“Tiger, are you there?” I asked.
“I thought you weren’t going to give the pastor the time of day,” he said. His voice had changed to deep and selfish.
But I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. Tiger was the poster child for bad relationship advice. “Tiberious Jones, don’t start with me. Anyway . . . why did you call?”
“A few tips have come in about your personal project.”
He referred to the mysterious postcard I received the day after Devon’s homegoing celebration. Someone had sent me a box of roses. The note card attached to it was a picture of Bella and me at Devon’s funeral. On the back there was a note, more like a question. Do you still love me? When I read the question, the first thing that came to my mind was Gabe, Bella’s father. He was dead and those were his last words to me before he was murdered. I don’t believe in coincidences. Therefore, the card had creeped me out so bad I fainted. Whitney found me on the doorstep. I gave her some lame excuse about me being exhausted. She bought it and I called Tiger about the card. We had been scrubbing the streets for answers. I even put up money to give to tipsters who could give us solid leads. Unfortunately, all of them had led nowhere and my budget for more tips ran out last month.
I leaned back on the couch. “You know what, Tiger? I don’t want to deal with this today. In fact, I think I should let it go. It’s been months and nothing. Whoever sent the flowers is ghost, too. I think it was a prank, some disgruntled skip I sent back to jail, trying to scare me. Let’s just hang this whole thing up.”
“Angel Soft, you received three tips today from different people saying the same thing.”
I perked up and sat up. “What was it?”
“Some girl named Marlo made the postcard.”
“Do they know who she made it for?”
“Nope. She does wedding invitations and fancy paper stuff for a few event planners and businesses around town. Who knows? All I can say for sure is she made it.”
“So why hadn’t she called me then?” I shook my head. “Nope. Sounds like another crazy dead end to me.”
“She read about you in the paper and got scared. Now that’s funny.” He chuckled. “You’ve managed to get more of a bad-girl reputation since helping your sister.” He laughed even harder.
“Not funny.” I checked my watch and stood up. We needed to get out of here if we were going to make the show on time. “Text me the deets on this Marlo chick.”
“I’m going to do you one better. She’s night manager at Grits Draft House tonight. Let’s roll up there and talk with her.”
Grits Draft House? That’s the same place Rosary talked about when I was looking for Cesar.
“I can’t see her tonight. It’s Bella’s birthday. I promised quality time with her.”
“Girl, you’re full of it. ’Cause if that was the case, Justus wouldn’t be tagging along.” He scoffed.
“Get used to Justus in my life. Okay?”
“Oh, it’s like that?” he asked. His voice had raised an octave.
“It’s like that, so tonight is out.”
“You know good and well we can go there tonight. You can drop Bella at Ava’s early instead of Saturday morning and get Justus back to Sugar Hill before he turns into a pumpkin.”
“Ha ha . . .” Then I thought about what he had just said. “What do you know about Bella’s birthday party tomorrow anyway?”
“Your sister and I are friendly now. She tells me things.” His voice softened a little.
I threw my head back. “Oh God.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I heard the frown in his voice.
“Leave my sister alone, Tiger.”
“Only if you leave Reverend Romance alone first.”
“Sounds like you’re jealous.”
“Nope, just trying to save you from heartache.”
“And I’m doing the same for you.” I began walking toward the foyer. “You don’t know my sister like I do.”
“For the sake of our friendship, let’s just get back on the subject,” he said.
“Yep, let’s. . . .” I peeked in on Bella and Justus. They were still talking about God knows what. “If Whitney comes home before Draft House closes, then we can go. Otherwise, I have to stay here because there’s no one here to watch Bella while we’re gone.”
“That’s understandable,” Tiger said.
“And I have other plans tonight, too.” I referred to my alone time with Justus.
“I guarantee Reverend Romance will disappear by midnight with the pumpkin and the glass slipper. He has an early start on Saturdays: hospice visitations, soup kitchen, being a superhero . . .”
I laughed. “You know way too much about the people in my life.”
“See you at midnight.”
I chuckled. “I seriously doubt that.”
“We’re ready,” Justus called out.
“And we have a surprise,” Bella squealed.
“Bye, Tiger.” I hung up and walked into the foyer to join Justus and Bella. “What happened? What are we doing now?”
“We have a change of plans,” Justus said.
“What? No circus?” I asked.
“No, Mommy . . .” She jumped up and clapped. “We’re going to see The Muppets at the super-duper fabulous Fox Theatre. I can’t believe it!”
She began jumping again. She squealed louder with each jump.
“Bella, calm down.” I chuckled, then looked at Justus. “Are you crazy?”
“Someone owed me a favor. It’s no problem.”
“What about your nephews? Do you think they want to come?” I asked.
“They will be there. Mike and Trish scored the extra tickets for us. I promised to treat them to cake at Broadway Diner. Bella says she’s never been.”
“I haven’t either.”
His eyes lit up. “So there’s a place in Atlanta that you don’t know.”
“Yep, the wholesome ones always escape me.”
He took my coat off the hanger by the front door, then helped me into mine and Bella into hers. “Ladies, shall we?”
I gave Justus a smooch on the cheek. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “Thank me later tonight with some one-on-one time.”
I nodded, then hugged him. Although I knew I shouldn’t, I checked my watch and wondered how much one-on-one time we could have before Grits Draft House closed.
Friday, 11:00 PM
Home, Sugar Hill, Georgia
Justus, Bella, and I arrived back home a little before eleven. Bella had fallen asleep on the drive home. She’d eaten a ridiculously large slice of Oreo cake.
“I hope we didn’t ruin her appetite for tomorrow’s slumber party,” I said to Justus as he carried her up the stairs.
He laid Bella in her bed and tucked her under the bedcovers. “She’ll be fine.”
I observed Bella’s dollhouse clock and then texted Whitney. While at the show, she had sent me a message that she would be home by midnight. That gave Justus and me thirty minutes of alone time together.
Justus escorted me downstairs and into my sunroom. We could see the stars from there.
When I’d bought this place, the sunroom was a part of the large wraparound porch. However, I’d wanted a room I could rock Bella to sleep in, take long naps in, and forget the troubles I left behind in Atlanta. We walled it off with windows and white pine. I never considered this room to be romantic until tonight. I blamed it on the company I kept.
Justus sat down beside me on my ginger-colored suede sofa. This would feel nice if I weren’t on pins and needles.
He smiled; I smiled back.
“What plans have you and Tiger made for after I leave?”
My shoulders tensed. My jaw clenched. “How did you know?”
“You’ve been eying clocks and watches all evening.”
I lowered my head. “I’m a bad girlfriend. Aren’t I?”
“I don’t know. You’ve never defined what we are to each other.”
I dropped my head. “Does this conversation have to be so serious?”
“Nope.” He laughed. “Tell me about this case that will cut our time together.”
Justus’s reaction to my plans with Tiger surprised me. However, I wasn’t going to tell him the truth. He knew I was slightly off my rocker, but this card issue would make me look fruitier than a Broadway Diner fruitcake.
“It’s just a locator project I’ve been working on for the past few months. This is our first real lead. If we don’t act on it tonight, it may go cold.”
He sighed and lay back on the sofa. “I can get used to you dipping out late at night, as long as you come back to Bella and me every night.”
“We, huh?” I blushed.
“I know what I’m getting into with you.”
“But I can’t keep doing this to you.”
“No.” He shook his head. “But we’ll figure out a solution that will make the both of us happy. That is, if you want to work at this with me.”
“I do.” I smiled. “Tomorrow we could pick up where we left off. Bella will be at Ava’s after breakfast, I have the weekly roundup meeting at Big Tiger’s at ten, and then I have no plans after that.”
“I need to prepare for Sunday’s sermon.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I rubbed his strong arms. “Will that take all day?”
Just before he replied, I heard someone shutting the kitchen door and dangling keys. It was Whitney.
Justus followed my eyes and then exhaled. “The date is over.”
He stood up.
I caught his arm. “No, it’s not over.”
“It’s fine.” He removed my hand.
“No, it isn’t.” I hopped up. “I don’t want you to go just yet.”
“I think this is the best time for me to go.”
“Why?”
“Because I may change my mind about letting you leave later.” He looked at me in a way that made me want to call Tiger back to cancel.
I reached for my phone.
He put his hands over it. “Don’t. I’m fine about this. Really.”
“But you made time for me today. I’m stupid. Stay here. I’ll call Tiger off.”
“No, you just want another kiss from me.” He grinned. “However, it’s late. I don’t want to disrespect you. I shouldn’t be here this long alone with you anyway.”
“What? Why?!” I hopped up. “It’s only been about fifteen minutes.”
He kissed me and shut me up. “Thank you for a nice evening.”
“You never answered my question earlier. Will you be working on your sermon all day and night? Because if not, we could have more of this tomorrow night.”
He grinned. “Are you ready for this?”
I nodded. “I’m prepared to have my mind blown.”
4
Saturday, 12:30 AM
Grits Draft House, Alpharetta, Georgia
Grits Draft House was a Southern revival cocktail bar located in an affluent part of the North Atlanta area. It was a twenty-minute drive from my home. The good thing about Grits Draft House was that you didn’t have to dress up in a cocktail dress to enjoy yourself. It was more like a stylish watering hole: peanut hulls covering the floor, whiskey barrels made into bar tables, and antler barstools—real country. Of course, most of the people there wore four-hundred-dollar jeans and one-hundred-dollar T-shirts, but I didn’t have a problem fitting in. The Johns Creek Goodwill had some of the best bargain couture redneck wear in the state. I wore a pair of black jeans, a button-down white cotton shirt, and black cowboy boots I found in a boutique shop in Buford. I placed my bounty hunter’s badge on a black leather belt and brushed my hair back into a two-twist chignon. I was looking Southern charming and country chic. If I could kick my heels, I would have.
Tiger, however, looked straight up and down South Dekalb. He rolled up in there with a black leather jacket, a blinged out black T-shirt that read BIG BAD BOY, black jeans that hugged his ripped thighs, military boots, and a black beanie on his head. If I didn’t know him, I would have run out of the place the moment he stomped in there.
“So . . . dressing like a body double for The Rock is going to warm this Marlo chick over to us?”
“Angel Soft, this isn’t my territory. Too many ole Georgia Boys up in here for me to dress soft. I mean business. I want to look like I mean business.”
I stepped back. “Fine, Mr. Business. Just lead the way.”
I spotted Marlo around the same time she saw me. She was a petite, brunette bob-wearing freckle-faced young lady. She was cute as a button and probably did better in tips than I did on most hunts. Before I could extend my hand toward her, her eyes bulged and her face changed into a crazed banshee. She lifted a large white ceramic boilermaker shaker from the bar and cracked me across my head with it.
I hit the floor. Before I passed out, I heard Tiger’s sawed off shotgun cock. The sound of that gun jolted me back to the day Gabe died and why I remembered the detail of that note card.
Seven years ago . . .
The parking garage outside Buffalo Wild Wings Bar &
Grill, Buckhead Atlanta
It had been too cold for March mornings in Atlanta. Fortunately for me, it had also been too wet to do the first part of my assignment covering Filene’s Basement’s annual Running of the Brides event for the Atlanta Sentinel.
The storm had been so torrential that all the bridal teams camped out in their cars instead of clogging the sidewalks like usual. We, Gabe and I, hung back in a parking garage within view of the department store. Actually, we were making out.
Although lightning flashed around us and thunder made the car windows rattle, being with Gabe made me feel safe. I didn’t want it to end, but Gabe pulled back from our embrace and scrunched his nose.
“Did lightning strike?” he asked.
Although there was lightning close to where we parked, I knew that smell wasn’t lightning striking. Lightning smelled like ozone. This was gunpowder.
My eyes widened at the revelation. I sat up, looked at the rearview window, then shouted, “Gabe, duck!”
The right side of the car shook something furious and a loud crackling sound jolted me forward.
“Get down!” Gabe pushed me onto the floorboard and covered me with his body.
I grunted, then smelled more gun smoke, red Georgia clay, and Gabe’s peppermint shampoo. The shampoo smell almost calmed me. However, bullets pelted his Candy Painted Blue Ford 150 like a surprise hailstorm in September. My heart fell to my feet. I grabbed Gabe’s chest and screamed.
Something fell out of his jacket, a black note card with the words DO YOU STILL LOVE ME? written in bold white typeface across the back. My eyes bulged at the sight of it.
When I reached down to pick it up, a bullet rocketed through the car and zipped into the backseat. Another one had dropped and I had dropped to the floor along with it.
The medium pitched thunk of Whitney’s cell phone hitting the hospital floor brought me back to consciousness, along with more questions about Gabe and who hired Marlo to make that card.
Saturday, 4: 00 AM
Emory Johns Creek Hospital, Johns Creek, Georgia
I blinked a few times and let my mind settle on the fact that I was back in the hospital before I let anyone know I was awake.
“Is your phone working?” Ava asked Whitney.
“Yeah, Angel bought me this cool phone guard that protects it from anything,” Whitney said.
“How nice,” Ava said. “But I wish our sister did a better job at protecting herself.”
“Ava, please don’t make me hurt you.” Whitney scoffed.
“If you do, then she’s in the best place to recover,” I mumbled. “Don’t mean to interrupt, but can someone tell me where my baby is?”
“Mama has her,” my sisters both said at the same time.
“How do you feel?” Ava asked.
“Confused. Why am I in a hospital bed and not in the ER?”
“You got into a bar fight and suffered a mild concussion. Since you have a history of getting popped in the head, the doctor on call wanted to keep you in the hospital overnight for further observation,” Whitney said.
I tried to sit up, but couldn’t. My body lay trapped under bed sheets in a crowded hospital bed, because Ava and Whitney didn’t prefer the chairs. Whitney snuggled on top of the sheets beside me and Ava sat at the foot of the bed wagging her red stiletto sling backs.
Although I didn’t understand why Marlo had decked me at first sight, I understood my twin sister quite well. That nervous ankle tic was the precursor to a sticky favor request. Unfortunately, whatever it was usually meant another hospital stay for me or worse. I shivered despite the heat.
The last time Ava had asked me for one of those favors was eight months ago, and the result of that was me finding her holding her husband, Devon, dead in her arms, she being accused of his murder, and myself a head-butt away from getting macheted by the real killer. Like I said before . . . that twitch of hers was bad business.
Whitney crawled off the bed, kissed my forehead, and stepped out of the room to procure some choice treats. She knew I hated hospital food. As the door closed behind her, I waited for Ava to drop the bomb on me.
Ava continued thumbing through a pamphlet, then forced it into my hands. I read the title: GEORGIA STATE BOARD OF PRIVATE DETECTIVES AND SECURITY AGENCIES LICENSING APPLICATION PROCEDURES.
I looked at her and frowned. “Don’t start this again.”
I had assumed that after I saved Ava from going to jail for Devon’s murder a few months ago she would respect my career as a bail recovery agent. I was wrong. Now she thought I would be a better private detective. It had become her new mission and distraction from mourning for Devon.
“You know I’m always concerned about you and the life you’ve chosen . . .” She patted my arm.
She continued to tell me in the nicest way that she could how she thought that this episode, which landed me in the hospital, was God’s way of telling me that I needed to slow down. I threw the pamphlet back at her and reached for my hospital service remote. I needed the nurse ward clerk. It was hot in this room and Ava’s overpriced gardenia cologne clashed with the smell of recycled, hospital bleach water.
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