by Camryn King
“Maybe.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Why are you here in St. Louis?”
“Don’t worry about what I’m doing here.”
Danny’s quick change in demeanor told Mallory she’d said the wrong thing. But this was no environment to be a shrinking violet.
“Fair enough,” she said in a strong voice, a curt nod added to show she had balls. “What about this question. Why did somebody try to kill you?”
“I live in the hood. It’s what we do.”
“Seriously, Danny? You agreed to come out so we do this? Dance around dead bodies and let guilty motherfuckers go free?”
“All right, then, shorty. Stand your ground. I like that shit.” For a long moment, Danny stared at her, as if he were trying to make up his mind about what to tell her, or if he should say anything at all. Mallory said nothing, not wanting to jinx the moment. At this moment, anything would be better than nothing. She was enjoying the time with this side of her family, but it wasn’t exactly a vacation, after all.
Danny took another long swig of his drink, then leaned forward in a conspiratorial fashion. “I’m going to tell you a story. Because I appreciate how you’re holding it down for your girl and I think you’re legit. Besides, it’s a damn shame what happened to her. Shit didn’t have to go down like that.”
Mallory swore the blood in her veins turned to ice water. She fought against shivering at the chill of impending truth.
“What happened?” she asked so quietly her lips barely moved.
“You said you were at the crime scene, right? You know what happened. Dude crushed up a lethal amount of oxycodone, fixed her a drink, and sent her to heaven.”
“Who?” she said as Danny took another drink. “The same person who gave you the sculpture, and Leigh the missing piece?”
A nod, slowly.
Time stopped. The room faded away. All Mallory saw was Danny’s face, and the mouth that at any moment could spew the answer to the mystery that had consumed her life.
“Christian Graham?”
“No, not Christian.” Mallory’s eyes bored deeply into Danny’s. Tell me! they screamed. “His manager, the uncle, Pete.”
“Pete?”
“Yep.”
“But why?”
“He had one baby on the way and didn’t need another.”
Mallory fell silent, digested his words. Not Christian. His uncle, Pete. Uncle Pete. UP! Now, she got it, why the word seen several times in Leigh’s appointment book often made no sense. It had been a code. Not for Christian, but for his uncle. Then finally his last sentence sank into her conscience. It was Pete’s baby Leigh carried.
For a second, Mallory felt as though all breath had left her body. Her mind flashed to the picture that Sam found of Leigh, Christian and Pete. All this time she’d been focused on Christian. She never would have guessed it was the middle-aged man with the cute young wife. One sentence was all it had taken to put everything in perspective, to lay out the reason and make it crystal clear.
“You all right?”
She looked up. “No.”
“I hear you. I’m sorry about your friend.”
“Then why didn’t you do something? Even if you didn’t want to go to the police directly, you could have made an anonymous phone call or told somebody else.”
Danny said nothing. Took another drink. Mallory’s eyes narrowed. “You were in on it?”
“Don’t come at me all judgmental like that. He asked if I could score some pills. When I told him that I was out of the game, he offered me five stacks to get back in just one more time. I didn’t know why he wanted them.”
Mallory’s voice dropped. It was her turn to lean in. “But you had to know that five thousand dollars was a helluva lot to pay for a handful a pills. Plus he gave you the artwork.”
“I didn’t know what that piece was worth until you told Karen. If I had, things might have gone differently and I wouldn’t have gotten shot.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re the investigative reporter. Figure it out.”
“I thought you said you didn’t watch the news.”
“People say a lot of things. Just because we say we don’t know doesn’t always mean we don’t know.”
“You got shot because of something you did, something involving Pete. Whatever you did might not have happened had you known the value of the piece he gave you. But he paid you for the pills, right? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Keep on thinking about it. I’m going to go holler at my boy.”
Mallory barely noticed he’d left the table. She was too wrapped up in having another puzzle to solve. By the time he returned to the table, she thought she’d done just that.
“You tried to blackmail him.”
“Really?”
“Hell, yeah. You knew about Leigh. You supplied the pills. And when you heard of her death you put it together, then demanded money to keep quiet about it.”
A smile spread slowly across Danny’s face. “You’re pretty good.”
“Sometimes. But how did you know she was pregnant?”
“Butt dial.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“I kid you not. A conversation that I wish I’d never heard. He invited your girl over to give her the money to have an abortion, and a little more to disappear, get the hell out of his life. I think she really loved him. She knew about the engagement, couldn’t understand why he didn’t choose her. They started arguing, and he let it slip that Melissa was pregnant. Your girl was upset but smooth at the same time. Asked him how he expected her to kill their child while his or her half sibling lived? Sounded like she cried a little bit and then just told him straight up it would take a mil to do what he wanted.”
“Leigh demanded a million dollars?”
“Didn’t stutter, either.”
What Danny relayed to her sounded just like Leigh, and what she would do. Mallory knew he was telling the truth.
“That’s when Pete lost it. His nephew’s a baller, but he ain’t rolling like that. He never would have come off of that kind of paper. Not when they already had what it took to make the problem go away.
“So after it became clear that your girl wasn’t going to back down, Pete told her he’d give her what she wanted. He apologized, acted all cool, told her he would pour them both a drink so they could calm down. She told him she shouldn’t drink because of the baby. He told her that one glass wouldn’t hurt her.”
“Then you demanded money that Leigh didn’t get. And he tried to kill you, too.”
Danny shrugged. “Tried and failed.”
“There’s always next time.”
“People trying to kill me don’t get a second chance.”
“He’s got to take you out. You can hold this story over him for the rest of his life. He knows it, and you know it. That’s why you’re here in St. Louis. Laying low until you come up with a plan. That’s where I come in, Danny Groves. With my evidence and your story, we can put Pete away, and you can return to the city. Sell that chunk of gold and move to a new neighborhood.”
“There’s only one problem. I don’t work with the po-po.”
“I’ll figure out how to jump that hurdle. For right now, just work with me.”
28
It wasn’t admissible as evidence, but with Danny’s taped conversation, Mallory was finally ready to have a package delivered to Detective Anthony Wang, a carefully orchestrated series of events with Sam as the liaison. Two days later, she received the coded text she’d requested. Wang had the info and was proceeding toward their mutually desired goal. He’d be in touch.
With nothing to do but wait, Mallory decided to try and reclaim at least the semblance of a life. Finally out from under a constant state of paranoia, she decided to take a day trip out of the city to relax and clear her head. To be normal, a human being again. To not think about Christian or murder . . . or even Leigh. Mallory couldn’t get her old one back, but s
he wanted a life. It was time to make a new one. Still not wanting to let down her guard in the hideout city where her father lived, she checked Google maps and some entertainment sites and decided to head west almost two hundred and fifty miles down Interstate 70 to a former jazz hotspot, Kansas City, Missouri.
Once on the highway she called Ava, who picked up after half a ring.
“Dammit, girl,” she hissed in a barely audible whisper. “About time you called. I’ll return it in ten. Answer.” Click.
Mallory smiled and then laughed out loud. Ava could have cursed her out, and Mallory wouldn’t have minded at all. She hadn’t realized how much she missed her friends until just now when Ava answered. She didn’t know she and Sam filled so much of her life until their absence left a great big hole in it. She popped in the CD her father had given her, his one and only album—Top of the Hill—the other baby birthed the same year as Mallory, 1983. The first song, a haunting melody called “Melvin’s Mystique,” brought a smile to her face. She turned up the volume. Seconds later the tune was interrupted by the screechy sound of her burner phone ringing through the Bluetooth.
“I’m sorry,” Mallory answered.
“You should be. We’ve been beside ourselves wondering what’s happening and if you’re all right.”
“What do you mean? Sam knows what’s going on.”
“She didn’t tell me.”
“I sent a text message.”
“The anonymous one from an unknown number that said you’re okay and would be in touch? The one that sounded like it was written by your killer? That one?”
It felt good to laugh. Mallory cracked up. “You had my number.”
“Not written on my fucking forehead, you nut!” Now Ava was laughing, too. “All this worrying that you’d died, and now if you were here I’d kill you!”
“I miss you, Ava.”
“I know you do. And Sam shared a little about what happened. But you know I want to hear it all.”
“I’ll tell you everything, but not today, okay?”
“Why not?”
“Because today I’m trying to be normal for once in my life.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Shut up! I’m serious. I’ve been consumed with this stuff every waking moment for forever, it seems, a couple weeks at least. Now that what Sam told you has happened, I feel like I can take a break. Know what I’m doing?”
“What?”
“Headed to Kansas City.”
“What for?”
“Ha! Not an unreasonable reaction, given you live in NYC. Kansas City is one of the country’s jazz capitols. Twelfth and Eighteenth along Vine Street was jumping back in the day.”
“That’s right. Your dad’s a musician. How is he?”
For the next hour, Mallory and Ava talked about everything and anything light and fun. Nothing to do with murder. Later, Sam beeped in, got plugged in to the conference call, and three of them together moseyed into KC, MO.
Once into the city, Mallory bid her friends adieu and jumped straight into the tour she designed that began at Eighteenth and Vine. She toured the American Jazz Museum and the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum, the Mutual Musicians Foundation, and the Charlie Parker Memorial. After asking locals about the nearby clubs, Mallory decided to come back that night to hear live jazz. Meanwhile she ate lunch at Crown Center and then drove to and strolled through the Country Club Plaza. A couple hours of shopping and an overpriced mani-pedi made her feel like a girl again.
Later on, Mallory parked her car near the Mutual Musicians Foundation, where she looked forward to some good old jamming like her father used to do. But having been told those sessions didn’t start until around midnight, she decided to get in some much-needed exercise by simply walking around. She still wore the braids, so being recognized wasn’t a huge concern. Seeing there wasn’t much past the attractions she’d already seen, she decided to head over to the Blue Room. The crowd was light, the band just warming up when she entered and took a place at the bar. The bartender looked more like a biker, with tattoos everywhere, a black Mohawk tinged in blue, and large gauged earlobes sporting Viking discs.
He headed over to her, wiping down the bar as he walked.
“What can I get you, pretty lady?”
“Do you have sparkling wine?”
“Yeah, it’s called champagne.” He smiled to reveal a row of straight, white teeth.
Mallory smiled, too. “Okay, smartass. I’ll have a glass.”
“Coming right up.”
Mallory bobbed her head as she looked around as more people entered the club, feeling up the sparse audience. There was a mixture of cultures represented. Tables were filled with either couples or girlfriends. She found the lack of men-only tables interesting, guessed hanging out and listening to live jazz was not a male bonding experience.
The bartender returned. “Here you go, pretty lady.”
“Thank you, pretty boy.”
“Ha! That’s a first.”
“What, being called a boy?”
“Exactly.” It was drawn out with sarcasm to prove to her that he was not buying whatever she sold. “You’re not from around here.”
“No. What gave me away?”
“That attitude. Where you from, Chicago?”
“Farther east.”
“Ah. A New Yorker. I should have known. Go Navigators!”
“You’re a basketball fan.”
“I’m a Graham fan. Everybody’s eyes are on him and the team, and the chase for history with a historic fifth win. You’re not paying attention?”
“Not really. I’ve been on the road.”
“Then you probably don’t know about the lying bitch trying to pin a murder on him.”
Mallory prided herself on the champagne she’d just sipped staying in her mouth.
“No, what happened?”
“Some vindictive writer wrote a piece about a woman that committed suicide, except she thought it was murder and that Christian was somehow connected to it.”
“Damn, that’s bold. She called him out like that?”
“Hell, no. She knew better than to use his name. He would have sued her into poverty. But another guy, probably a Navigator fan, called her out as you say. Exposed her. Can’t remember her name, but she didn’t write the article under it anyway. Tried to hide behind another one.”
“Wow. That’s crazy. Did Christian respond? Or the team? What are they doing about it?”
“They’re not saying. But if I know Christian, he’s gonna fry her ass.”
The band started playing. Mallory turned around, not so much to listen to them but to digest what pretty boy had just said, to contemplate what would happen if she came from beneath the braids and was recognized. One thing Mallory knew for sure. She’d no longer be “pretty lady.”
The band was okay, but Mallory had lost the zest for hanging out in Kansas City. Maybe another time. She turned to pay up and felt as though someone checking her out.
She pulled out her wallet, swayed to the music and casually looked around. She immediately saw a face that she thought she recognized. Mallory placed a twenty on the bar, asked the bartender a question, headed toward the bathroom and out the back door he’d told her was there. Her adventure in Kansas City entertainment had gone to hell in a handbasket. First the bartender who loved Christian Graham and wanted her head on a platter. Now seeing Christian’s publicist, Zoey Girard, standing across the room.
How long had Zoey followed her? Had she seen the meetings between her and Danny? What about her father? Who knew where he lived? Mallory couldn’t get to her car and Interstate 70 fast enough. Christian told her she’d entered a game with no way out, and that she’d be sorry about it. Mallory reached the interstate entry ramp and floored the gas pedal. She’d never apologize about what she believed in. And when it came to the game, she planned to win.
29
Mallory arrived back in St. Louis certain she hadn’t been followed. She’d ci
rcled the hotel several times, looking and not finding any suspicious-looking vehicles before she pulled in. After pulling up Zoey’s pic on the internet and remembering the woman in the club, she was no longer even sure about what she had seen. Paranoia may have painted the publicist’s features on some innocent blond woman’s face. An internet search seemed to further confirm this, as an article suggested Zoey was in Phoenix with Christian. Mallory crashed on the bed and went to sleep fully clothed, without any doubt on another matter. The fugitive life was not for her.
Hours later she was startled awake by a knock on the door. The fear she’d laid to rest after her time on the internet came back like a fist that punched her in the chest. She eased out of bed and tiptoed to the peephole. What? Covering her mouth to suppress a scream, she took a step back and then looked through it again. The person she saw was still there in real time, living color. He knocked again, this time harder.
She opened the door. “Detective Wang! What are you doing? How did you find me?”
“I could ask you the very same questions. May I come in?”
“Oh, of course.” Mallory stepped back to let him enter. “I feel like I’m dreaming. Are you really here?”
“I’m really here.”
“How did you find me?”
“I’m an investigator. It’s what we do. Tell you what, though, took some real digging. Your people are loyal and very protective.” Mallory’s stare intensified. “I talked to your dad.”
“And he disclosed my location?”
“Only after several phone calls and my sharing information only meant for you. Which must be pretty important, since after not being able to reach you by phone, I jumped on the first plane out this morning.”
“The unknown calls last night, that was you.” She told him about her near-sighting of Zoey. “I was too spooked to answer the phone and then forgot to check messages. Is this about Leigh? Are the authorities investigating her murder?”
“They’ve opened a case.”
“Yes!” Mallory punched a fist in the air. “Come have a seat. Tell me everything.”