I wanted to say something smart back, but nothing made sense, except the repeating prayer to Jesus looping in my brain.
“Let me help you.” He grabbed my head and began to drag me out of the closet.
Ouch. This was the second time I had been dragged by my head in one week. Something had to give.
“What was your reason for killing Rachel?” I grunted.
He stopped and turned me over. Elvis’s eyes turned colder than this room.
“What do you know, madam? You’re a washed-up reporter, a sham.”
“You were siphoning funds from the Greater Atlanta Foundation, and Rachel found out about it during your fling together. How does that sound for washed-up reporting?”
“Shut up.” His voice thundered through the room. My stomach shook. I felt the gun under my thigh.
“Devon found out about what you did from Rachel. Didn’t he?”
“She ratted me out, just like Justus did you.”
“So the fifty thousand was yours?”
He nodded. I looked down at his hands. They trembled.
I looked back at him. “You don’t want to kill me. You didn’t want to kill the others. Did you?”
“I had no choice, you see.”
“Why did you need all that money?”
“For my family. My dad was very sick. But he’s fit as a fiddle now.”
Crazy. “You don’t have to do this, Elvis.”
He laughed. “I do, but don’t worry. This way your sister will be free like you wanted.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m going to kill you, then blame the whole lot on you, Angel. Ava will be released and she will be with me, as she should be.”
“Oh, you must’ve fallen and bumped your head if you think I will let that happen. Besides, Ava would never marry you. Are you crazy?”
“Watch your step, madam!”
“Get a life, Elvis.” I slid my gun out and pulled the trigger.
My ears popped.
My heart stopped for a second.
I stepped back, but I never took my eyes off Elvis. He fell back, clutched his shirt, and dropped to the ground. As he squirmed over the floor, gasping for air, I felt empathy for his pain. I knelt beside him and took his hand in mine.
He squeezed my hand and winced as he began coughing and wheezing. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I didn’t for the man I once loved.”
“Pray for me,” he said.
I prayed and held his hand until he left.
Sunday, 6:00 AM
Greater Atlanta Church, Atlanta, GA
Justus held me in his arms when Salvador’s team wheeled Elvis out of the church in a body bag. I shook and my teeth chattered. I was afraid I would be carted off to jail, too. I was too broken up to be questioned, but I wasn’t too broken up to apologize to Justus.
“I never killed anyone before,” I said to Justus over and over again.
“I know. I wish I’d been here to prevent it.”
“I’m sorry you weren’t here.”
He kissed my forehead. “Don’t be.”
“But I am and I think you should stay away from me.”
“If you had gotten sleep like you should have, you wouldn’t sound so crazy.” He chuckled. “Woman, I’m not leaving you.”
“You will in about two days after all this craziness is over. It’s called adrenaline romance. It’s perfectly normal for you to feel this way.”
He shook his head. “You make falling in love sound like a virus.”
“You’re in love with me now? When did this happen?”
“It happened the moment I saw you in that tattered cocktail dress. You looked like a broken-down Cinderella.”
“I ain’t no princess, Justus. I’m definitely not a pastor’s girlfriend.”
“And why not?” he asked.
“Because I’ve seen more evil than any good woman should have. I’ll shame your pulpit.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying if you want to be an effective pastor, stay away from me.”
I stood up. He grabbed me. He leaned toward my face.
“Kissing me will not change my mind.” I knew full well that it would.
Justus lowered his face toward my ear and whispered, “Only love will do that.” He pulled back and watched me. I swooned a bit.
“I’m looking at you, and it’s hard to tell the difference between you and your sister.”
I sighed. “Yeah, she’s the beautiful, spirited one. You know she’s single now.”
“So are you, but that’s beside the point.”
“Here you go with your points.” I rolled my eyes. “Your point is?” My heart cartwheeled over the fact that he said he was in love with me.
He paused and trapped my eyes with his. “Love is unconditional, but it requires sacrifice and action. A man knows, understands, and will prepare for the sacrifice. It’s his job. Your job is to surrender to it.”
If he weren’t holding me up, I would have fainted.
“All right . . .” I exhaled instead. “Go ahead and kiss me now.”
“Nope.” He shook his head and grinned. “You will not have your way with me, woman, not until you apologize.”
I nodded. “I suspected as much.”
31
Friday, one week after Devon’s death, twilight
East View Cemetery, Atlanta.
Storms—the really bad ones—rolled over Atlanta like bandits, fast and furious. The clouds above my head crawled around the air in grays, silvers, zebra, and then black within seconds. Rain tickled, tucked, and tumbled over Devon’s homegoing service. It poured so hard that the Kelly & Leach Funeral Home tent fell twice, and the white rose floral coffin spray had to be covered in plastic before it was laid over Devon’s casket.
In African American folklore, bad storms meant a great, holy person was living in glory and the rain was tears of joy from the angels. To say good-bye to a great soul was a bittersweet moment. For me, losing Devon was worse than the taste of unsweetened dark chocolate.
See, I thought I knew him. I thought he was like the ministers I once investigated, the opportunists donning crosses in exchange for celebrity and untaxed charity, with a sloppy paper trail longer than Devon’s homegoing parade. I was a fool. He was the best man I’d ever refused to know. I had so much to learn.
Friday night
The McMansion Ballroom, Lithonia, GA
As I like to say, I would’ve sold my soul a long time ago for a handsome man who made me feel pretty or who could at least treat me to a millionaire’s martini. Instead, I lingered over a sparkling white grape juice cocktail and made goo-goo eyes at my brown-eyed Bella dancing in front of me. After all, I’m her mother. It’s my job to cherish her, no matter the cost. Yet, I was wondering. Why was she dancing with my sidekick?
In lieu of the customary repast—overindulging in rich foods and desserts with the family—Ava decided to throw a dance in Devon’s honor. I managed to sweet talk Big Tiger into spinning some music on his turntables.
Justus’s niece and nephews were here as well. The twins were comforting Taylor and Lil D on the dance floor, while Whitney chopped it up with Kelly. Trish catered. I hoped she schooled her daughter on making better decisions with teenaged boys. Mama and our new daddy two-stepped to every dance.
“This is a lovely reception, Ava.” I touched my sister’s hand. “I’m sure Devon is doing his weak two-step in heaven with us.”
She chuckled and wiped a tear from her cheek. “You know that man couldn’t dance worth a hot cup of chocolate, but I wouldn’t dare tell him.”
“Well, honey, you just did.” I patted her back.
She laughed. “Yes, I did.”
Whitney slid over to us and threw her arms around us both. “Why y’all looking like old lushes at the bar? Y’all better get your groove on.”
“I can’t because my daughter is dancing with Justus.”
“I
can’t either,” Ava said. “I don’t want to embarrass Angel in front of her new man.”
“Oh no, you didn’t! And he’s not my man.”
“Oh yes, I did and, yes, he is. Will you just admit it?”
I watched Justus with Bella and smiled. “Not gonna happen.”
“Whatever . . .” Ava jumped up. “Tonight’s my beloved Devon’s night, and I think we should end it like we began. I stole him from you on the dance floor because you didn’t know how to use your hips properly.”
“Oooh.” Whitney clapped. “Sound like a dance-off.”
“If Ava had been keeping in touch with us as she should have been, then she would know that her twin has gotten some pep in her step.” I stood up. “Let’s do this thing, girl.”
We sashayed to the dance floor just as Big Tiger put on my new favorite jam.
Justus caught my hand. “May I have this dance, young lady?”
“Yes, sir. I hope you can keep up.”
“Well, let me give you something to slow you down.” He leaned toward me and kissed me.
It was the sweetest, purest, downright grown womanish feeling I’d ever felt.
“It’s about time.” I punched his shoulder.
“I just wanted to let you know what you’re missing, so you can stop fighting this.”
“I’m not fighting. I just know it won’t work.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” He groaned.
“Because when sidekicks hook up with the lead, the series ends.”
He chuckled. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Or maybe it’s a good excuse to keep you on your toes.”
He swirled me around and we danced the night away.
Epilogue
Early Saturday morning
Sugar Hill, Georgia.
I dreamt of Justus and wasn’t ashamed. We were booked up in one of those VIP cabanas in Night Candy. He wore a periwinkle button down shirt that made his honey colored skin glow, even in the darkness of the club. He smelled like butterscotch and something manly.
Justus pulled me toward his lips when he said, “Knock, knock, knock.”
What he said confused me. It didn’t fit the moment at all.
“What?” My nose wrinkled. “Are we playing a knock-knock joke now?”
He shook his head, while caressing my cheek. “Knock. Knock. Knock.”
I moved back. “What the . . . ?”
I awoke and sat up. I looked around the bedroom until I got my focus.
Crap! I sighed. Someone was knocking on my front door.
“Well, at least they had the good sense not to ring my doorbell,” I grumbled. Whitney and Bella were still asleep and they needed to stay that way. I had every intention to pick up where my dream date with Justus left off, as soon as I got rid of my door knocker.
Downstairs at the front door, I looked through the peep hole. It was a florist delivery man. My heart fluttered. Flowers! I did a happy dance in my foyer. Justus was thinking of me, too.
“Hold on for a second,” I said to the delivery guy, while I disalarmed the door.
Perhaps it was time I called in that rain check date with him. It was time to take a risk.
I unlocked the door, opened it, and smiled.
“Ms. Evangeline Crawford?” The delivery man asked. He held a large golden box with a red ribbon.
“Yes, I’m Evangeline.” I clapped. I was feeling teenaged giddy again. I missed this feeling.
I signed his clipboard before he handed me the box.
“Have a good day, ma’am” Then pivoted back toward his van and began walking away.
I didn’t see his face, because his navy baseball cap sat well below his brim. I only saw his chiseled jaw and a mole above the top right corner of his mouth. Based on that little information I could tell he was handsome. Good thing Whitney wasn’t awake. She would have embarrassed herself, trying to get his attention.
While he walked down my drive, I pulled out the card stuck on the box. It was a picture of me holding Bella at the funeral. A bolt of adrenaline rushed through my body. My heart raced again. I dropped the box, gasped, and looked up. The delivery man was rounding the corner of my street.
“Wait!” I jumped off the steps and raced after him until I gave up the chase at the stop sign.
I ran back to the house, stood over the box, and panted. Fear began bubbling around me, as I observed it. I didn’t know if I should open it or throw it in the trash. Obviously it wasn’t a bomb or it would have gone off when I dropped it. But it had something to do with Bella. I didn’t know what to do about that.
My heart beat so fast I had to sit down on the porch steps and catch my breath. I thought about waking Whitney, but I was too afraid to leave the porch. I scanned the street, while I calmed my breathing down, so I wouldn’t hyperventilate.
And then I saw it. The note card. It had fallen near the porch step where I sat. I still hadn’t completely caught my breath, but I was curious by default. I had to know what this all meant. My hand trembled when I turned the card over. It read:
Do you still love me?
Gabe?! I wheezed and clutched my chest. He couldn’t be alive. I watched him die. I held him when he died.
“Who did this?” I tried to stand up, but couldn’t. “Who sent this?!”
I looked around me again. I think I saw a neighbor walking a dog, but everything had become a blur. My head swam so fast. There were too many emotions. I passed out on the step. No dreaming, just gone.
Did Angel actually witness Gabe die?
Want to find out what happened to put Angel on bad
terms with Ava and Devon?
Then join Angel on her next manhunt in Someone Bad and Something Blue, on sale now from Dafina Books.
Don’t miss Miranda Parker’s
Someone Bad and Something Blue—in stores now!
Beautiful, brainy, and tough-as-nails, single mom and bail recovery agent turned sleuth Angel Crawford has a lot on her plate. But between crime-solving and kindergarten carpool, it’s all in a day’s work . . .
1
Friday, 8:00 AM
Greyhound Bus Terminal, Atlanta, Georgia
Just as I was about to cuff Misty Wetherington for ditching DUI court for the fifth time so she could hit the slots at Harrah’s casino with her book club buddies, my phone buzzed. I looked down. It was my calendar app, reminding me that I had to be at Bella’s school in ninety minutes.
“Crap, I forgot.” I sighed.
My daughter, Bella, had asked me if I could join her at Sugar Hill Elementary School today for Doughnuts for Dads. It was a PTA event to celebrate fathers, more like a back-door way to get men into the classroom without them feeling awkward. However, Bella’s best friend Lacy’s mom came to the last one and, according to my friends at the Sugar Hill Church Ladies’ Brunch, no one seemed to mind.
And . . . today was Bella’s seventh birthday. I had to be there.
However, I was a little under an hour’s drive from the school. If I could punch it without getting a speeding ticket, I would make it in time. The only problem was I didn’t know what to do with Misty.
With the exhaustively long lines at the City of Atlanta’s traffic court, who knew how long it would take to process her? I wondered as I looked down at her bleached, moppy hair.
She was still on the parking lot ground, face to the gritty, piss-stained pavement while I straddled her back. My handcuffs dangled in my hands.
“Misty, you have been caught on a particularly good day for you. . . .”
I placed the cuffs on the ground near her face so she could see them. I waited until she turned her head in the cuff ’s direction before I continued.
“Look. It’s my daughter’s birthday and I need to be with her. We both know that what I’ll make for hauling your butt to jail is about the cost of two tickets to the Atlanta Aquarium, the Coke Museum, and one night’s stay in the Georgian Terrace. So here’s my proposition. Today, I let you go. I’ll
have Big Tiger finesse the city into giving you another FTA hearing, but on one condition : You fork over the money you were about to spend at the casino. I can surprise my girl with a kid-cation in Atlanta. What do you say?”
Big Tiger was the bail bondsman who kept me under contract. He introduced me to bail recovery and taught me the tools of the trade.
“And if I don’t?” She grunted.
“How confident are you that the City of Atlanta will grant you a new FTA hearing after five no-shows without some help from Big Tiger? How confident are you that some other bail recovery agent isn’t lurking behind any of these cars out here, waiting for the chance to take you from me? And uh . . . where are your gambling buddies when you need them?”
Her gaze searched the parking lot. “Did they leave?”
“Darling, they are the ones who turned you in. Now those are friends to keep. I can be your friend, too. Just say the magic words.”
She sighed. “The money’s in my front pocket, Angel.”
“Bingo.” I hopped off her and flipped her over. She reluctantly pulled the money out. I stretched out my palm until she placed the money into my hand. Misty was carrying five hundred dollars.
I placed the money in my back pocket and smiled. “Happy Birthday to Bella.”
Friday, 10:10 AM
Sugar Hill Elementary School, Sugar Hill, Georgia
Sugar Hill Elementary School was unusually packed when I pulled into the parking lot. “I can’t believe this many men are here to eat doughnuts,” I said to myself as I sped up the boardwalk to the school’s entrance.
When I walked into the foyer, Dale Baker, the president of our homeowners’ association, waved me down and mouthed good morning. I waved back and continued toward the front office. Inside, I spotted the parents’ sign-in sheet, pulled a pen out of the flowerpot pen holder, and signed my name.
The front office manager, whose name I could never remember because the constant scowl on her face reminded me of the taste of a bitter honeysuckle, pulled her glasses down her nose and shook her head at me. I called her Mrs. Bitter behind her back.
A Good Excuse To Be Bad Page 26