by Angela Henry
“None taken.” I couldn’t help but grin at him because, seriously, I wouldn’t tell me, either, if I were him. “I’m guessing you also wouldn’t tell me if Dibb’s place was broken into by whoever’s looking for the ledger?”
“No, but only because Dibb didn’t have a place as such. He had a bed at a crowded halfway house for ex-offenders over on Stanley Street and pretty much all he owned was a car and the clothes on his back.”
“Where was his car found?”
“Parked in front of the halfway house, why?”
“No reason,” I said. How had Dibb gotten to the place he’d been murdered if he didn’t have his car? Who’d walk in 20 degree weather if they had a working car.
“Why don’t we tackle some of this mess and then turn in? I’m pretty beat and six o’clock comes mighty early,” said Mason. He got up and started clearing the table.
He didn’t get any argument from me, even though I got the distinct feeling that he was using sleep as an excuse so he wouldn’t have to talk to me anymore.
Mason was gone when I got up. But he’d left a note sitting on top of the neatly folded blanket and pillow he’d used when he’d slept on the couch, letting me know two things: One, a squad car would be stationed outside my house until I got someone over to fix the window in the back door, and two, Spiro’s pizza tasted even better cold. But cold food was the last thing on my mind, as the house was freezing. Despite Mason duct taping cardboard over the window in the back door, cold air had managed to get in. I shivered as I made myself some hot chocolate and heated up the last few pieces of pizza in the toaster oven. Twenty minutes later, I’d just stepped out of a hot shower when the phone rang. It was Mama and I was practically in tears as I explained what happened.
“Kendra, I could care less about that couch and those angels. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m just pissed off and I feel bad that it happened.” That was the understatement of the century.
“Well, Leonard’s been after me to sell the place anyway. It’s too much house for us, and the neighborhood just ain’t what it used to be. I’ve been praying for a sign that it was time to move on and this is it.”
“You’re selling the house?” I’d just assumed Leonard would sell his house and move in with Mama. But I guess I could see why my step-grandfather wouldn’t want to live in another man’s house. But the thought of someone else living in a home that had been in my family for decades brought fresh tears to my eyes.
“Why? You interested?” The question shocked me. Would I as a single woman with no kids want to live in a big old house like this all by myself? “You can’t rent forever, Kendra.” She pointed out when I didn’t reply after a minute.
“Maybe,” I said. “I mean I don’t know, Mama. I might be.” What was I saying? I had no savings and two part-time jobs. Could I even afford a house? Actually, I could, if I got Dorothy’s job.
“Well, you be thinking about it and we’ll talk when I get home.” I was so lost in thought I didn’t realize she’d hung up until the dial tone started beeping in my ear.
A break-in was a more than adequate excuse to call off from work. I was happy Rhonda didn’t give me any grief when I called. She even offered to come over and help me clean up after work, but I declined. Cleaning up the mess allowed me to think. And by the time the man came to repair the window at 11, I’d nearly finished. After he left, I headed to the courthouse downtown to see Sharon Newcastle. I had to tell her about what I’d found out about the rumor that Brenda had been a prostitute and could have had another lover.
When I got to her tiny office on the sixth floor, her door was open, but the only person inside was a tall, handsome man about my age leaning over her desk while writing a note. I gave the door a tentative knock and the man abruptly straightened up, revealing his height to be at least 6’6”. He was slender and dark-skinned with close-cropped hair and a goatee, neatly dressed in brown slacks, a green argyle sweater vest, a yellow shirt, and a brown tweed bow tie. Not many men could pull off this geek chic look, but he was doing it effortlessly.
“Sorry,” I said, taking a step inside the office and looking around in case Sharon was actually in there and I hadn’t seen her. It was barely bigger than a closet with only room enough for a desk, two chairs and a filing cabinet. “I was looking for Sharon?”
“Yeah, me, too. She must be in court; I’m not sure when she’ll be back. Did you have an appointment?”
“No. I was just hoping to catch her. I should have called first.”
“Well, I was just leaving her a note if you’d like to do the same.” He tore off the note he’d been writing and handed me the notepad.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Have a nice day.” He flashed me a dazzling smile and headed out the door.
I grabbed a pen from the cup on the desk and jotted a quick note for her to call me, then left pulling the office door shut behind me. I heard a soft click indicating it had locked and wondered vaguely how the tall guy had gotten in. Maybe he worked here. I looked down the hall and saw him waiting for the elevator and when the doors slid open, he tossed a wad of paper into the trashcan next to the elevator. It must have been the note he’d been writing Sharon because I never saw him leave it.
I can only blame my extreme nosiness, because there was no other excuse for picking through the trash. But I did. After taking a prolonged sip of water until the elevator doors shut, I went over and fished the note from the trash and read it. It said: I love you. I miss you. I’m sorry. Alex. So that had been Alex, Sharon’s ex? This was hardly a note a man who’d moved on would leave his ex-fiancée. I toyed with the idea of shoving it under her office door. Instead, I wadded the note back up and tossed it back into the trash. It was none of my business. But I found myself hoping they could work things out.
Nine
“The ledger’s gone? What the hell you mean the ledger’s gone, Kelly?” Lewis said in low voice simmering with outrage.
For obvious reasons he didn’t want the nearby guard to overhear him. Only his eyes—that were ready to pop out of their sockets—revealed how truly pissed he was. Today he was bald. The side of his head was bandaged. He also had a split lip. That and the dark circles under his eyes told me Lewis wasn’t having a lot of fun these days. Something very close to sympathy welled up in me, and I had to fight hard not to give into it.
“I’m not speaking Swahili, Lewis. Gone means gone. I had it locked in my desk drawer at work and someone broke into my classroom and took it.” I didn’t bother telling him I’d made a copy since that would entail admitting Detective Blake Mason had relieved me of it. He might have a stroke.
“You had it in some damned desk drawer where anybody coulda had access to it?”
“Didn’t I just tell you it was in a locked drawer?” I emphasized the word locked.
“And we see how well that worked out. Damn, girl! I thought you was smarter than that.”
“Apparently, I’m not smart enough not to have gotten mixed up with the likes of you. But here I am, the only idiot trying to help your sorry ass. And by the way, why didn’t you let your good buddy Joyce Kirkland hire you a lawyer? I know she offered so quit pretending you’re stuck with Sharon Newcastle.”
“You talked to Joyce?” The mere mention of her name calmed Lewis down immediately, and he sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap.
“Yeah, I talked to her. And she’s really worried about you. She said she offered to hire you a lawyer and you refused. Why?”
“’Cause I don’t want her involved in this mess. That uppity white dude she married don’t like my ass. He don’t want her associatin’ with her friends from back in the day, ’specially one that’s in jail for murderin’ the thug she used go with before she became Dr. Kirkland. And I know if she hired me a lawyer it would cause all kinda problems for her. And that’s the last thing I want,” he said quietly.
Man, he really was in love with Joyce. And he ha
d to be deeply in love with her to be facing two first-degree murder charges and depending on me of all people to help him, while forfeiting a lawyer with more criminal experience, all so as not to create a problem for Joyce. I couldn’t decide if he was being chivalrous, or stupid. But the angry look on his face and the set of his jaw told me the subject was not open for debate.
“Okay,” I said, letting out a breath. “What’s this I hear about Brenda seeing some other man on the side?”
“What man? What the hell you talkin’ ’bout, Kelly?” He sat up in his chair and puffed his chest out like an outraged peacock.
“Are you seriously trying to tell me you didn’t know they think you killed Brenda out of jealousy over another man?” How could Sharon not have told her client why the police suspected him of murder?
“Dammit! I was in shock when they slapped cuffs on ol’ Lewis. Between that and bein’ read my rights, and relieved of my good clothes, and made to wear a jumpsuit and tennis shoes a hundred other nasty mofos done worn, you gotta forgive me if I’m a little sketchy on the details.”
“You’ve been charged with two counts of first-degree murder and you’re upset over what they’re making you wear?” I stared at him, incredulous. I shouldn’t be surprised considering who I was talking to...but still.
“Enough about that,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You never answered me about Brenda. What other man was she supposed to be steppin’ out on me with?”
“That’s what I’m asking you?” I said, ready to tear my hair out. “Is it possible she could have been seeing someone else? Were you two exclusive?”
“I don’t share my woman with no other man. If that’s what you mean by bein’ exclusive, then hell yeah, we was exclusive. And hell nah, there wasn’t no other man in her life but me,” he replied smugly.
“And how can you be so sure? Were you with her all day every day and all night long?”
“If we wasn’t at work, we was either together in my apartment or we was at The Spot.”
“Then she could have told you she was at work and been with another man, right?”
“Coulda been,” he replied, his eyes narrowing. “But what you need to understand is that I ain’t no ordinary man, Kelly. I treat my women right. They get plenty of my time, plenty of my money, and most importantly, plenty of good lovin’. Ain’t no reason on earth why Brenda would have wanted to be with no other man than ol’ Lewis.” I thought about the crotch less swing hanging over his bed and suppressed a shudder.
“You knew her all of two weeks, Lewis. You have no idea who she was, especially back in the day. Did you know she used to…?” He held up his hand.
“I already know what you ‘bout to say and shame on you, Kelly, spreadin’ nasty rumors like that.”
“Then it’s not true that Brenda was hooker back in the seventies?”
“A hooker?” Lewis looked like he was about to fall out of his chair. “I thought you was ‘bout to say a Jehovah’s Witness. Who in the hell told you she was a hooker?” I buried my head in my hands in frustration, and then what Lewis just said finally hit me and my head jerked up.
“Lewis,” I said slowly. “How did you meet Brenda?”
“I remember it like it was yesterday,” he said, grinning like the Cheshire cat. Because it practically had been, I wanted to shout. Instead I let him tell his story.
“It was payday and I had a wad a cash that coulda choked a goat ’cause I worked a bunch of overtime. And I didn’t mind spendin’ it, either. Brenda was sittin’ at the end of the bar lookin’ hotter than a chili pepper, and she couldn’t keep her eyes off ol’ Lewis since I was lookin’ real fly as usual. I asked her name and she told me she’d tell me for a twenty. Every question I asked had a price tag on it and the price just kept goin’ up. But I like a woman who knows what she wants and can keep ol’ Lewis on his toes. Plus, I don’t like cheap chicks.
By the time I got her name, number, bra size, favorite sexual position, and ten minutes of conversation out of her, I was broke. We took the party back to my place and I don’t mind tellin’ you, Kelly, she was down for everythang, if you get my meanin’. I never had a woman who could keep up with ol’ Lewis the way she could. We was together every day after that. Now, she kept me broke. But you can’t put a price tag on love.”
I simply stared at him. I just didn’t have the heart to tell him he hadn’t been Brenda’s man. He’d been her trick. And I also had to wonder how many others she’d had and, more importantly, how did Dibb Bentley fit into all of this?
When Sharon Newcastle finally called me back an hour after I left the jail, I filled her in on everything I’d found out so far. I wasn’t sure how it could help Lewis, but Sharon seemed excited and grateful, and, more importantly, had another check for me to pick up the next day, just in time for me to get my car from the repair shop. Technically, my job helping her should be over, since my main reason for getting involved had been to pay for my car repairs. But, if I was seriously thinking about buying Mama’s house, I’d need money for that, too. Everything in me was screaming at me to walk away and trust Sharon to either get Lewis off or get the murder charges dropped.
But much as I liked her, I didn’t have high hopes that an overworked and emotionally distracted public defender was going to have much luck defending the likes of Lewis, a man who was as clueless as he was arrogant. On second thought, Sharon needed all the help she could get. Plus, even though he drove me crazy, I truly didn’t think he was a murderer. So, I decided to keep helping her as long as she paid me, and whoever stole the ledger left me alone. After I got off the phone with Sharon, I pulled out the stack of newspapers from the pantry that I was saving for Mama since reading the daily obits to see if anyone she knew had died was a regular part of her day.
After skimming through a week’s worth of papers, I found what I was looking for, Brenda Howard’s obit. The picture accompanying it looked a good thirty years old and showed that Brenda, who’d still been an attractive woman at the time of her death, had been gorgeous in her youth. I also found out she’d graduated from Springmont High and had worked at Woodlawn Nursing Home as a nurse’s aide for the past 15 years. She’d been preceded in death by her sister, Betty Howard, and her mother Teresa Howard-Bains.
There hadn’t been a funeral. Brenda had been cremated, and a memorial service had been held at the recreation room at Woodlawn Nursing Home the day before. Damn. I’d missed it. Though I don’t know what I’d have accomplished by attending. It’s not like any of her former clients would have dared to show up. And if they had, I doubt they’d have worn name tags identifying them as John. I wondered where Brenda lived and whether her home was also considered a secondary crime scene. But there was one place I could still go to be nosy: Woodlawn Nursing Home. And suddenly I had a plan.
“You have got to be kidding me. I missed it?” My hands flew to my mouth in mock embarrassment as I stood at the front desk at Woodlawn Nursing Home dressed in my good cranberry sweater dress and black knee-length boots.
“Sorry, ma’am. Brenda’s memorial was the day before yesterday,” said the heavy-set young woman with strawberry blonde hair pulled into a braid that reached her waist. This wasn’t the first time I’d shown up at Woodlawn trying to dig up information on someone. I did so a while back when my sister, Allegra, had been charged with murdering an actress. I didn’t have any luck getting past the front desk that time. I was happy that there was a completely different staff this time around. And more importantly, no picture of me posted with a warning to kick my ass out on sight.
“I can’t believe I missed Auntie Brenda’s memorial. My mom is going to be so pissed at me.” I slapped the counter in frustration.
“Um…I didn’t think Brenda had any nieces,” said the girl, whose name badge identified her as Christy Nelson, administrative assistant. And I could have kicked myself for forgetting that according to her obit, Brenda’s sister Betty had preceded her in death and no nieces and nephews had been
listed as survivors.
“She wasn’t really my aunt,” I said, leaning in and lowering my voice a bit. “She and my mom were good friends and I just called her Auntie Brenda. You know how it is?”
“Not really. I didn’t think Brenda had any friends, either,” Christy deadpanned, still looking skeptical.
“She didn’t,” I agreed. “She kept to herself. But she and my mom were friends since before I was born, though they haven’t spoken since my mom moved to Florida. She asked me to attend the memorial as a favor to her since she couldn’t make it.” I said it all in one breathless rush. Christy stared at me impassively like she could have cared less.
“That sucks. Sorry you missed it then,” she said, looking anything but, and went back to reading her Soap Opera Digest. Well, this was a bust. My whole purpose in coming here was to see if I could find out where Brenda lived. But this chick barely wanted to give me the time of day.
“Was there a remembrance book or anything that I could sign?”
“Yeah, it’s still in the rec room on a stand by the door. Down the hall and to your left.”
I thanked her and headed down the hall and around the corner to a large room with a row of floor-to-ceiling windows along the back wall that looked out onto what was probably a lush green lawn in the spring and summer. Black leather chairs and a large sectional were arranged around a fireplace and a coffee table at one end of the room where three elderly ladies sat knitting and gossiping. The opposite end held four rows of chairs lined up in front of a big screen TV where half a dozen people were watching an episode of the Golden Girls. Tables and chairs along the windowed back wall were occupied by residents and staff playing, cards, chess, and Monopoly. One man sat alone working on a jumbo-sized puzzle.