by Shelly Ellis
The detective shook his head. “I’m not here to ask you anything. I wanted to tell you somethin’.”
Evan raised his brows. “And that is?”
The detective took a step toward him. His smile widened into a grin. “Dante Turner woke up.”
A chill went up Evan’s spine.
“He woke up yesterday afternoon. He isn’t speaking yet. All the drugs haven’t worn off, but the doctors think he’ll definitely recover enough to be able to speak. He’s going to talk again, and when he does, he’s going to tell us what happened.”
Evan stilled. He could feel his panic rise with each passing second. Dante was awake! Dante was going to talk! He would tell the detective who shot him, and Antonio would be arrested. Paulette’s family would be torn apart.
“So, I asked you once,” the detective continued, “and now I’m going to ask you again. Is there anything . . . and I mean anything you need to tell me about the shooting that happened that night? Is there anything you know that I need to know?”
Evan swallowed loudly. “No, there isn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
Evan straightened his shoulders and rose to his full height. “Yes, I am sure, Detective.”
He watched as Detective Morris nodded then turned to stare across the lobby at the TV screens that showed commercials from the franchises owned by Murdoch Conglomerated. He grew somber.
“You know, my mama and daddy used to work for you,” Detective Morris announced, making Evan confused by the course this conversation was taking.
“Excuse me?”
“My mother and my father used to work at a cookie plant down in Alabama,” he explained, turning back to Evan. He spoke louder so he could be heard over the noise from all the Murdoch Conglomerated employees who were walking throughout the atrium, grabbing their afternoon lunches. “I could remember them working there when I was a kid. They would have the smell of cookies on their clothes and in their hair. They would bring home the broken bits for me and my brother to snack on at school. Shit, most of the town worked at that cookie plant or depended on it!” He glanced back at the video screens. “Then, in the early nineties, Murdoch Conglomerated bought the company. Everyone was excited. They thought the plant might expand . . . hire even more people, bring even more money to town. But then you guys shut the whole thing down.” He glared at Evan again. “Just turned off the machines, kicked everyone out, and locked the doors one day.”
Evan inwardly winced. He didn’t know what cookie plant the detective was referring to, but he wasn’t surprised to hear that the company had done something like that back then. His father’s tactic when he first started to expand Murdoch Conglomerated was to buy out competitors. If he considered them worth incorporating into the business, he’d keep the companies open as subsidiaries, but most he just shut down. Evan wasn’t sure if his father had done it sometimes out of spite.
“Mama and Daddy didn’t have a job anymore, no pension. Everything in town went to shit,” the detective continued. “A lot of people moved to other places if they could, but the ones who stayed had it bad . . . real bad. My daddy started drinkin’. He and Mama got divorced.” The detective pursed his lips. “I never thought one day I’d get the chance to look in the eyes of the man who did that to my town—to my family.”
“I didn’t do it, my father did. I wasn’t the CEO of the company at that time. I was still in junior high, Detective!”
“All the same, you’re a lot like your daddy, aren’t you, Mr. Murdoch?” he snarled with contempt. “Like I said before, any man who gets to where you’ve gotten in this world can’t do it without getting his hands a little dirty, without doing some things that aren’t so honest.”
Evan blanched. He gazed into the man’s cold, gray eyes and realized that the detective wasn’t just conducting an investigation into Dante’s attempted murder. He hadn’t just latched onto Evan because he thought he knew something about the investigation, or because the detective was some racist redneck from the backwoods of Alabama who was out to put a rich black man in his place. Evan realized that Detective Morris had an axe to grind for past wrongs—and he planned on grinding that axe against Evan’s backside.
“Detective, I’ve told you everything that I know. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to an appointment. And if you continue to ask me questions from this point on, you’re going to have to do it with my lawyer present. Understood?”
The detective chuckled. “Whatever way you want it, Mr. Murdoch. Doesn’t make a difference to me.”
“Good,” Evan said, before walking around the detective, striding across the lobby while telling himself that he wasn’t running away.
* * *
“Damn! Where the hell you been, man?” Terrence called out as Evan opened the glass door and stepped into the jewelry store. The younger man pushed himself away from one of the counters and held up his arms. “I’ve been waiting for you for the past twenty minutes!”
“Sorry! Time got away from me.”
Terrence nodded before scrutinizing Evan more closely. “Hey, are you all right? You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine,” Evan answered, not wanting to have to recount his run-in with Detective Morris. He stared down into the glass case. “So what do we have? What pieces look the most promising?”
“The hell if I know,” Terrence muttered with a shrug, glancing over his shoulder at a pretty woman in a tight skirt who was taking jewelry out of one of the cabinets in the corner and placing several diamond bracelets and necklaces on a velvet-padded cushion. “I asked one of the sales girls to pull a few things. I don’t know shit about buying a ‘push gift.’ I’m nobody’s baby daddy—as far as I know. Knock on wood.” He rapped his knuckles on the counter. “So I asked her to make some recommendations.”
“You’ve bought jewelry for women before, Terry. This isn’t much of a stretch.”
“You know damn well it is! When I gave girls gifts, I was basically saying ‘Thanks for the good sex last night. Hope we can do it again sometime.’ You’re buying a gift saying, ‘Thanks for having my baby. I hope you don’t hate me after you squeeze something the size of a watermelon out of something the size of a lemon.’” Terrence held up his hands and shifted them back and forth like weighing scales. “One calls for something a lot bigger than the other.”
“So you’re saying I should have asked someone else to help me do this?”
“I’m saying you should have called Paulette! This is more up her alley, and she’s tight with Lee. She knows what she likes.”
Evan grimaced and turned his attention back to the glass case. “I couldn’t call Paulette for this.”
“Why not?”
“I’d just be too . . . too awkward.”
“What the hell would be awkward about it? It’s just Paulette!”
“Trust me.” Evan held up his hand. “It’s better if you’re here and not her.”
Terrence squinted at his brother. “What the hell is going on with you, Ev? You’ve been acting real shady lately.”
“Shady?” Evan’s voice went up an octave. He stared at his brother in outrage. “How am I shady?”
“Something’s happened . . . something’s gone down and you’re not telling me what it is.”
Evan pursed his lips. He wanted to tell somebody. He wanted to release this lonely burden, but could he do it? Should he do it?
“Just say it, Ev,” Terrence urged. “It can’t be that bad! You didn’t kill somebody, did you?”
“All right, gentlemen,” the pretty blond sales girl said as she walked across the room holding a velvet-lined tray aloft. “I have several beautiful pieces to show you today. I’m sure you’ll find something among our selections that will—”
“Would you excuse us?” Evan said, holding up his finger. “We just need a sec.”
The young woman lowered the tray. Her smile disappeared. “Of . . . of course,” she stuttered.
Evan grabbed his brother b
y the arm and tugged him toward the shop door. “Let’s talk outside,” he whispered. When they stepped onto the sidewalk and walked a few feet to a deserted end of the block, he let Terrence go.
“Dammit, what is it?” Terrence asked impatiently, eying him again.
Evan sucked in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He shook his head. I can’t believe I’m doing this, he thought.
“I didn’t . . . I didn’t kill anybody,” he began tentatively. “But I . . . I know someone who did.”
Terrence’s brows furrowed. “What?”
Evan closed his eyes. “Antonio . . . He killed someone. He killed Paulette’s ex-boyfriend, the guy who was blackmailing her. He basically confessed it to me.”
Evan opened his eyes to find his brother staring at him in shock.
“What the . . . what the fuck! Ev, tell me you’re joking! Tell me you’re lying to me because—”
He shook his head. “I’m not lying, Terry. I wish I was! He told me what he did and how he did it. I looked the guy up online to find a news story about how he died. He was murdered . . . murdered just like Antonio said, but they haven’t figured out who killed him. The police are still investigating it. They even questioned Paulette.”
“Oh, shit,” Terrence whispered, taking a shaky step back, bumping into the adjacent brick wall. “Oh, shit! Oh, Jesus! Did you tell Paulette?”
He shook his head. “No, I . . . I can’t. It’s not my place.”
“Not your place?” Terrence shouted. “Not your place? Ev, you have to tell her!”
“I can’t, Terry! Not now. Not after what else happened.”
“There’s more?”
Evan nodded. “I kind of . . . I kind of let it slip to Antonio that Dante had tried to blackmail Paulette, too. I told him what Dante had done and within a couple of weeks, Dante was shot.”
Terrence cringed. “So you’re saying you think Antonio tried to kill him?”
“I don’t know! Maybe! The detective said Dante woke up, that he probably saw his shooter, and he could point out who tried to kill him. What if he tells the cops it was Antonio? What if Paulette’s husband gets carted off to jail?”
“Ev,” Terrence said, staring at him, aghast. “That’s not our biggest concern right now!”
“Yes, it is! If he’s found guilty of murder, Antonio could get the death penalty, Terry!”
“Look, you’re telling me that our sister is living with a man who already killed one dude and might have tried to kill another. That’s what I’m worried about, Ev! What if he tries to do the same shit to her?”
“He won’t hurt her, Terry. He loves her!”
“But how do you know he won’t kill her?” Terrence shouted. His voice echoed down the street, and Evan furiously motioned for him to keep his voice down. “How do you know that?” he whispered through clenched teeth. “What if he gets pissed off at her one day and decides to come at her with a butcher knife, huh? What if she says the wrong thing and ends up with an electrical cord wrapped around her throat?”
“He won’t . . . he won’t do that,” Evan argued, though his voice lost its forcefulness.
In his heart, he knew he couldn’t vouch for anything anymore. He never would have guessed Antonio would kill anyone, but Antonio had done it. Deep down, Evan really didn’t know what Antonio was capable of.
“Shit,” Terrence muttered again, scrubbing his hand over his face.
“You have to promise me that you won’t tell Paulette what I just told you.”
“I can’t do that, Ev.”
“But Terry, if you tell her, she might—”
“I said I can’t do that, dammit!” Terrence barked, lowering his hand. “I can’t! I’m not promising you anything.”
Evan watched as his brother shook his head and muttered to himself. Terrence then abruptly turned.
“Where are you going?” Evan shouted after him. “I thought you were going to help me pick out a gift for Lee!”
“You really expect me to stand around looking at fucking bracelets after you told me that shit? Hell no! I’m out,” he said, before waving Evan off.
“Terry! Terry, come on!” Evan called after his brother, then sighed as Terrence continued to stalk toward his Porsche, parked at the other end of the block. “Goddammit,” Evan murmured in defeat before walking back into the jewelry store, letting the door swing shut behind him.
Chapter 11
Terrence
Terrence slumped back in the padded booth in the back of the art deco restaurant, his mood as dark as the lighting surrounding him. He sighed before taking a sip of chardonnay from his wineglass and checking the time on his cell phone’s screen.
It was fifteen minutes after eight. C. J. was late—again. This time for a dinner date in Adams Morgan. It was the dinner they had postponed at least twice already.
“I should’ve known this shit would happen,” he mumbled as he yanked off his leather jacket and tossed it roughly onto the seat beside him, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater.
He was in no mood to sit around waiting for C. J., not with what he had experienced today. He was still grappling with what Evan had told him, with the weighty secret he now carried. He’d hoped to find some momentary solace from all of it, to get lost in C. J.’s company and the movie they planned to see later that night. But now he was sitting alone with his torturous thoughts and all his worries.
His sister was living with a murderer. Every night she laid her head on her pillow she did it next to the man who had killed her lover. In some way, Terrence could understand Antonio’s anger. Finding out that any man had blackmailed C. J. into cheating would have enraged Terrence, too, but would he have hunted the man down and killed him in cold blood? And Terrence wasn’t as convinced as Evan that Paulette had nothing to fear from Antonio. Was a man like that capable of doing something violent to her if he got incensed again? Terrence couldn’t say for sure, and that unnerved him. It made his stomach twist into tight knots. It made him scared for his little sister.
Terrence’s phone buzzed. He glanced down at it again to see a text message flash on the screen.
“Running late, baby. Sorry! Stuck in Virginia traffic. I’m on my way,” he read.
Terrence grumbled. She was still in Virginia? There was no way she’d make it to the restaurant in the next fifteen minutes—maybe in the next half hour. They probably weren’t going to make the movie later, either, and he had even chosen the nauseating chick flick because he had known it was something she’d like.
Terrence reached for the last pumpernickel roll in the bread basket at the center of the table and peered around the restaurant. There was a crowd gathering near the bar on the other side of the room. The stools were full of loud guys and a smattering of giggling women who seemed to be sizing up one another, doing the mating rituals that singles usually did. Meanwhile, the restaurant tables were starting to fill up with other diners, mostly couples laughing and smiling over candlelight. But a few tables—like Terrence’s—were occupied by a lone patron.
His eyes settled on a middle-aged woman in a frumpy purple sweater who was leaning over a bowl of turtle soup, staring down at the glowing screen of her e-reader. She dabbed with her linen napkin at some of the soup that dribbled onto her chubby chin. She was too engrossed to look up. More of her soup dribbled onto her sweater, near her oversize bosom. She didn’t even bother to wipe that off.
Good God, Terrence thought as he lowered his bread bun from his mouth. Do I look like her?
“Can I refill your wine, sir?” a waiter asked as he walked toward the table, gesturing to Terrence’s almost empty glass. “You were having the chardonnay, right?”
Terrence shook his head and grabbed his jacket. He eased out of the booth and rose to his feet. “Nah, I’m good,” he murmured before stepping away from his table, leaving the waiter to stare at him in bewilderment.
Terrence headed to the bar. He’d be damned if he’d sit around alone waiting for C. J., looking like some sa
d cat lady in a sweater. That wasn’t how he rolled!
He walked to the granite bar top, tossed his jacket onto one of the few free stools, and slapped his hand on the edge of the counter, grabbing the spiky-haired bartender’s attention. “Double shot of tequila, my man.”
The bartender nodded and turned to grab a glass to fill Terrence’s order.
“Oh, is that who I think it is?” a familiar voice shouted from behind Terrence, making him turn.
He looked down to find Andre from the gym smiling up at him. Andre was decked out head to toe in a brown leather suit and matching shoes. A maroon silk ascot was at his throat. A mixed beauty with almond-shaped eyes, glowing golden skin, and plump ruby lips who had to be almost a foot taller than he was stood at his side with her arm linked through his.
“Why, it’s the epitome of manliness himself,” Andre effused, throwing back his head and dropping his hand to his chest in mock awe. “Mr. Terrence Murdoch! Be still my heart, honey!”
Terrence laughed at Andre’s theatrics. He was really starting to like this guy.
“What are you doing in town, gorgeous? I rarely run into people from Chesterton around here!” Andre said. “The small-town folks are usually too scared to come to the big city!”
“I was meeting someone for dinner, but”—Terrence paused and shrugged—“they’re running late.”
“Well, I’m glad I ran into you! I was wondering if you thought about that little offer I made you.”
Terrence sighed. “I’m still thinking about it,” he answered honestly. “It’s been a while since I’ve modeled, Andre. I’m older. I’ve put on weight since then.”
“Oh, hush up, boy! You know you’ve still got it!” He looked Terrence up and down, letting his appreciative gaze travel over him.
“I’ve had surgeries.”
“Haven’t we all?” Andre asked, batting his eyes. “We all need a little touch-up every now and then! I keep my plastic surgeon on speed dial.”
“No, I mean serious surgery. I’m not the same dude I was ten years ago . . . hell, six months ago! I just don’t know if I’m up to it again.”