Crown of Thorns (Nick Barrett Charleston series)

by Sigmund Brouwer

  “I don’t know about this stuff,” Angel said. She carefully stood, remaining stooped to keep from banging her head on the shed’s roof.

  “Me neither,” Camellia said. “But if it’s true, heaven means after you’re dead, you get to see the people you love when they’re dead.”

  “If they’re not burning in hell. Or if you’re not burning in hell.”

  “When Grampa was dying,” Camellia said, her voice quiet, “he promised he’d be there in heaven waiting for me.”

  Although Angel was standing, Camellia, still seated, had lapsed into her own little world. “I just hope in heaven Grampa don’t smell like moldy clothes no more and that his teeth are fixed so they don’t click when he talks.”

  “I got to go,” Angel said. “I don’t like to leave Maddie alone at the hospital for too long.”

  Camellia didn’t hear her friend. She was still thinking about her grampa.

  “And his nose hairs,” Camellia said aloud to herself. “Be nice he didn’t have no nose hairs in heaven.”

  **

  For several minutes after the man at Retha’s home had hung up, I sat in the Jeep, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding my cell phone. I stared, unfocused, through the windshield.

  What options did I have if I wanted to continue with the obligation that had been placed on me the moment Retha had put her baby into my Jeep? Help Retha escape the compound? But that was assuming she wanted to. Or that it was possible to drive through the gates, past the church, to find her trailer. Steal the child from the hospital before Jubil’s deadline and keep trying to reach Retha? No. Give Jubil Retha’s name and let the authorities handle it? No. Walk away? Tempting, but no.

  I was in no hurry to get out of the Jeep. I didn’t have anything to do except work out, have another quiet dinner alone, and hope I was tired enough to sleep soon after, instead of lying awake wondering what Amelia was doing in Chicago and if she was spending time with someone else.

  I tapped the steering wheel, letting thoughts circle. Thinking about what I’d learned from Angel. A vigilante group had been terrorizing young black men. Grammie Zora had promised to stop it. Then had immediately begun her indirect search for Timothy Larrabee. As if she knew without doubt that somehow he was connected. But how did the painting tie this together? How did she know Timothy Larrabee? And what power did she have that he had been so willing to go to her?

  Faint music reached me from one of the restaurants on Market Street. Shopkeepers began closing up. Tourists stepped into horse-drawn carriages; other tourists stepped out. All this life happening around me, and I felt on the outside.

  Then a familiar red BMW passed me, and the driver found an open spot a few parking meters up the street. I watched the driver, with some admiration of her gracefulness, as she stepped out of the BMW and across the street to the lobby of the Doubletree. She carried an eight-by-ten envelope tucked beneath one of her arms.

  Kellie Mixson.

  **

  I reached the lobby desk just as Kellie was asking the clerk to accept the envelope for me.

  “Kellie,” I said.

  She turned, smiled, slid the envelope back across the counter, and thanked the clerk for his time. “Nick. Got a minute?”

  I pointed toward the lounge. She smiled again and nodded. When we were seated, she ordered a tonic water with lime. I did the same.

  She handed me the envelope. “Here’s background on the gardener. Except, as Evelyn said, he’s no longer a gardener. I’m not sure he’ll give you the time of day, but I’ve included a number where you can reach him.”

  “Five hundred a day gets fast results.”

  “Still working on Celia Harrison’s daughter.”

  Our tonic waters arrived. She took a sip, grimaced. “Tastes so bad that I make it last. Used to drink too much alcohol. Loved Coronas. Then when Pops had his heart attack, I cut back, way back. Started working out. Dropped thirty pounds. I love the difference in the way I feel.” She took another sip, grimaced again. “What’s your excuse for ordering it?”

  “It was easier to say ‘double that order’ than think of something else. I don’t want to make any more decisions for the rest of the day.”

  She laughed and raised her glass in my direction. “Here’s to helping the abandoned babies of the world.”

  I frowned.

  “Nick, what do I do for a living? Of course I checked you out. I know a guy on the force, Jubil Smith. He’s the first call I made.”

  I groaned.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Small town. Pops helped him when Jubil first made the streets. I’ve kept in touch.”

  “Trading favors over the years, right?”

  “Seems like I do favors for half the town. ’Course, it helps business. Jubil? He told me plenty. I wondered about your limp. Now I know. Tough break but you handle it well.”

  “Because you didn’t see a handicapped sticker on my Jeep.”

  “Easy now.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “And let me just add that you’re not bad at what you do. For a woman, that is.”

  She laughed again. “Point taken.”

  I glowered, but couldn’t maintain. It was nice to be sitting here with her. No pressure to be someone that I wasn’t.

  “This Angel,” she said. “I know you didn’t ask me to look into it but I did. Discovered something you might find interesting.”

  “Part of my five hundred a day?”

  “Freebie. Especially after discovering that you’ve committed to pay her sister’s hospital bills.”

  “Yeah, yeah. What about Angel?”

  Kellie was about to answer when she leaned back in her chair and looked over my shoulder.

  I glanced behind me.

  A woman approached. She had loose and long dark hair. She wore a silk blouse and silk slacks. A Gucci purse tucked beneath her arm. She was a few years younger than I, and attractive. Other men watched her approach, too, but not with the emotions that I did.

  The woman stopped at our table. Smiled. But it was a hesitant smile. “Nick,” she said. “Is this a bad time?”

  “No, not at all.” I answered quickly. I felt a flush of happiness and stood. Awkwardly. “Hello, Amelia. What a nice surprise.”

  **

  Retha was huddled beneath a bridge, where she’d been waiting for the past hours for the safety of nightfall. Her shoes were gone, long lost in the sucking mud of the swamp. Her legs ached from where Elder Jeremiah’s belt had wrapped around the muscles. And she was hungry, ready to faint.

  She listened to tires hum overhead as the occasional car or truck crossed the bridge. Each time she was convinced the tires would slow and stop, that Shepherd Isaiah would send Elder Jeremiah out of his black Escalade to jog down the embankment to search beneath the bridge and find her trapped, wet and shivering like a dog nearly drowned.

  But his Escalade never stopped.

  A few times she had nodded off to sleep, waking herself with cries from her own nightmares. She stooped occasionally to cup her hand in a puddle to slake her thirst with a palm full of dirty water. The river had a high content of salt water, so its slow current was merely an empty promise, one increasingly difficult to ignore as her throat grew more and more parched.

  She was surrounded by empty beer cans and shredded cigarette butts. Beneath the bridge seemed to be a gathering place, and Retha knew that once darkness hit, she didn’t dare wait much longer.

  With the approach of dusk, however, came more mosquitoes. In the swamp, they’d found her as she disturbed the grass and brush. Beneath the bridge, it wasn’t until the air began to cool that they could sense the heat of her body. The frenzied clouds attacked her again, and her frantic slaps broke scabs that had formed during the afternoon.

  Not once, however, did Retha break down into tears. Not once did she regret the path she had chosen. All of this was better than what she had left behind.

  And ahead was Billy Lee.

  She knew where she wa
nted to get during the night, even if it meant ducking into a ditch as each new set of headlights approached.

  To the hospital.

  Thinking of Billy Lee in her arms again gave her the courage to wait. Without realizing it, she began to hum his favorite lullaby.

  **

  “Amelia,” I said. “This is Kellie Mixson. She’s . . .”

  “Doing research for Nick,” Kellie said quickly. “I’m a private investigator.”

  “How nice,” Amelia said.

  “Kellie,” I said. “This is Amelia Layton. She’s . . .”

  My girlfriend? What exactly was Amelia to me? What was

  I to her? It seemed Amelia had been trying to keep her distance, but now she was here. I was confused. Happily confused. Unless she’d come down to wrap up some things in Charleston and decided to tell me in person that maybe things weren’t going to work out.

  “. . . a doctor,” Amelia filled in, putting an arm around my waist. “I’m in town from Chicago to spend time with Nick. And I’m looking forward to it.”

  “How wonderful,” Kellie said.

  They appraised each other.

  “We were just finished with our business,” Kellie said, standing. “And I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me. I’m sure you two will enjoy yourselves. It’s a romantic town.”

  “It is,” Amelia said. “We will.”

  Kellie’s face was expressionless as she handed me the envelope. “Let me get the drinks, Nick.”

  “No, that’s alright.”

  “I insist.” Still expressionless. Kellie motioned for the waiter. “By the way,” she said. “About Angel. Didn’t you tell me that she said Grammie Zora was out of town with one of her sisters?”

  I nodded.

  “Angel’s lying to you, Nick,” Kellie said. “Grammie Zora has no living sisters.”

  Chapter 16

  Home alone at night didn’t bother Angel at all. Usually after she’d fixed Maddie some food, cleaned the dishes, and straightened the house, she let the DVD videos of their mama keep them company.

  Tonight was different, of course. Maddie was in the hospital. Angel sat on the couch alone, watching images of her mama move across the white of the wall.

  Then came the knock at the door. It was too dark outside, too late for Camellia to come visiting. And Camellia never knocked. Angel had given her a key so she could come over anytime and spend the night if things were too rough down the street. Angel decided to ignore the knock.

  It came again.

  “I can hear the television,” a voice shouted. “I know someone’s in there and if the door ain’t opened in less than half a minute, I’ll bust it down.”

  Bingo. That was a relief to Angel. That she knew the voice at least.

  “Go away,” she shouted at the door. As soon as she said it, she knew she’d made a mistake. Now Bingo knew she was inside.

  “Let me in so we can talk,” Bingo said.

  “Go away,” Angel said. “I’m getting my dog. My guard dog.”

  “You ain’t got no dog.”

  Angel didn’t answer. She was running into her bedroom.

  The house was tiny. The kitchen, with Grammie Zora’s voodoo altar in the small room beside it. Two bedrooms off the living room. One for Grammie Zora. One for her and Maddie. Camellia’s room had clothes spread all over. Angel’s room was neat, the bed made. Camellia might spend half an hour looking for a certain T-shirt only to discover it was under the couch. Angel knew where every possession she owned was stored.

  It took her but two seconds to retrieve what she wanted. Small, white, plastic, with an opening for a miniature speaker.

  Angel ran back to the door. She set down the plastic object and pushed a button. An angry German shepherd began to bark loudly.

  “Go away,” Angel said. “I can barely hold him back.” Angel grinned at her tactic. Angel pushed the button again to send out more ferocious barks.

  When the noise stopped, she heard Bingo’s footsteps moving away from the door.

  Her triumph was short-lived.

  His footsteps returned in a rush, and he crashed into the cheap wood of the door. The doorjamb busted on impact and he skidded inside.

  “Got one of those fake-dog intruder alarms, huh?” he said, smiling his twisted, hungry, bully smile down on her. “They haven’t stopped me yet.”

  **

  I met Amelia again in the lobby twenty minutes after Kellie’s departure.

  “Good to see you,” I said. I meant it. I gave her a hug. Enjoyed the smell of her delicate perfume. “Where shall we go for dinner?”

  “The bellman, didn’t he . . .” Her smile was puzzled.

  “He knocked on my door as I was shaving.” I gave her another hug. “Thank you so much. I think it’s a great-looking suit. And I sure didn’t expect it. Thanks.”

  “Armani. I knew you’d look good in dark blue.” She gave me a peck on the cheek and hugged me back. Then she stepped away and smiled. “I was hoping you’d take the hint and wear it tonight.” She held her smile in place. “Don’t get me wrong. You look good right now.”

  I was in my usual khakis and one of my many golf shirts. Casual comfort.

  “Just that,” she continued, “I have this thing for a man in a great suit and . . .”

  “Be right back,” I said. “I only have two ties. I’ll bring them both down and let you decide.”

  “Actually,” she answered, “you’ll find a new tie tucked in the jacket pocket of the suit. If you need helping knotting it, just let me know.”

  **

  Angel backed away from Bingo.

  “Go away,” she said, trying to hide her fear. “Grammie Zora’s on her way back from getting groceries.”

  Bingo responded by slowly widening his smile as he spoke. “Remember the white-haired guy Grammie Zora sent me to fetch once? One of the big dudes that guarded him at the church is parked on the street waiting for me to get something that belongs to the white-haired guy. That painting.” Bingo frowned slightly. “Hey, you look different. Cleaned up.”

  “You got to get going,” Angel said. She wasn’t afraid often, but this was one of the times. Her tongue seemed to stick to the top of her mouth. “When Grammie Zora gets back, she’s going to mess you up.”

  “I don’t think so,” Bingo said. “I know your secret about Grammie Zora. After the dude pays me for getting what he wants from you, I’m going to come back and get you to pay me, too.”

  “For what?”

  “Keeping secret what you’re trying to keep secret.”

  Angel stepped behind the couch.

  “Run,” Bingo said. “There’s nowhere to go.”

  He turned, and with leisure, shut the door. It popped open again. He dragged a chair over and leaned it into the door.

  Angel took advantage of his distraction and darted into her bedroom and locked the door handle. Seconds later, the handle wiggled as Bingo tried to turn it. Angel wished she had a phone in her bedroom. If there was ever a time to call Camellia for help, this was it.

  “Hey,” he said, “I can break this door down, too. And if I have to do that, I’m going to put your hind end on the stove top. Won’t take long for the heat to learn you to mess with me.”

  “Leave me alone,” Angel said.

  “Thirty seconds. Open the door in thirty seconds, or you get the burner.”

  Bingo chuckled at his brilliance.

  “Go ahead, start counting,” Angel said. “Once you get past ten, it’ll take you all night to figure out how to reach thirty.”

  The door banged, almost bulged off the hinges. Bingo had punched it.

  “Don’t make me mad,” he said.

  That wasn’t Angel’s intention. She was just stalling for time. From under her bed she grabbed the electric stun gun, first stolen from the police department before she and Camellia had restolen it from Bingo. Camellia knew how it worked—she’d seen Bingo kill a cat with it, which is why she’d made sure Bingo wasn’t going
to get the chance again—and had shown Angel how to use it, too.

  Still, Angel wished it were a real gun. At least she knew that real guns worked. At least she knew she could shoot the gun through the door and kill Bingo that way. She was ready to do that—anybody who’d put a girl on a stove deserved a gut full of bullets.

  While it was better than nothing, the trouble with the electric stunner was that Bingo might see it in her hand before she had a chance to jab him, and he’d take it from her.

  Bingo wiggled the door handle again, kicking the bottom of the door with his foot. “Don’t make me burn you to toast.”

  “Okay, okay, okay,” Angel said. She was ready to take her chances. “I’ll let you in. But what you’re looking for is in Grammie Zora’s desk. Don’t you want that instead?”

  “Where’s her desk?” Bingo’s voice relayed suspicion.

  “Go into the kitchen and through the beads. You’ll find it.”

  Angel heard scraping noises and grunting.

  “There’s a sofa against your door,” Bingo announced. “You won’t be running out on me while I look.”

  That wasn’t what Angel wanted. She figured Bingo was going to hurt her one way or another. What she wanted was something to prove he did the hurting. Maybe later she could trade that secret off against the one he wanted to use against her.

  **

  Changing into the suit took five minutes. When I returned to the lobby, Amelia took my arm as we departed.

  “Cary Grant,” she murmured, “has nothing on you.”

  “He could only wish to be walking with someone as beautiful as you,” I answered gallantly.

  She squeezed my arm. Suits weren’t my style, but it wasn’t much of a sacrifice to make her happy. And much as I disliked the constraints of the tie, I did feel stylish.

  I stopped with her on the sidewalk just outside the hotel. We were in the market area, and it was already filling with couples on their way to the nearby restaurants. After a wave of people moved around us like a current, I looked down the street for the valet and my Jeep.