Murder with Fried Chicken and Waffles (Mahalia Watkins Soul Food Mystery)

by Herbert, A. L.

  When the minister is finished speaking, he introduces Jacqueline, noting that Marcus’s sister would like to say a few words. Jacqueline walks purposefully to the podium and clears her throat. “What is there to say about my brother, Marcus Rand? Some words to describe him: Charming. Smart. Attractive.” She pauses for a moment between each word. “Hard worker. Fast talker. Character. Not that he had character. He was a character,” she says to a few quiet laughs from the pews.

  “He enjoyed life, and I can honestly say he made the most of his forty some odd years on this planet. He was constantly on the go . . . wheeling and dealing at all hours of the day and night. He enjoyed the finer things in life: custom suits, fast cars, and a lovely home that I was fortunate enough to share with him. Working so closely together and sharing a house meant we spent a lot of time with each other. He could run me ragged, but working for Marcus was never boring. Actually, nothing about my brother was boring. And I think that’s what I’ll miss the most about him . . . how he always kept things interesting.”

  Jacqueline continues with her eulogy for another ten minutes or so, and while I don’t see any of the disdain I occasionally saw in her eyes when she was with Marcus, particularly when he was ordering her around, she doesn’t appear to be a distraught, grieving sister, either. And though, by and large, she keeps the eulogy positive and mostly speaks of Marcus’s more pleasant attributes, her speech is devoid of words like love, kindness, and generosity, which was probably a smart move on her part. She would have sounded ridiculous if she tried to paint a different picture of Marcus than we all knew to be true.

  After Jacqueline returns to her seat, the minister leads the mourners in a final prayer and the singer returns to the microphone, but this time she doesn’t break into a hymn. I recognize the familiar notes of a song I suspect Jacqueline chose. As the words to Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable” croon from her lips, I think about how the song is right-on. If Marcus was nothing else, he was definitely unforgettable.

  CHAPTER 30

  The rest of us follow after the minister and Marcus’s family exit the church. Marcus’s remains were cremated, so there is no coffin and no additional ceremony at a cemetery. Instead, we all file down to the church basement, where several tables and chairs have been neatly arranged. At the far end are two long tables holding chafing dishes and platters of food. There is already a small crowd lingering to the side of these tables. They are trying to appear as if they just happen to be chatting near that particular area, but I’ve catered enough events to know that what they really want is to make sure they’re at the front of the line when they are told that the buffet is open. Hopefully Jacqueline was smart enough to have a few folks serving the food as people go down the line. Another thing I’ve learned from my catering experience is that if you let people serve themselves, you essentially end up with, if I may put it delicately, pigs at the feeding trough—classless people heap huge portions on their plates. Before you know it, even though you’ve purchased enough food to feed fifty people, you’ve run out by the time guest number thirty-five gets to the front of the line.

  I make my way over to the buffet—and, no, not to ensure a favorable position in line, but to check out the competition. I see place cards that say Catering by Luette Howard. I know Luette. She’s nice enough, but she’s known for her rock-bottom prices rather than the quality of her food. Honestly, I’m not even sure her business is legit. I don’t think she’s licensed, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she runs her catering business out of her home rather than a commercial kitchen that’s regularly inspected by the health department.

  You get what you pay for, I think to myself as I peruse the buffet. Her fried chicken has a nice batter on it, but the pieces are small without much meat on them. I can tell just by looking that she bought a few trays of frozen macaroni and cheese and transferred the contents to her own chafing dishes after heating them up. Her mashed potatoes look okay—I’ll give her that one. And maybe people probably won’t notice that her gravy is from a jar. The rest of the serving tables are filled with more of the same—dishes range from acceptable to downright sad. If Jacqueline had asked, given that Marcus was an investor in Sweet Tea and a longtime acquaintance, I would have gladly catered the repast at cost, but for whatever reason, she went with Luette.

  “Where you goin’?” Wavonne asks as I begin to step away from the table. “We should hang around and make sure we get a good spot in line.”

  “I’m going to walk around and mingle a bit. Don’t get too comfortable. We need to get back to the restaurant soon.”

  I start to toddle around the church basement with an eye out for either Régine or Jennie Becks . . . or Jacqueline. I’d like to have a word with all of them and see if I can glean any useful information. I spot Jacqueline first. She’s sitting at a table with her mother, and a few others are gathered around them offering their condolences. I approach and wait my turn to say a few words.

  “Halia,” Jacqueline says to me. “So sweet of you to come.”

  “Of course. I got to know Marcus pretty well over the years. I’ll miss him.”

  “We all will,” she says, although I’m not really sure either one of us is telling the truth.

  “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m hanging in there. I’m trying to look after Mother and settle Marcus’s affairs.”

  She’s very nonchalant about the whole thing. It’s hard to tell if she’s hiding how distraught she is, or if she just isn’t that upset about her brother’s death. Decorum is important to Jacqueline, so she could actually be grief-stricken by her loss but refuses to show it in public . . . or, I hate to even think it, but she might have killed Marcus and is glad he’s dead.

  “Can I get you anything? Would you like me to fix you a plate from the serving table?”

  “Oh heavens, no. I can’t have any of that food. It’s all grease and starch.”

  I smile at her as I notice a few other people lining up behind me to have a word with her.

  “I’ll let you chat with the others. If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.”

  Jacqueline thanks me. Then I say a quick word to Mrs. Rand and get out of the way so others can speak with them. Of course, I would have preferred to have gotten in a few questions about the night Marcus was killed, but there couldn’t be a more inappropriate time for me to start asking about motives and alibis. I’ll have to catch up with Jacqueline at another less conspicuous time.

  The buffet is now open. As I watch a crowd gather at one end of the table, I ponder the three types of people who go to funerals: the first are the ones who truly cared about the deceased and want to celebrate their life and mourn their death; the second are the drama queens who will show up at any funeral to which they can get an invitation, so they can cry and carry on and get all sorts of attention; and the third are the ones who are in it for one thing—the free food at the repast. Many of the people I see in line I suspect are part of the aforementioned third group. I give the line a thorough once-over and see Jennie Becks at the tail end. If I hurry I can nab a spot right behind her. I have little interest in eating Luette Howard’s cut-rate fried chicken, but it’s a perfect opportunity to ask Jennie a few questions.

  “Hi,” I say as I step behind her.

  “Hello.”

  “The spread looks lovely,” I lie.

  “Yes.”

  As she speaks to me she suddenly looks familiar. I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere before. Maybe Marcus did bring her to Sweet Tea a time or two.

  “How did you know Marcus?” I ask as if I don’t already know.

  “We dated.”

  “Really? Recently?”

  “We broke up a few months ago. He was cheating on me with Régine Alva.” Her eyes dart toward Régine who’s seated at a table with some people I don’t recognize. “She works at the salon where I used to get my hair done. Marcus was waiting for me one day, and that’s when she got her hooks into him. Part of m
e always knew Marcus was no good . . .” She stops herself. “Good Lord. Look at me. I should not be talking trash about Marcus at his funeral. He wasn’t all bad. He could treat me right when he wanted to.”

  I can see the resentment in her eyes as she talks, but I can’t tell if it’s directed more toward Régine or Marcus . . . or maybe both of them.

  “I guess we all have our good and bad characteristics,” I say. “It’s terrible the way he died, and the police seem to be questioning everyone.”

  “It was horrible, wasn’t it? I heard he was hit over the head with something . . . maybe a baseball bat or a tire iron . . . and then thrown in a lake. It gives me chills to think about it.”

  I was hoping my words about the police questioning everyone would prompt her to tell me if the police had interrogated her, but she doesn’t seem to be biting.

  When we reach the serving table I reluctantly add a few items to my plate while Jennie does the same. As we walk toward the far end of the buffet, I see a selection of drinks. I see some Coke and Sprite . . . and Sunkist, but it’s when I see the bottle of cranberry juice that I remember where I’ve seen Jennie before. She was at Sweet Tea the night Marcus was killed. She was part of the table of young women who tried to sneak their own alcohol into my restaurant—the “cranberry drinkers.” I remember they were all wearing black the night I saw them in Sweet Tea. Jennie might even have the same dress on now that she was wearing at the restaurant.

  Well, isn’t this an interesting turn of events? I think to myself. Jennie Becks, Marcus’s wronged ex-girlfriend was at Sweet Tea the same night Marcus turned up dead. Just a coincidence? Or was she stalking him?

  I decide not to mention that I recall seeing her from the restaurant. It will only embarrass her if she knows I remember she tried to pull a fast one on me. I’ll never get her to talk to me if I make her feel ashamed. I’m about to ask some additional questions but, instead, I decide to just tell her that I enjoyed meeting her and begin to walk away. Rather than questioning Jennie, I’m well aware that there are other ways to find out just how bad the breakup between Marcus and Jennie was and exactly how bitter she was after being jilted for Régine. Fortunately, I know just where to catch up on all the latest gossip.

  “So I know Marcus broke up with Jennie for Régine, but what can you tell me about how it all transpired and how angry Jennie was after it all happened?” I say to Wavonne and Melva as I take a seat next to them.

  CHAPTER 31

  “The whole thing was silly and bound to happen if you axe me,” Wavonne says. “Everybody and their momma knew Marcus was a playa’. What made Jennie Becks think she was gonna keep him from straying without a leash around his neck is beyond me.”

  “You see,” Melva chimes in. “I think what really chapped Jennie’s ass was that it all happened right there in front of her. She was sitting under the dryer at Salon Cuts watching with her own two eyes while Régine put the moves on her man . . . right there in the beauty shop waiting area. I’m sure Jennie wanted to hop out of her seat and intervene, but choosing between your man and your hair—that’s a tough choice for a sister.”

  “Surely, Marcus didn’t dump Jennie right then and there, did he?”

  “No. Jennie thought there was just some flirting going on at the hair salon, and figured she’d think twice about ever bringing Marcus with her to Salon Cuts again. But that Régine is slick—she somehow managed to slip Marcus her number without Jennie seeing.”

  “So Régine and Marcus had a thing going for a while before Jennie found out about it?”

  “Well, this is where it gets interesting,” Melva says, rubbing her hands together. “Not only did Jennie find out that Marcus was seeing Régine. Régine found out that Marcus was still seeing Jennie after he told her he had stopped.”

  “Oooh, girl. This is better than The Young and the Restless,” Wavonne says.

  “Monique over at Hair Chique cuts Jennie’s hair now. She gave me the four-one-one.”

  “I thought you went to Salon Cuts?”

  “Halia, you gotta go to more than one beauty shop if you’re gonna get all the good gossip,” Wavonne says.

  Melva nods in agreement with an “I thought everyone knew that” sort of look and continues. “For a smart man Marcus did some stupid things. He wasn’t satisfied with just Régine or just Jennie—he had to have both. He and Régine did their secret thing on the side for a few weeks until Régine demanded he drop Jennie. Word is Marcus told Régine that he had given Jennie the heave-ho when he really hadn’t, but then the dumb brother took Jennie out to Jasper’s in Largo. If he’d paid attention when he visited Régine at the beauty shop, he’d have known that Quinn, who shampoos hair at Salon Cuts, also waits tables at Jasper’s three nights a week.”

  “Quinn’s workin’ two jobs to save up for some new titties,” Wavonne says. “Quinn’s got a big ass, but no boobies up top. So to even things out, she looked into either gettin’ the fat sucked outta her ass or some implants shoved behind her itty bitties. She opted for the implants.”

  “Thanks for the insight, Wavonne,” I say, before turning back to Melva. “You were saying . . .”

  “So Quinn sees Marcus and Jennie at Jaspers and gets on the horn to Régine. Quinn tells her that Marcus is there with his cheese stick all up in Jennie’s marinara sauce. Not long after, Régine storms into the restaurant and goes full-blown Omarosa on both of them.”

  “Wow. This really is better than The Young and the Restless,” I say.

  “Sure is. Jennie still didn’t know about Marcus and Régine at that point.”

  “She was about the only one in town who didn’t know,” Wavonne pipes in.

  “After Régine’s tirade at the restaurant and Jennie learning about Marcus’s affair with her, Marcus didn’t need to choose between the two girls anymore—Jennie made the choice for him and dumped his ass . . . probably the smartest thing she ever did.”

  “Hmmm. Very interesting,” I say. I’m about to question Melva further when I happen to see Jennie chatting with Régine in one corner of the room. It’s only the two of them and, oddly, their conversation seems to be very cordial.

  Wavonne catches me staring at them. “Well, look at the two of them makin’ all nice-nice.”

  “Kind of makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” I ask.

  “About what?”

  “What Marcus’s old girlfriend and the woman he was cheating on her with are saying to each other.”

  I’m really surprised when I see Jennie give Régine a hug and then start for the door.

  “Let’s go,” I abruptly say to Wavonne and hurriedly get up from the table. I want to catch up with Jennie before she leaves, and the most discreet way to do just that would be to “happen” to leave the repast at the same time.

  “Go? I’ve barely touched my food. I ain’t goin’ no place.”

  “You go ahead,” Melva says. “I’ll drop Wavonne at the restaurant.”

  “Thanks, Melva,” I say and scurry through the church basement to catch up with Jennie.

  “Leaving already?” I call behind her. She’s just about to step out the door.

  “Yes. I need to get back to work.” She walks out the door and holds it open for me to follow.

  “Did I see you chatting with Régine?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s really none of my business, but didn’t you say over by the buffet table that Marcus was cheating on you with Régine? I guess I was surprised to see you two chatting so genially.”

  “I’m not really into drama. It’s in the past, and Marcus is dead. Régine probably did me a favor by taking him off my hands anyway.”

  “That’s a good way to look at it,” I say and wonder if Jennie is telling the truth. Has she really forgiven and forgotten, or is it all an act to hide the fact that she pummeled Marcus over the head with my frying pan? I’m about to say my good-bye when another thought occurs to me: What if Jennie and Régine were in it together? What if they joined forces to ge
t back at Marcus for playing both of them for fools?

  “You have a good day,” Jennie says when her phone chirps, and she pulls it out to check for a text.

  “You, too.”

  She smiles at me, and I wonder who’s texting her now . . . and I wonder even more if anyone was texting her the night Marcus was killed. Régine was typing something on her phone as she walked into her building the night Marcus died. Could she and Jennie have been trading texts about a mission accomplished? Was it just a coincidence that Régine and Jennie were at the restaurant together on the evening of Marcus’s death or were they communicating to each other between tables? It all raises a lot of questions. I’ve been good at that lately . . . raising questions . . . it’s the answers I don’t have yet.

  CHAPTER 32

  Régine and Jennie speaking so amicably to one another and seeing Jennie get a text right before we parted company in the parking lot makes me wonder even more about the two of them. As I get in my van, I think back to the footage of Régine walking into her building the night Marcus died. She was typing on her phone as she walked through the door. Clearly she was at home before Marcus was killed, but isn’t it possible that she was still involved in some fashion? Of course she could have been texting anyone while she was coming into her building, or maybe she was just browsing on the Internet. I’m thinking how handy it would be if I could see the screen of her phone on the camera footage when I remember Jeffrey, the front desk clerk at Régine’s building, saying that Régine was not seen exiting the building until the next morning. That meant that not only was there a camera facing people entering the building, which Wavonne and I viewed, but there must be a camera facing people exiting the building—a camera that would have been to Régine’s back when she entered the Madison a week ago Saturday, and it might show what was transpiring on her phone.