by Angela Henry
“And you’re also the one who stole the ledger from my desk drawer,” I said matter-of-factly once we’d gotten to her black Mercedes.
“How’d you…”
“When we were up in the classroom, you walked in ahead of me and made a beeline straight for my desk. There are two desks in that room. How’d you know which one was mine unless you’d been in that room before?” Color flooded her face and she shrugged.
“I was so angry when Lewis told me you had it when I’d given it to him for safe keeping. Sorry, Kendra. I needed it back. But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
“And since it doesn’t matter anymore, can I give you some advice?”
“Please do,” she said, looking a little dubious.
“Go away for a while if that’s what you need to do. But don’t stay away. You had every right to protect yourself. What happened to Otis was an unfortunate accident. Anyone who could have implicated you in what happened to him is dead and gone. Don’t you think you’ve suffered enough?” Her eyes filled with tears again, and I squeezed her arm. She gave me a quick hug before getting into her car. I started to walk away when she lowered her window.
“Kendra, can you please do me a favor until I get back?”
“What’s that?” I asked, happy to hear she was actually going to come back.
“Will you please keep an eye on Uncle Pinky and Lewis for me?”
“It would be my pleasure,” I told her, wondering how’d I’d become such a good liar.
Pinky Buford expertly twirled me around the recreation room at Woodlawn Nursing Home. Once he’d let me go, I shimmied my shoulders forward, and then back, and skipped side to side to the sound of Ike and Tina Turner’s Proud Mary.
“I think you might be getting’ a little bit better, honey,” claimed Pinky, twisting his narrow hips in time with the music.
“Practice makes perfect,” I told him, although I’d hardly been doing much dancing. I glanced across the room at Lewis, who sat on the couch surrounded by a bevy of geriatric women who he was charming the polyester pants off of.
Lewis had been recovering from his gunshot wound at the rehab unit of Woodlawn, receiving physical therapy for his shoulder. He’d become quite popular with the female residents and staff retelling the story of the night he got shot over and over again, and never failing to mention that he’d risked life and limb for none other than me, the woman who’d stolen a page from his late girlfriend Brenda’s memorial book. If I had a dime for every dirty look cast my way, I’d never have to work again. But today he was being released and I was there to drive him home.
“Time to go, Romeo,” I’d told him when the song was over, quickly replaced by the Temptations’, Ain’t too Proud to Beg.
Lucy had taken my place as Pinky’s dance partner and turned out to be an excellent dancer. I’d tried to talk to Pinky about Joyce, the gun that killed Otis, and everything else that happened the summer of 1973. But he’d suddenly developed amnesia and pretended not to know what I was talking about. That was fine. It was over and there was no need to rehash ancient history. Pinky Buford certainly didn’t owe me any explanation for trying to protect his niece.
“Don’t be rushin’ me, Kelly. I ain’t got no one to be gettin’ home to and neither do you,” Lewis complained. He had a point, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t time to go.
“Either leave with me, get a cab, or walk. Makes no difference to me.” I had a hot date with a beagle and deluxe veggie with extra cheese and olives and didn’t want to be late. I headed toward the front doors with Lewis trailing behind me.
“Damn. Do you always have to be so mean to a brotha? I’m beginning to see why you ain’t got a man.”
“Whatever,” I said, and kept on walking. But as we reached the doors, Lucy called out Lewis’s name and we stopped. She was carrying something I recognized.
“Mr. Watts, Pinky wanted me to give this to you. He said you’d know what to do with it.”
She held out the record case from Pinky’s room. The heavy one he’d discouraged me from touching. The case that I realized just then must contain the gun that shot Otis Patterson. We looked beyond Lucy to see Pinky standing in the doorway of the recreation room. He and Lewis exchanged a knowing look and Lewis nodded. Since his right arm was still in a sling, he took the case from Lucy with his left hand and turned and walked out the door without another word.
Five minutes into the drive to his place I finally got the chance to ask him something I’d been dying to know.
“Why did Dibb give me that message to give to you when he already knew where you lived, thanks to your late girlfriend?”
“That’s an easy one, Kelly. He was tryin’ to flush ol’ Lewis out. He thought he’d scare me enough with that message that I’d get rid of the gun. Then all Brenda had to do was tell him what I did with it.”
“Then you knew she was working with him and that’s why she moved in with you?”
“Of course, I knew. And I know somethin’ else, too.”
“What’s that?” I asked, eyeing him out of the corner of my eye.
“She may have been up to no good when we first hooked up. But my good lovin’ made her stay.” I rolled my eyes heavenward.
“Whatever, Lewis.”
Later that evening I was curled up on Mama’s couch with Queenie, drinking a glass of wine and listening to some Sade while I waited for my pizza to arrive. I was starving and when the doorbell finally rang, I sprinted to the front door. Only it wasn’t the delivery guy from Spiro’s. It was Mason holding my box of pizza with a big grin on his face.
“I hope you don’t mind me paying for your pizza,” he said, gesturing towards the curb where the delivery guy was hopping into his car. My stomach did its usual flip-flop at the sight of him, and I decided at that moment that there couldn’t be anything sexier than a hot guy holding a hot pizza pie.
“Why would I mind? Who would complain about a free pizza?”
“And who would have thought a die-hard meat eater would order a veggie supreme? Unless you were expecting company.” He grinned. And maybe deep down inside I had been expecting him and just hadn’t realized it until now. We grinned at each other like idiots for what seemed like forever until Queenie, who’d followed me to the door, barked, breaking the spell.
“I could get used to veggie pizza every once in a while,” I said, meeting his eyes and seeing the warmth in their depths.
“And I could get used to a little extra help now and then as long as it doesn’t get out of hand, and it doesn’t put you in danger. Not sure what I would have done if something had happened to you,” he said softly.
“Well,” I began, suddenly flustered. “I can’t make any promises. But we can try.” My face got hot as it occurred to me what I’d just said.
“Really? So, are you going to let me in?” His tone was tentative, and he seemed a bit self-conscious.
And that told me he meant more than coming into my house. And why the hell not? No one made me feel like this man did. Not even Carl. But there was one thing I needed to know first.
“What about that purple toothbrush in your bathroom?” He looked confused for a minute before throwing back his head and laughing.
“Did you know that toothpaste and a soft bristle toothbrush is the best way to get scratches off your glasses?” My face burned with embarrassment and I laughed, too.
Then I stepped aside. And Mason walked in.
THE END
About the Author
Angela Henry was once told that her past life careers included spy, researcher, and investigator. She stuck with what she knew because today she's a mystery writing library reference specialist, who loves to people watch, and eavesdrop on conversations. When she's not working, writing, or practicing her stealth, she loves to travel, is connoisseur of B horror movies, and a functioning anime addict. She lives in Ohio and is currently hard at work trying to meet her next deadline.
Angela’s Website
A
lso by Angela Henry
The Company You Keep
Tangled Roots
Diva’s Last Curtain Call
Schooled In Lies
Sly, Slick & Wicked
Kendra Clayton Mystery Box Set
The Paris Secret
Knight’s Fall
Labyrinth Society (As Angie Kelly)