Someone Bad and Something Blue

by Miranda Parker

  Mom’s Cadillac rode so well I couldn’t feel the tires kiss the road. Jean Jacques, her driver, was a Haitian transplant from New York. He’d been a part of the family for at least ten years. I think Mom hired him so she could practice her French. I liked JJ, although he rarely smiled.

  I had him chauffeur us to the back side of the jail. It was where the bail recovery agents brought in skips. I knew prison visitation didn’t start until ten o’clock and there was no way that Marlo would have me down on her approved visitor’s list. To be honest, I didn’t think she would be admitted into the population. If she had an affiliation with A1 Recovery Agents, they would more than likely be back here preparing to take her out in their custody. I hoped I had beaten them to the punch.

  I turned to Mama. “This is the part of today’s story where you stay in the car with JJ.”

  JJ nodded.

  “That’s not the plan.” Mom shook her head. “I’m going. My mind’s made up.”

  “All right. Come on,” I grumbled.

  JJ opened our door, then whispered to me. “Do you need my gun?”

  I stuck out my hand and slid his pistol underneath my shirt and placed it into the holster strap I kept in the back of my jeans. “Mesi.”

  “You’re welcome.” He still didn’t smile.

  I tightened the silk scarf around my head as Mom and I approached the back door to the jail. I wasn’t shocked to see Marlo and Riddick Avery, the owner of A1 Recovery Agents, walking out. Riddick looked like the textbook definition of a bounty hunter. I had heard rumors that he ran with the U.S. marshals. He was rugged, white, blond, wore a ten-gallon hat, and had blue eyes that cut a hole through you, depending on the way he looked at you. He had women lined up to try out his handcuffs on their bedrails all over this state. Bad men here were often pretty.

  Riddick pushed Marlo behind him. “What are you doing here, Angel?”

  “Why are you trying to scare my baby, Mr. Avery?” Mama asked.

  My eyes finally rolled in embarrassment.

  His brows wrinkled as he observed my mom, then he smiled. “Angel, is this your mom?”

  “Yes, it is. So obviously I didn’t come here to start any trouble.”

  “Fair enough . . .” He sucked his teeth, looked at Marlo, then back at me. “But I’m the one you need to be talking to, not her. She only did what I asked her to do.”

  “You asked her to hit my daughter on the head?”

  “My apologies, ma’am. Now, that was a mistake. Marlo got worked up when Big Tiger showed up. She’s not accustomed to guys that look like that over here.” He turned to me. “You understand?”

  “Nope, not so sure,” I said. “If Tiger wasn’t here? What were you going to do to me?”

  “Nothing, I didn’t know you would be searching for Marlo about the lovely roses I sent. If anything, I was expecting a ‘you’re welcome’ from you.”

  “I would have, if you would’ve put your name on the card, but you didn’t. I think you did that on purpose. You were trying to scare me.”

  “Scare you?” He folded his arms over his chest and pursed his lips. “It was a picture of you and Bella on my note card. What’s scary about that?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about Gabriel Hwang.”

  “Bella’s father?” He looked at me then at Mom. “Am I missing something here? What does he have to do with this?”

  I huffed, but Mom touched my shoulder before I could go off.

  She stepped forward. “Angel took your gift the wrong way. She’s had a lot on her plate lately. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers like that, Angel.” He had a genuine look of concern on his face. “But you have to wonder whether or not you’re cut out for this line of work.”

  “What does that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “You’ve always had a problem with boundaries. That’s really why you’re not a reporter anymore. The sooner you realize you can’t do everything, the better off you’ll be.”

  “So I shouldn’t pitch my own television show to some of my former media peers?”

  “Tiger can’t keep his mouth closed to save his life.” He grinned.

  “He was sticking up for you, but I don’t care what he says. I don’t like you.”

  “Angel, darling, you don’t need to like me, but you do need to mind your business. You have the Chocolate cities. There are more than enough criminals there for you. But this is my territory. North Fulton and people like Cesar Cruz aren’t meant for someone like you. So since we’re on the subject, back off, because Tiger isn’t paying you to bring him in.”

  “He will if I bring him in first. In fact, lately I’m bringing them in faster than you. Perhaps this isn’t the place for someone like you anymore,” I said. “Step into the twenty-first century with the rest of the world.”

  He frowned. “You shouldn’t have brought Tiger.”

  “You should have signed the card like normal people do.”

  “That was my fault.” Marlo interrupted. “I forgot to include it on the card.”

  “Okay, well now that that is settled. It sounds like miscommunication, because of the business rivalry between you two,” Mom said.

  “Exactly, ma’am,” Riddick said. “And again I apologize for what happened.”

  “And I’m suing your ass for the medical bills,” I said to Riddick and then turned to Marlo. “And as for you . . . I don’t know you, but I now know what you look like. I won’t hurt you like I want to, because my mom is here and we’re standing outside the jail, but one day we’ll cross paths again and you’re mine. Come on, Mama, let’s go.”

  Mom and I turned around and began walking back to her car.

  “Is that it?” Riddick yelled from behind. “You didn’t come here for playground mediation. You want to know how I know about you and Gabe Hwang.”

  I stopped; Mom caught my arm. “Keep walking.”

  I whispered, “I can’t.”

  “Let the dead bury the dead and move on. If he was alive, you wouldn’t be raising Bella on your own.”

  There was truth in what she said. Gabe wouldn’t do that to me.

  After all, Riddick had just admitted he didn’t want me hunting Cesar Cruz. The only way he could have known I was searching for Cesar was from Rosary, though. I shook my head. He must have bailed her out for a favor. Dang, he got my snitch. I hated how cutthroat bail recovery could get sometimes.

  I squeezed Mom’s hand and began walking again.

  On the drive to Halle’s, Mom touched my arm with one hand and wiped her eyes with a hankie with the other. “Angel, I have to say . . .”

  “You don’t have to say it.” I stopped her.

  “Oh, but I do. It’s important.”

  I smiled. “Mom, I thought about what you said and agreed. I’ve been holding on too tight. It’s time that I let Gabe go.”

  “Well, that’s good, but that isn’t what I was about to say.” She removed the hankie, looked down at my clothes, and sniffed. “You need a shower before we do anything else.”

  7

  Saturday, 11: 00 AM

  Renew Day Spa, Marietta, Georgia

  Mom lived well. It wasn’t just the affluence. There were plenty of people in Atlanta with money. However, the way Mom maneuvered through the city, her daily routine, the places she would go, and the people she knew were always world class. Taking a hot shower in Renew exemplified the fabulosity of Mom’s life.

  From the outside, Renew looked like an old white and brick Victorian doctor’s office. Inside, however, it was textbook bliss: an actual waterfall instead of a hippy soundtrack; quiet staff with genuine smiles; genteel blue and white magnolia interior; cucumber water; cheese and crackers; hot stone massage; rose-scented body cream; and Vichy showers with lavender body wash.

  After I toweled off and sniffed my delicious-smelling skin with great satisfaction for the thousandth time, I put on a robe and shuffled my feet in terry s
hower slippers to my locker room. I couldn’t find Mom or my clothes. There was a note on the wooden bench in front of me with a tray of more fruit and cheese. I sat down, nibbled, and read it.

  Megan at the front desk sent your clothes to the cleaners. They’ll be delivered to my house next week once they remove those stains from your shirt. Apparently, blood splatter was everywhere. Megan has a new outfit for you. Join us in the lobby. Mom.

  “Us?” I peeked around my locker. “Who else is here?”

  I opened the locker to see what Megan had for me and then gasped. There was a gold metallic doctor’s bag. It contained a bounty of lip glosses, blushes, and love potions. There were a few wrinkle free floral rompers I assumed were just my size, a matching head scarf, and some golden sling back kitten heels to round out the I-would-never-be-caught-dead-in-this look.

  I put it on.

  When I walked out to greet Mom and Megan, I saw Whitney stuffing rolled turkey on toothpicks into her mouth.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  Whitney looked at me, her eyes widened, and she almost spat out her food. She swallowed, then laughed. “I’m here with Lana and the bridesmaids.. . .”

  Whitney had befriended my old college mentor, U.S. Congresswoman of the Great State of Georgia, the Honorable Elaine Turner’s only daughter, Lana. All the bridal hoopla events Whitney had been attending were for Lana. I assumed this was another event.

  “What’s so funny?” I frowned.

  “You look like Ava, except for that missing patch of hair.” I touched my head and realized I forgot to put that scarf back on my head.

  “Say that again and we’re not sisters.”

  “Not saying what’s on my mind has never been my thing. You know that,” she said.

  “It needs to be, if you intend to get married,” Mom said to Whitney, then she looked at the both of us. “Let’s go. I’m treating everyone to brunch and then Angel has a meeting with a haircut.”

  Whitney nudged me. “What kind of haircut are you getting?”

  I shook my head. “Whatever makes me not look like Ava.”

  Whitney giggled.

  “Angel, you could paint yourself blue, but you and Ava will always be lonesome doves until you find a way to forgive each other.” Mama eyeballed us both, then sauntered toward the lobby. “Ladies, let’s go . . . joie de vivre this Saturday.”

  “Lonesome doves? What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, ignoring her nod to French again.

  Whitney’s nose wrinkled. She threw up her hands. “I don’t pay Mama much attention, especially when she’s talking Old South.”

  “You and me both.” I smiled at Whitney. “Tell Mom I’m coming. I need to call Bella first. Where are we going for brunch, by the way?”

  “Douceur de France.”

  “Lord have mercy. She got you speaking French, too?” I chuckled, then pulled out my phone and began to dial. “Since we’re going there I might as well pick up some petit fours for Bella’s sleepover.”

  Ava picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Mommy!”

  It was Bella’s voice. I was caught off guard.

  “Hey! Did your auntie hand you the phone when I called?”

  Bella said nothing.

  “Are you nodding? If so, say yes.”

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  I chuckled. “Grandma and Aunt Whitney are with me. We’re going to bring you a great surprise for your birthday party.”

  “Cool,” she said. Her high-pitched voice tickled my ears. “Aunt Ava needs to speak to you, Mommy. I love youuuu.”

  “I love you, too,” I said.

  “You have a funny way of showing it, by sneaking out the house this morning.” Now Ava’s voice was on the line.

  “Ava, I needed to get some things done before my hair appointment.”

  “And that’s why I called Mom after we left the ER. I knew you would need some help.”

  I frowned. “You called her?”

  “She was coming over anyway and I needed her busy.”

  “No, you wanted her off your back, so you used me.”

  “Same difference. You know how she can get,” she said. The tone in her voice was matter of fact. I didn’t like it when she sounded cold like this. She was hiding something.

  “I do, but you won’t believe that she has been very motherish today, not the glam diva who rules with an iron fist that we know and fear so well.”

  “Wow.” She chuckled. “Prayer does work.”

  “It does, but is it working on you?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ava, we’re twins. I know your tics just like you know mine. What gives?”

  She sighed. “Tiger has been here three times looking for you. He said he’s been calling, but you haven’t answered your phone. He’s pissed.”

  Ava never said “pissed.” It was against her religion. This had to be bad.

  “I’ll call him. Thanks for telling me.”

  “No offense, Angel, but what did you get yourself into this morning?”

  “Nothing I can’t fix.” I checked my watch. This conversation had gone on too long. I began to race-walk out of the spa. “Anyway . . . kiss my baby for me. I don’t know how long Mama will keep me as her Prisoner of Beauty.”

  8

  Saturday, 11:30 AM

  Douceur de France, Marietta, Georgia

  Douceur de France sat around the corner from DuPre’s Antique Market in Marietta in the shopping center that used to house Kirk’s Supermarket. The building had been painted powdered-sugar white and navy blue. It was very clean, minimalist, and chic. Now, the Marietta loop didn’t look so Southern, but like a snapshot of Paris. The outside café tables further enhanced the ambience. However, it was too cold in March to be having brunch outside.

  We went inside and it looked like puff pastry palace: éclairs, Napoleons, tiramisu, petit fours, just from first glance. My mouth watered at the sight of a huge white chocolate and raspberry sour cream pound cake.

  Lana waved us over. She and the rest of the bridal party (three other girls whose names escaped me) had already found two tables for us. Everyone else ordered something with eggs and heavy cream, but I ordered le pain perdu, French toast. However, this breakfast wasn’t the kind you stuck in a toaster. No. It was a slice of brioche hand-dipped in crème brûlée butter, then topped with strawberries, bananas, and whipped cream. Ooh la la!

  While I enjoyed my meal, Lana touched my shoulder. “Angel, do you want to be a bridesmaid in my wedding?”

  Lana was Elaine’s only daughter. I had baby-sat her while I was in undergrad. She and Whitney became best friends after that. However, since we’d moved away from the perimeter, I hadn’t seen her as much. Now she was getting married. Time flies stupid fast.

  I shook my head. My mouth, tongue, and thoughts were all on that French toast. “No.”

  “But why?” She pouted.

  I looked over at her. Fruit syrup dripped from my lip. I stopped chewing. “Because I’m too old to be a bridesmaid.”

  “You’re not old and you definitely don’t look it.”

  “I accept that compliment. Thank you.” I wiped my mouth with a handkerchief. “But weddings and I aren’t friends.”

  “Why?” Lana looked from me to Whitney and back. Her blond ponytail bobbed every time she turned.

  Whitney chimed in. “For some reason she’s always seated by snooty women who flaunt their marital status around her as if she should feel bad for being single.”

  “Gee, thanks. I need my little sister to defend me . . . er . . . embarrass me,” I scoffed.

  “I’m sorry, Angel,” Lana continued. “But if I make sure you’re seated by people more down to earth, would you at least come to the wedding?”

  “Is the reception adult only?” I asked.

  “It is, but we’re having a separate party for the children. Mom’s procured a magician, an au pair, puppets, and a live band to keep them entertained. Isabella would have a ba
ll.”

  Wow. Big money Elaine. “How could I pass that up? Send me an invitation.”

  Lana clapped using her fingertips. Her blue eyes blazed in delight. “Should I add a plus one for Reverend Justus Morgan?”

  “Put him down,” Mom said.

  The girls squealed; Mom squealed the loudest. My heart fluttered at the thought of Justus in a tux.

  “But if he sees your hair like this, he’ll say ‘no’ for sure,” Whitney reminded us.

  I threw my hands over my head. “Mama . . .”

  “Oh dear. We need to go.” Mom threw her napkin on her plate and hopped up. “Let me clear the tab. Girls, you can hang here as long as you like.... Whitney, you, too.”

  Whitney rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Mama.”

  “Angel, can you join us for The Running of the Brides? It would be fun.”

  The Running of the Brides or ROTB began in 1947 in Boston when the retailer Filene’s decided to host a one-day bridal gown sale. Brides who participated in the event got the chance to purchase designer wedding gowns at a fraction of the cost. So of course the ROTB was a hit. Now the event was a national treasure and sprinkled in stores across the country like Buckhead Atlanta, where Gabe was murdered.

  “Oh, nooo.” I chuckled dryly. “Besides, since I’m not working this Saturday, I’ll have double duty next weekend.”

  My phone buzzed. I looked down. It was Tiger. A chill ran down my spine.

  “Speak of the devil.” I stood up. “Ladies, it’s been real, but I need to get this.”

  They waved good-bye. I walked outside to take his call while Mom finished up inside.

  I put the phone to my ear. “Hey, Tiger. Look, I know you’re mad—”

  “Angel, didn’t I tell you to leave it alone?” he shouted. “Didn’t I tell you it was handled?”

  “I heard you, but you know me. I needed to see Marlo. I needed to see myself.”

  “Yourself? Yourself?!” His voice grew louder. I moved the phone from my ear and put him on speaker instead. “See, that’s your problem. You’re not a lone wolf. What you say and do affects other people. What you did affected me.”