The Crossing

by Serita Ann Jakes

  Without sympathy, the ADA shoved a sheet of paper across the table. “Take a look at the list of kids on the bus. Do you know any of them today?”

  Casio nodded. He recognized all of the names. Most had graduated and moved away, not that he could blame them. Every day in this town was a reminder of that night. Claudia, of course, was an exception. She’d stayed—and married way too young, in his opinion, but he wouldn’t say that to Vic. He didn’t think Georgie Newman had ever left. He’d heard she’d attended nursing school in Dallas, then moved back to work in the Conch Springs hospital. Blake Simpson worked at Jesse’s Garage, which was owned by Blake’s brother Jesse, and had fixed Casio’s old truck a few times before Casio had finally bought the new one. Casio knew Blake was three times divorced and was probably still bitter because he’d lost his chance to play that last pivotal game.

  He was frowning as he stared at Blake Simpson’s name on the page.

  “What?” Vic leaned in. “Did you think of something?”

  With a shrug, Casio shoved the page back, tapping on Blake’s name. “It’s probably nothing.”

  “Okay, let me be the judge of that.”

  The ADA’s superiority complex was starting to get on Casio’s nerves big time. But he was glad for the opportunity to finally do something proactive toward finding the guy who shot Miss Remington. He only hoped finding the killer didn’t dredge up a whole new kind of nightmare.

  “Blake Simpson was a football player until Miss Remington gave him an F for a midterm grade and he got benched. He used to argue with her a lot right in class. Treated her really bad.”

  “He treated her badly? You mean after she gave him the F, or before?”

  Casio frowned, coaxing his mind to remember details that had little or nothing to do with him. “Before.”

  “Do you know why?” Victor made some notes, then looked up at Casio. “If everyone else thought she was perfect, why didn’t Blake care for her?”

  “I don’t know, man. We weren’t really close.”

  “Two football players? Senior year? I thought you guys banded together in some macho club.”

  “You sound bitter. Get stuffed in a lot of lockers?” Casio noted with satisfaction that the ADA’s face darkened. He’d finally struck a chord.

  Vic regained his composure. “So why weren’t the two of you close enough for you to know why Blake had a problem with her? You never heard him complaining in the locker room or heard rumors that he said he would ‘get her back’ or anything?”

  He shrugged again and squirmed in his seat. “Honestly, man, I would have been the last person Blake would have confided in.” He hated to admit this because it made him look like a jerk. “Blake was dating Claudia when I first asked her out.”

  Vic scowled and started gathering up the papers and photographs. “So you cut in on another guy’s girl?”

  Unable to resist, he snickered. “Yeah, but if you’re worried about Claude, don’t be. I don’t do that anymore.”

  A sneer lifted the edge of Victor’s lips as he slid the papers and photos into his briefcase and stood. “I wasn’t worried.” He grabbed his briefcase by the handle and paused. “Coming?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To pay Blake Simpson a visit. Let’s see if he had a grudge against her and was mad enough to do something about it.”

  Seven

  Pastor King hasn’t let go of my hand since he knelt beside me. He’s prayed. Comforted Claudia. He’s told me Jesus loves me and, if I can hear him, to seek forgiveness.

  I can hear you, Pastor. I didn’t know you knew about my sins. I’d cry, if I could. If I’d known you knew my secrets, I would have come to you. It might have saved me.

  My parents were part of the foundation of Community Church even before you and Mrs. King arrived. And they lobbied hard for you to be hired on in the first place.

  They thought it fabulous that Pastor and Mrs. King would rock the town with their unconventional presence—not only was Pastor the first African American pastor in Conch Springs, but he and Mrs. King had the audacity to be a biracial couple. Always forward-thinking—Dad was a journalist at his core, even before he became a hotshot editor—they embraced the couple from the moment they moved in. And then a few years later, something changed.

  My mind won’t form the memories correctly right now. I know there’s a reason, and I can see myself sitting on my bed, hearing Mama cry and Daddy plead, but I can’t remember much else. Except that my parents stopped going to church. I did too, for a while.

  After I graduated from high school, though, I started going to Community again. Mama didn’t approve. Daddy said it was my decision. He was, after all, the more open-minded of the two.

  As I lie here unable to move, unable to speak, and struggling to breathe, I remember how hard I tried to live the way you encouraged us to live, Pastor. I did okay for a while. I stopped partying. Stopped smoking cigarettes. Those weren’t that hard. It was the deep-down stuff I couldn’t seem to let go. What was that Scripture? Those things I want to do I don’t, and the things I don’t want to do, I do?

  Wretched woman that I am …

  I remember now. Vaguely, like trying to find my way out of the woods in a heavy mist. Daddy fell in love with Mrs. King. They were going to go away together. But Mrs. King changed her mind. I heard Mama and Daddy fighting about it. And then it eventually went away, and I guess I put it out of my mind.

  Pastor’s gentle hand is stroking my hair. I wish I could ask him how he managed it. How he and Mrs. King continued as though nothing had ever happened. My parents stayed together, but all the light left my home that day.

  With me gone, what will they have to keep them together?

  THURSDAY

  Claudia

  Claudia knew it was her own fault that Georgie Newman held her all but captive. She never should have indulged her weakness for iced coffee. Claudia had tried to pretend she didn’t notice that Georgie Newman’s car blocked hers in the packed Starbucks parking lot. She was at the other woman’s mercy. With a sigh, she sat back and surrendered to the inevitable.

  “Hey, there.” Georgie wore blue scrubs and her hair was clipped into a messy ponytail, which Claudia took in with envy. She had pretty much inherited her hair from her dad’s African ancestors and couldn’t do the messy ponytail without a lot of crazy work to make it look that way. “You on lunch break?”

  Embarrassment flooded Claudia as it usually did when working women assumed she too worked outside of her home. She smiled and was about to say, “Something like that,” when Georgie tipped her head back and gave a wave of neatly manicured, short, clear-coated nails. “Oh, you get to be a stay-at-home mom, don’t you?” She tapped her on the shoulder and winked. “Lucky.”

  Red-hot anger flashed through Claudia along with several unclean words. Luckily she reined in both, just in time. Still, the unspoken words expressed her sentiments, and she had to force herself to sit there and smile at the flawless face leaning in way too close to her personal space. “How are you today, Georgie?”

  The other woman smiled brilliantly. Was there anything about this woman not faked or enhanced? “I’m peachy. On my lunch break. The ER is crazy today. We must be in for a full moon tonight or something. I’m an hour past lunchtime and starving. But I only have time for a coffee and I have to rush back. Otherwise we could sit down together and catch up!”

  “Yeah. That’s a bummer.” Claudia marveled at how sincere she sounded to herself. “We’ll have to make a point to get together when you’re not working,” she said and immediately she realized the folly of her olive branch, as Georgie’s Mary Kay–shadowed eyes widened. Those sorts of statements weren’t meant to be taken literally. It was like saying, “I’ll call you sometime and we’ll do lunch.” It just doesn’t happen.

  But Georgie obviously didn’t understand social cues and insincere efforts to be polite. “I’m off tomorrow. Do you want to do lunch?”

  Kicking herself the en
tire time, Claudia smiled and nodded. “That sounds really great.”

  “Awesome. How about Olive Garden at noon? My treat.” She glanced back at her car as though she just realized she was blocking Claudia in. “Oh shoot. Do you mind waiting just a couple of minutes so I can go in and get a drink to take back to work? I’m going to die if I don’t get some calories in my body.” She grinned. “Nonfat calories, of course.”

  “Of course. Um … No, I don’t mind. It’s not like I have a job to get to.”

  The facetious comment brought a frown to Georgie’s face. Maybe she did have more sense than Claudia gave her credit for. “Hey, you know I didn’t mean anything by that, right? Before she died, my mother was always a stay-at-home mom. When I have a baby, I plan to do that. When I said you were lucky, I totally meant it. I really honestly think you’re lucky to have a little girl and a home to care for.” She smiled, but her eyes seemed hesitant, as though waiting for approval.

  The desperation fueled compassion in Claudia. She smiled. “It’s okay. Motherhood is supposed to be noble, but just tell someone you’re a stay-at-home mom and the nonverbal and sometimes verbal judgment starts to fly. Just wait. You’ll find out.”

  Georgie rolled her eyes. “If I ever find a man who wants to marry me and make babies. Hey, if you want me to move my car before I go in, I really don’t mind.”

  “It’s okay. I have a call to make anyway.”

  “If you’re sure.” She patted the window frame. “I won’t be but a minute.”

  Nodding, Claudia watched her walk away, looking cute and professional in her dumb nursing scrubs and messy ponytail. Gee, when did fat mascot Georgie Newman get gorgeous and capable when she, Claudia, the head cheerleader and basketball captain got depressed and frumpy? The woman would be an idiot to give up a career for motherhood. Maybe she’d tell her new BFF just what she thought of her wannabe stay-at-home dream over lunch tomorrow.

  She lifted her phone and dialed Tara’s Tangles Beauty Salon. At least she could have her hair and nails done. The place was typically booked three weeks in advance, but there were certain benefits that came with being the daughter of beloved Pastor King and the wife of ADA Campbell. Sure enough, Tara had an opening in twenty minutes if she didn’t mind being shampooed by the new shampoo girl. Which she didn’t.

  Ten minutes later, Georgie exited carrying a coffee to-go. She smiled and gave a finger-wiggle wave as she passed, saying, “See you tomorrow!”

  Claudia pulled out of the parking lot behind her, headed south on Martin Luther King Boulevard, and turned her head sharply as Vic’s Camry pulled out of Jesse’s Garage. She dialed his number. He answered immediately.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said, his voice leaving her breathless—though she knew she didn’t deserve his kindness after the money situation. He had come home the night before with a completely different attitude than he’d had the previous night. They’d discussed the situation, and he said he would take over paying the bills, which was a relief to Claudia. One less thing she had to stress over. “I was just about to call you,” Vic said. “I saw you pass by. Want to go grab some lunch?”

  True regret hit her stomach. Vic rarely asked her to lunch anymore. “Sorry, I can’t. I’m headed over to Tara’s. Why were you coming out of the garage? Something wrong with your car?”

  “No. I was conducting an interview.”

  “Oh. That’s a relief. We don’t need another repair bill right now.” She could have kicked herself for bringing attention to finances.

  “That’s for sure.” He chuckled. “So, you’re going to the salon?”

  “Yes.” Her defenses rose. “I haven’t gone in a while. But I could cancel if you don’t think I deserve to go.”

  He hesitated. “Claudia, honey. Enjoy yourself. We can afford for you to have your hair done. Although”—his tone dropped—“you’re already too beautiful as it is. I’m not sure my heart can take you after a salon day.”

  Claudia’s lips curved upward. “You’re full of it. But I’ll take it.”

  She was smiling as they hung up, feeling closer to Vic than she’d felt in a really long time. Maybe after her appointment, she’d have time to stop off at Adam and Eve’s for some new lingerie. He’d like that and she would apologize for how tense everything had been. Maybe everything would go back to normal.

  Tara’s was abuzz and Claudia felt a little guilty for forcing her way into an appointment when clearly all the stylists were at or over capacity as it was. Tara sashayed toward her, her wide, toothy grin lighting the room. “Hey!” She gave her an air kiss on the cheek then mulled over her hair. “Can you wait ten minutes? Shawna’s shampooing Miz Stokes.”

  “Sure.”

  She sat in the waiting chair next to Tara as she worked on coloring the hair of a forty-something white woman. Tara’s cell phone buzzed. She removed it from the pocket of her smock and looked down at the caller. Her light skin flushed as she pressed the phone to her ear. “Hey,” she said, breathless. “What are you doing?”

  Claudia hid a smile. At twenty-seven, Tara had never been married or in a serious relationship as far as Claudia knew. Tara graduated one year after Claudia, went straight to beauty school, and worked for three years in someone else’s salon until she could afford to open her own. To see her blushing and breathless over a guy made Claudia happy for her.

  Midway through the conversation, Tara glanced over at Claudia and frowned. “Mrs. Campbell is sitting right here in my salon,” she said. “Oh, wow. I forgot all about that. I wasn’t into sports during school, so I didn’t know her that well except for sophomore English.”

  Blood rushed to Claudia’s head as instinct took over. Tara could only be talking about BJ Remington.

  She hung up a minute later and slid her phone back into her smock. Her words confirmed Claudia’s suspicions. “Did you know they’re reopening Miss Remington’s case?”

  Claudia’s spine crawled hot and cold all the way up her neck and around to her jaw. “No. I don’t think that’s true. It would have to come from the DA’s office. My husband would have told me.” Her mind shifted back to the evening she had come in from the gym to find him going over files from the ten-year-old investigation. Maybe that’s why he was acting so positive today. He thought he was doing something to please her.

  Tara slid a cap over the color client’s head. “Let’s get you under the dryer to process.” She glanced at Claudia. “That was Blake Simpson on the phone. He graduated your year.”

  “I remember him.” They had dated briefly, but Claudia saw no reason to point that out as her thoughts shifted to a day during senior year. She and BJ were in the English teacher’s classroom, laughing at the way Principal Newman always tripped over himself whenever BJ was nearby. The poor man was hopelessly in love. Claudia frowned as she recalled how their laughter had been cut short as Blake slammed into the room, demanding to know what right she had to take away his whole future. Before either of them knew what was happening, he had grabbed a solid brass statue of Shakespeare from her desk and threw it over BJ’s head—or at least that’s where it hit—shattering the whiteboard behind her. If he’d hit her, she would have been hurt or killed instantly. He let out a guttural yell, told her next time it would be her head, and stomped out of her office, leaving them both shaken.

  Tara shrugged. “Blake said your husband and Casio Hightower came to question him about the case. They said some new information had come up and they were looking into things again. They asked him if they could swab him for DNA.”

  “DNA?” Then Vic must have figured out about BJ’s pregnancy. Claudia’s breathing nearly stopped as she watched Tara’s mouth moving but barely heard her words. She rose slowly to her feet and grabbed her bag. “I have to go.”

  “Shawna’s ready for you,” Tara said.

  “I’m sorry, Tara. I have to go.” Her chest tightened. She had to get out of that building now, before she suffocated. She stumbled to the Tahoe, reached in, and grabbed her bag out of
the glove box. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. She followed the protocol several times until her breathing slowed and her pulse rate stopped racing.

  The thought of Vic actually reopening the case sent a wave of dread over her. The nightmares were more than she could bear as it was. To dredge it all up again … She couldn’t do it. She fumbled in her purse for her phone and dialed Vic’s cell. It went to voice mail.

  She had to tell him to forget it. Tears welled up in her eyes. She’d just spoken with him twenty minutes ago. Where could he have gone that necessitated turning off his cell? She punched a button and dialed the office. She was glad now Vic had programmed her speed dial. Off the top of her head, she had no idea what the office number even was.

  “Victor Campbell’s office.”

  “This is Mrs. Campbell. I need to speak to my husband, please.” Grabbing a tissue from her purse, she swiped at her nose.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Campbell. He called a while ago and said he wouldn’t be in for the rest of the day.”

  What had changed over the last twenty minutes to make him go from flirting with her to blowing off work the rest of the day? Did it have something to do with BJ’s murder case? Her chest tightened again. “Did he say whether or not he was going home?”

  “No, hon. I’m sorry.” Regret tinged the assistant’s tone. Claudia had always liked Isobel. She should have retired five years ago, but Vic had convinced her no one could take her place. He was right, of course, but the woman couldn’t work forever.

  “Claudia?” the older woman said. “Is something wrong? Maybe I can snoop around on his desk and find out where he is. I’m sure if Vic knew you were this upset, he wouldn’t mind.”

  Claudia thought about it, but shook her head. “No.” She was already beginning to breathe normally and the shaking in her hands had slowed to a slight tremble. “I’m just going to go home and wait for him.”

  “If he calls, I’ll let him know you need to speak to him.”