Heat seared through their bodies as they moved instinctively to their own rhythm. They rode the tidal wave of passion until Jefferson could no longer contain himself and cried out for her to follow. She acquiesced, and it was a done deal.
CHAPTER 1
It was the twenty-third of December, a day Margo would always remember. It was the day that death came with great stealth in the still of the night. It was not death as is customarily associated with the dearly departed, but that of a dying soul whose heart would slowly be picked to the bone.
Margo had settled in for the night, waiting for her husband of nearly twenty-five years to come home after working late at the office. Jefferson and Margo Myles were like mortar to brick—they had a solid foundation and many people were envious of their varied accomplishments. She and Jefferson were both successful professionals, secure in their lifestyles. They owned a two-story Tudor brick home in the upscale neighborhood of Jordan Estates. Jefferson and Margo possessed the right combination of business savvy, having smartly invested in several diverse mutual funds, as well as optimum shares of blue-chip stock on the NASDAQ.
Besides the silver Mercedes Kompressor sports coupe that Jefferson drove and the Lexus sedan that was Margo’s pride and joy, Jefferson was a collector of vintage automobiles that included a 1958 Edsel, a Rolls-Royce, and a Ferrari. He occasionally would be seen parading his menagerie of fine automobiles.
They had four wonderful children, and Margo was happy that her family would surround her this Christmas. Margo looked forward to the New Year—the New Millennium as it had been hailed, a new century and a new decade full of bright promises.
Margo was grateful that her eighteen-year-old twins, Winston and Winter, who were in college, had made it home for the Christmas break. The drive from Virginia’s Hampton University to Fayetteville, North Carolina, had been hectic with all the Christmas travelers trying to get home to family and friends for the holidays.
It was two days before Christmas—one of the most joyous times of the year. It was a time of celebration—celebrating the birth of the Christ child; however, the imminent feeling of love and family would not permeate Margo’s home this Christmas season. Even the sound of the Wurlitzer grandfather clock that Margo and Jefferson bought in Europe ten years earlier gave no clue to the impending turn of events that would be forever etched in Margo’s memory.
The volume on the radio was turned low. Margo perked up as the disc jockey on 99.1 The Fox announced the next set of soulful sounds. Luther Vandross’ alluring voice began to croon “A House Is Not a Home,” which resounded through the new set of Bose Acoustimas 10 surround-sound speaker system Jefferson had bought last month. Luther was Margo’s favorite singer, and the rhythm and slow beat sent goose bumps riveting through her body. It was midnight, and Jefferson had not yet made it in.
The smells of the night’s succulent, smoked, hickory-baked ham and candied, glazed yams still permeated the air. Ivy, the eldest of their four children, was famished after an evening of celebrating at A Touch of Class, a jazz nightclub for the young at heart. Ivy and three of her closest friends made going there an annual ritual, reminiscing about the past year’s events. The spoils of the night that had been left on the stove were plenty reward after a full, callisthenic workout on the dance floor.
Margo had fallen asleep, unable to will her body to stay awake until Jefferson arrived home. It was unlike him to be out late, although he had called her earlier to say he needed to complete several portfolios and clean up some unfinished business before he closed the office for the holiday.
Margo was in the middle of a wonderful dream, and she sought a comfortable position as her body fought to continue into the abyss that her subconscious created. She absently reached over to Jefferson’s side of the bed, hoping to feel the warmth of his strong, manly body to provide a nurturing cushion as she fell deeper still into her slumber. Through her sleepy haze, she realized he was not at her side, and she struggled to awaken.
Peaceful sleep overcame Margo’s resistance only to have it broken by the telephone near her head, piercing the night with its sudden ring. Startled, Margo sat up and adjusted her eyes to the sea of blackness that engulfed the room. She grabbed the telephone certain it was Jefferson.
“Hello,” Margo said. “Jefferson?” Silence at the other end.
“Jefferson?” Margo asked yet again. “Jefferson, is that you? Hello, hello, hello!”
Margo could hear faint breathing on the other end. She could almost count the number of pulses per second as time ticked away. And still not a word was uttered.
“Who is this?” Margo screamed into the phone, now frantically pacing the floor. “Answer me. Do you hear me? Jefferson, is that you?”
The phone made an abrupt click, and the line was dead.
“What’s going on?” Margo shouted. She started toward Ivy’s room before thinking better of it. It was probably a prank. But where was Jefferson? This was not like him. He certainly wasn’t working at this late hour. Margo picked up the phone again and dialed Jefferson’s office.
It seemed an eternity before the connection was made. Margo waited . . . one, two, three, six, eight, ten, twelve rings. No one was there. Maybe she had dialed the wrong number. She dialed again.
Margo laid the receiver back in its cradle and began to pace again. Their bedroom suddenly unsettled her, making the thought of a good night’s sleep unlikely. The question lingered like a cloud. Who made the call?
As she continued to pace, she saw her Bible on the corner of her chest of drawers. Margo picked it up and proceeded to open it. It fell open to the Twenty-third Psalms. Margo picked her glasses up from the nightstand, placed them on her face, and began to read slowly.
The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters . . . Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death; I will fear no evil: for thou art with me . . .
Now why did that particular passage of Scripture jump out, she wondered . . . walk through the valley of the shadow of death. Margo closed the book and began to pray.
About the Author
Credit: Courtesy of Suzetta Perkins
Suzetta Perkins is the author of several novels including Behind the Veil; A Love So Deep; EX-Terminator, Life After Marriage; Déjà Vu; Nothing Stays the Same, Betrayed, and At the End of the Day. She is a contributing author of My Soul to His Spirit. She is also the co-founder of the Sistahs Book Club. Suzetta resides in Fayetteville, North Carolina. Visit her at www.suzettaperkins.com, www.facebook.com/suzetta.perkins, Suzetta Perkins’ Fan Page on Facebook, Twitter @authorsue, and [email protected].
ALSO BY SUZETTA PERKINS
At the End of the Day
Betrayed
Nothing Stays the Same
Déjà Vu
EX-Terminator: Life After Marriage
A Love So Deep
Behind the Veil
Strebor Books
P.O. Box 6505
Largo, MD 20792
http://www.streborbooks.com
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2013 by Suzetta Perkins
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.
ISBN 978-1-59309-475-1
ISBN 978-1-4516-9634-9 (ebook)
LCCN 2012951575
First Strebor Books trade paperback edition May 2013
Cover design: www.mariondesigns.com
Cover photograph: © Keith Saunders/Marion Designs
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers
Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
In My Rearview Mirror Page 32