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

by Herbert, A. L.

  It was a long shot, but I decide to make a detour back to the Madison before returning to Sweet Tea. When I reach the apartment building, I park in a visitor space and walk toward the lobby. I press the button at the front door and am disappointed to be greeted by a female voice—I was hoping Jeffrey would be on duty again and amenable to taking a few more bucks in exchange for letting me view the security footage a second time. Not knowing anything about the woman on the other side of the intercom, I tell her that I’m interested in renting an apartment in the building. She buzzes me in, and when I reach the front desk I see a white woman of about fifty years standing behind the counter.

  “Hello,” she says in a gravelly voice as I approach the desk. She has the look of someone to whom life has not been terribly kind, and I detect the smell of cigarette smoke as I get closer. Her hair has a seen a few too many bottles of do-it-yourself Nice ’N Easy, and her heavy makeup has settled into the creases on her face.

  “Hi.”

  “Hello. I’m Viola. What can I help you with? You’re interested in an apartment?”

  “Yes. What do you have available?”

  “We’ve got one and two bedrooms.” She hands me a piece of paper with some details about the units. I give it a quick look.

  “Thanks,” I say. “How is the security? You know I’m a single woman.” I’m trying to veer the conversation toward the cameras and feel her out to see what I think the chances are of her letting me take a look at some of the video footage.

  “It’s very good. We have coverage at the front desk until seven p.m., and then a security guard makes regular rounds throughout the night. We share him with a few other buildings in the area.”

  “I see some cameras.” I point to the one behind her that faces the entrance.

  “That’s camera one,” she says. “It constantly monitors who comes into the building. And that’s camera two,” she adds, pointing to the camera behind me. “That monitors who exits the building. We also have cameras at the four side doors, which are always locked. Only staff members have keys. Residents can only exit from them.”

  “Good to know. Safety is very important to me.”

  Now that we’re on the subject of the cameras, I’m trying to think of a way to ask if I can see some footage from them and relate the request to my concerns about the security of the building, but nothing that I think she’ll buy is coming to mind. I briefly ponder the idea of just explaining my situation to Viola and seeing if she’ll help a girl out, but I’m not getting a vibe from her that indicates she’d be receptive to violating policy. Jeffrey was young and easily manipulated—plus, when he was manning the desk, I had Wavonne and her ample bazumbas working the situation. My bazumbas are nowhere near the caliber of Wavonne’s, and they wouldn’t do me much good with another woman even if they were. Viola also doesn’t seem like the type of person who’s going to break the rules for a few bucks.

  I’m about to give it up, make an excuse to Viola as to why I’m no longer interested, and head back to Sweet Tea, but then Viola leans in a bit closer, and I get another whiff of cigarette smoke, which gives me an idea.

  “We have a couple of vacant units open if you want to take a look.”

  “That would be great, but I’ll be renting with a roommate,” I lie. “She should be here soon. Do you mind if I wait in the lobby until she gets here, and we can look together?”

  “No. Make yourself comfortable.”

  The lobby isn’t much to look at, but there’s a reasonably comfortable-looking sofa across from the front desk. I’ve barely sat down on it when my phone rings.

  “Hi, Momma,” I say.

  “Halia. I’m in line at the Giant, and I’ve met the nicest man . . . and he’s single.”

  “What?”

  “His name is Lorence. He’s right here. Say hi.”

  I hear Momma put the phone up to him.

  “Hello,” he says.

  Momma takes the phone back. “He works for a health insurance company.”

  “That’s nice, Momma. Now leave the man alone and let him pay for his groceries.”

  “You’d like Halia,” I hear her say to him. “She works in a restaurant.”

  Momma always tells men she’s trying to set me up with that I “work in” a restaurant. She never tells them that I own the place. “Let them get to know you first before you tell them you run your own business,” she always says. “Men can be put off by successful women.”

  I can’t make out what he says in response, but my guess is he just wants to get away from the pushy old lady trying to set him up with her daughter.

  “I’m going to give him your number, Halia,” she says to me. Then I hear her speaking to Lorence. “You should call her. She’s really very nice.”

  I’m about to protest, but then my eyes wander back over to Viola, and exactly what I’ve been waiting for happens.

  “I have to go, Momma. Leave the man alone and work on getting your own dates.”

  I hang up the phone and watch as Viola gets up and leaves her post with a lighter and a pack of cigarettes in hand. Just as I suspected from the gravelly voice and ashy smell, Viola is a smoker, and we all know, sooner or later, smokers are going to take a smoke break. And thanks to the Maryland Clean Indoor Air Act, the same law that doesn’t allow me to offer a smoking section in Sweet Tea, Viola has to go outside to do it. I don’t smoke myself, but enough of my staff does for me to know that she’ll be gone for at least five minutes, maybe more.

  After I watch her walk down a long hallway to the left of the reception area and disappear out a side door, I don’t waste any time scurrying behind the desk and through the door to the back office. I quickly grab the mouse next to the keyboard and start clicking. I watched Jeffrey as he was navigating the files earlier and, besides, it’s pretty simple—there’s one main folder for each camera and then additional subfolders by date. Fortunately, Viola was kind enough to let me know that camera two is the one I want to view. I simply click on that folder and then open the file for the night in question. I find the fast-forward button and rush the footage to 12:21 a.m. I lift my finger from the mouse to let the recording play. When I lean in close to the screen I can see Régine’s back as she enters the building. I can even see her phone, but the footage is way too grainy for me see what’s on the screen.

  Disappointed, I close the file and exit the office. I grab a pen and a slip of paper from the desk and leave Viola a note thanking her for her time but letting her know something has come up, and I have to leave.

  Annoyed that I wasn’t able to garner any useful information, I head toward the main door and leave the building.

  CHAPTER 33

  I’m thinking about Régine and Jennie as I arrive at Sweet Tea. I can’t help but wonder if they were somehow in cahoots with each other. But, then again, one would think they’d be smart enough not to be seen hugging each other at Marcus’s funeral if they’d actually conspired to kill him.

  When I come through the front door of the restaurant, I see that the place is packed with customers. We had exactly three chicken potpies left over from yesterday, and I see that all three of them have already made their way to some of the tables. At one table in particular I see a fork pierce the crust of one of those pies, lift out a heaping portion of filling, and follow it to the lips of one Officer Jack Spruce. I don’t know Detective Hutchins well, but Jack has been coming in to the restaurant for years, and we’ve always been friendly. And, if Wavonne is right, and he is, in fact, a little sweet on me, maybe he’ll share something with me about Marcus’s case that Detective Hutchins hasn’t.

  “Jack. How’s it going?”

  “Hey there, Halia. Just fine. This pie is delicious.”

  “I’m so glad you’re enjoying it. We made them fresh yesterday. You got one of the few we had left over.” I pull out the chair across from him. “Mind if I sit down?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

 
; “Shoot.”

  “You know an acquaintance of mine, Marcus Rand? I’m sure you’re aware that he recently met with an untimely death?”

  “It’s been the talk of the station for days.”

  “Can you tell me anything about what’s going on? Do the police have any leads or prime suspects?”

  Jack suddenly looks uncomfortable.

  “What? What is it?” I ask.

  “Halia, I really can’t be divulging information about active cases.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t want you getting into trouble, but even the tiniest bit of information would be appreciated.”

  He looks down at the table and then back up at me. “I don’t know how to say this, Halia . . . and I probably shouldn’t mention it anyway. . . .”

  “Mention what?”

  “There are some leads and they all . . . well, they all point to one prime suspect.”

  “Who?”

  Jack doesn’t say anything. Instead he points his eyes at Wavonne, who is taking an order at a table a few feet away.

  “Wavonne? But Detective Hutchins was in here the other day and talked with her for almost an hour. I thought she had been cleared.”

  “Just between you and me, Halia”—Jack lowers his voice—“I don’t think it will be long before they bring her in for more formal questioning. They are trying to get a Macy’s clerk to agree to identify her in a lineup . . . well, not Wavonne. . . . I’m sure Wavonne is innocent.... I mean, whoever bought a purse from the Macy’s in Marlow Heights with Marcus’s credit card—that’s the person they are looking to identify.”

  “What do you mean they are trying to get the Macy’s clerk to agree to indentify her?”

  “The young lady at Macy’s doesn’t want to get involved in a murder investigation and is refusing to cooperate. Can’t say I blame her, even though Hutchins assured her that she won’t be in any danger. He tried to get her to identify Wavonne in a photo, but she wouldn’t even look at it.”

  God bless her! I think to myself. “How did they get a photo of Wavonne?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they downloaded it from her Facebook page or something.”

  “I hope the clerk does agree to get involved,” I lie. “Wavonne has nothing to do with Marcus’s murder, and if they were to put Wavonne in a lineup, I’m sure the Macy’s clerk would not recognize her because it simply was not Wavonne who used Marcus’s credit card.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Halia.”

  “I wish the police would stop wasting their time on Wavonne. There are so many other people in Marcus’s life they should be checking out. Jennie Becks, for instance. Do you know if they have checked out Jennie? She was Marcus’s old girlfriend—”

  Jack interrupts me. “Marcus’s old girlfriend who he was cheating on with Régine. Yes, we’re aware of her relationship with Marcus. She’s been interviewed. She actually was here the night Marcus was killed.”

  “Yes. I know. I just saw her at Marcus’s funeral and recognized her from that evening.”

  “She was with three of her friends all night. After they left here, they went to a bar—someplace called The Park at 14th. Apparently it’s a fancy-smanchy nightclub in the city. Her friends served as her alibi, and the doorman said they are regulars at the club. He remembered letting them in ahead of several other guests waiting in line. You know how those clubs are—they always let the pretty young women in ahead of everyone else.”

  “So that takes Jennie off the suspect list. But what about some of Marcus’s other dinner companions that night he was killed?” I ask. “You’re familiar with the case, so you’re aware of Heather and Josh Williams, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I gave Detective Hutchins a lead about them a couple of days ago? Do you know if he followed up?”

  Jack smiles. “The cologne smell? Yes. Everyone had a good laugh over that one at the station.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I think you did Wavonne more harm than good by bringing that up to Hutchins. Now he half-thinks you’re a little nutty and imagining smells . . . and half-thinks you made the whole thing up to take suspicion off Wavonne.”

  “What?! Imagining smells? Are—”

  I’m infuriated, but Jack interrupts me again and doesn’t allow me to finish the tirade I’m about to go on. “But to his credit, Halia, Detective Hutchins did follow up. He had the trunk swept for DNA samples.”

  “And?”

  “Nada. Which isn’t surprising given that Marcus shaved his head, and even less surprising considering that, at some point, the trunk liner had been removed.”

  “Removed?”

  “Yep. Word at the station is that there was no liner or carpet or whatever you call it in the trunk.”

  “Please tell me the cops find that very dubious.”

  “Yes, I suppose, but apparently Heather and Josh said that milk had leaked from some groceries, and they had to get rid of the liner due to the sour smell.”

  “Sour smell, my ass! Marcus Rand was in that trunk. I’m sure of it.”

  Jack just looks at me, clearly unsure what to say.

  “Don’t tell me you think I’m imagining smells, too?”

  “Of course not, but what you smelled could have been any number of things, and it’s certainly not enough to lead to any arrests.”

  I think about what he’s said and sit across from him quietly as I consider it.

  “Things will be okay, Halia. Hutchins is a good cop. He’ll find out who did it.”

  “I hope so, Jack. I appreciate you sharing what you know with me. I’ll let you get back to your lunch. Pick something off the dessert menu on the house,” I say and get up from the table.

  It’s too busy to leave right now, but when peak lunch hours are over, I’m going to pay a visit to Heather and Josh Williams. Wavonne is not going to be paraded around in a lineup for something I got her involved in. I’m not convinced Heather and Josh killed Marcus, but I am convinced they are hiding something, and I’m going to find out what it is if I have to promise them free fried chicken and waffles for the rest of their lives.

  RECIPE FROM HALIA’S KITCHEN

  Halia’s Fried Chicken Wings

  Ingredients

  1 tablespoon seasoning salt (such as Morton’s Season All)

  2 teaspoons black pepper

  ½ teaspoons cayenne pepper

  1 teaspoons poultry seasoning

  12 whole chicken wings

  1 cup all-purpose flour

  1 cup cornstarch

  4 tablespoons instant mashed potatoes

  2 cups whole milk

  4 cups Panko bread crumbs

  • Fill deep fryer with enough vegetable oil for wings to be completely submerged and heat to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

  • Whisk together seasoning salt, black pepper, cayenne pepper, and poultry seasoning.

  • Sprinkle seasoning mix over both sides of wings and marinate in the refrigerator for 2 hours.

  • Whisk flour, cornstarch, instant mashed potatoes, and milk until blended.

  • Dredge wings in the flour mixture and then into the Panko bread crumbs.

  • Let coated wings set at room temperature on a wire rack for 10 minutes.

  • Cook wings, a few at a time, for 7 to 10 minutes, turning occasionally.

  Twelve Wings

  Note: For best results, divide Panko bread crumbs into two bowls as they tend to clump after a few wings are dipped in them. Cooking times vary due to wing size. Use smaller wings for more even cooking.

  CHAPTER 34

  “We’ve got trouble,” I say to Wavonne.

  “Trouble? New trouble or old trouble?”

  “The police are looking at you as the prime suspect.”

  “Me?! Oh, hail no!” It’s after two o’clock and the restaurant has quieted down so Wavonne’s words echo throughout the place.

  “Would you keep your voice down?”

  Wavonne lowers her voice. “Why me?�
��

  “Because you fit the description of the person who used Marcus’s credit card, which makes sense, considering you were the person using Marcus’s credit card. Lucky for us, the salesperson who remembers you is wary about getting involved in a murder investigation and isn’t cooperating.”

  “Remembers me? She must wait on thousands of people. Why’d she remember me?”

  “Because you apparently complained to no end when she was ringing up the purse you bought.”

  “All I said was ‘Macy’s sucks ass.’ She must hear that all the time. You’ve been in that store over by Iverson Mall. They don’t stock half the nice things they sell over at Pentagon City or Montgomery Mall. And it’s always a mess. Whenever I go in there, it looks like Porsha and Kenya just had a throwdown on top the Gucci display.”

  “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. What’s important now is getting the police off your case and moving them on to someone who may have actually committed the crime.”

  “And how we gonna do that?”

  “I’m leaving now to go see Heather. I couldn’t find her home address, but I did a search on the Internet, and I found out where she works.”

  “I’m goin’ with you.”

  “No. You stay here. We need to handle her delicately and being . . . being delicate is not your specialty, Wavonne. I think she might talk to me if I approach her in the right way.”

  “And she might kill you like she did Marcus. I’m goin’ with you, Halia. That girl’s gonna talk one way or the other.”

  Once again I explain to an increasingly concerned Laura that Wavonne and I are ducking out for an hour or so, and Wavonne and I leave Sweet Tea and make our way into the city. We’re only a few miles over the border from D.C., so with no traffic, we make it to Heather’s office in less than half an hour and find street parking nearby.