When Death Comes Stealing, my first mystery was published in 1994. I was getting quite a bit of e-mail from readers asking when the next installment, #7, was coming. Writing Dying in the Dark was like visiting an old friend who I haven't seen in a long time. Tamara is a bit older in this mystery, a bit sadder, and quite a bit wiser. She's accepting the reality that her son will soon be going off to college, and that she will be living alone. The proverbial “empty nest” is looming large. I think that readers will enjoy revisiting Tamara Hayle as much as I did.
Q: What do you want readers to take from your books?
A: Mysteries are basically morality plays in which good ultimately triumphs over evil. That's why so many readers love mysteries. They can count on the bad guys, or girls, getting what they deserve. Mysteries also offer readers an opportunity to see the world from someone else's perspective, to walk in another person's shoes. I hope that readers leave my books with a deeper sense of the issues that confront many African American communities: the impact of poverty, crime, and despair. My books are sold in Europe, and I occasionally get e-mails from Europeans, who are fascinated with certain aspects of life in Black America of which they weren't aware, such as the importance of skin color, social class, and family. But, of course, my main goal is for my readers to enjoy the books because they're good reads—exciting, interesting, and entertaining.
Q: Where do you get your ideas and your great titles?
A: I get ideas from everywhere. I'll be walking down the street and an idea will suddenly come to me. Writing is very magical. I get my titles from poems, spirituals, jazz songs, or old sayings. Dying in the Dark is a line from a poem by Langston Hughes. My titles offer me a chance to share my love of poetry, my memories, and a sense of spirituality with my readers. What more could a writer ask!
Q: Are you Tamara Hayle?
A: I wish I were as tough as she is, but I'd turn tail and run i
f one of the meanies she confronts ever turned up in my life. I've never been a police officer, never owned a gun, and certainly never shot anybody. But I do love Blue Mountain coffee, Sleepytime tea and barbecued ribs. Don't ask about Basil Dupre.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
VALERIE WILSON WESLEY has authored seven Tamara Hayle mysteries and the novels Playing My Mother's Blues, Always True to You in My Fashion and Ain't Nobody's Business If I Do, for which she received the 2000 award for excellence in adult fiction from the Black Caucus of the American Library Association (BCALA). Many of her novels have been Blackboard bestsellers and When Death Comes Stealing was nominated for a Shamus Award.
Ms. Wesley is also the author of several children's books. She is formerly the executive editor of Essence magazine. Ms. Wesley's fiction and nonfiction for both adults and children have appeared in many publications, including Essence, Family Circle, TV Guide, Ms., Creative Classroom, and Weltwoche, a Swiss weekly newspaper. She is also a 1993 recipient of the Griot Award from the New York chapter of the National Association of Black Journalists. Ms. Wesley is a graduate of Howard University and has master's degrees from both the Banks Street College of Education and the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism. She is married to noted screenwriter and playwright Richard Wesley and is the mother of two grown daughters.
Dying in the Dark is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents are the products of
the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2004 by Valerie Wilson Wesley
Reading group guide copyright © 2005 by Random House, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by One World Books, an imprint
of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of
Random House, Inc., New York.
ONE World is a registered trademark and the One World
colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wesley, Valerie Wilson.
Dying in the dark: a Tamara Hayle mystery /
by Valerie Wilson Wesley,
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-307-52227-6
1. Hayle, Tamara (Fictitious character)—Fiction.
2. Women private investigators—New Jersey—
Newark—Fiction. 3. African American women—
Fiction. 4. Female friendship—Fiction. 5. Mothers
and sons—Fiction. 6. Newark (N.J.)—Fiction.
I. Title.
PS3573.E8148D95 2004
813’. 54—dc22 200405008 9
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