Deadly Charm

by Claudia Mair Burney

  “I don’t want to be insensitive to you, Jazz, but the truth is, I do still want you to look into it.”

  “No.”

  “But what if someone committed a crime?”

  “People do every day.”

  “The murder of a child?”

  “I can see you really listened to me just now.”

  “Two kids might get blamed.”

  He didn’t want any part of this, but he couldn’t turn off being the murder police. His hand went into his McDreamy hair, like it always does when he’s bothered.

  “How do you know this?”

  “I saw them this afternoon after the intervention.”

  He definitely looked confused. “What intervention?”

  “The one that a bunch of people had in my office.”

  “Who did an intervention on you?”

  “Friends and family. And it was really more about you.”

  “Me?”

  “Sure! Let’s see…your parents and my mother. Carly. Souldier, Kalaya, Mason, and Rocky attended. Everybody seems to think you’re having a mental breakdown and are exacerbating your pain by abusing alcohol.”

  “They told you that?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what was Rocky doing at an intervention about me?”

  “Everybody, including Rocky, urged me to go back to you. He may be in love, you know.”

  “Yeah. I do know,” he growled.

  “Not with me. I think he may be falling in love with Elisa St. James. I wouldn’t doubt it if he asks her to marry him before that baby gets here.”

  “Oh, really? And then what will you do, Bell?”

  “Buy them a wedding present and a baby gift shortly thereafter.”

  He picked up the book again. Flipped a few pages without looking. “Does Elisa know he has a love jones for you?”

  “She probably knows he made a mistake. Rocky is pretty transparent. I can’t imagine he didn’t tell her everything.”

  “Good for her. Personally, I don’t care to talk about it. At all.” “But, Jazz.”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Bell. Say another word about your blond boy toy, and I’m out of here.”

  “Fine.” I crossed my arms and sank into the cushions of the sofa.

  Jazz glared at me again. “Go sit somewhere else.”

  “This is my apartment, and I want to sit by you.”

  He shook his head and went back to the book, never looking at me, but still talking smack. “You know, letting people cool off away from you can be a good thing.”

  “Yes, I do know that. I’m a therapist, but this is my house, and I want to be around you. So, I’m not moving.”

  I thought he’d get up and move, but he stayed put. He must have liked that talk about me wanting to be around him. I know he needed more reassuring than that, but I had to start somewhere.

  “Go with me to talk to Thunder’s children.”

  Jazz looked at me like I’d asked him to check himself into a psychiatric hospital. “For what?”

  “I heard a story about what happened, and it feels wrong. I may be able to get some answers if I can talk to those kids. I’ve got a feeling there’s more to this case than meets the eye. I want you to check it out with me.”

  “You mean you want me to check it out for you. I’m the one who’s a cop, even though Ann Arbor is not my jurisdiction. And did I tell you I hate you, Bell?”

  “You did. I don’t think you mean it.”

  “I mean it.”

  “Will you work for me?”

  “No.”

  “Please, baby.” I drew circles on his thigh with my index finger.

  His hand caught mine. He tried, unsuccessfully, to keep himself from smiling. “Didn’t your great-grandmother say, ‘Don’t start no stuff and it won’t be none?’”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re starting something, and don’t think I’m not more than willing to finish it. Your ankle is hurt, but you’re looking just fine—and I do mean fine—otherwise.”

  I slowly withdrew my hand. I had to remind myself whom I was dealing with. “Then I’ll go by myself.”

  “Fine with me.”

  I stood up, carefully. “Okay. I’ll see you.”

  “Bye. Careful with that ankle.”

  “I’m going now, Jazz.”

  “Be gone already.”

  I thought I’d pull the sympathy card. “My ankle hurts, baby.”

  He grinned. “Then get back here on my lap and we can cuddle.”

  “But that child may have been murdered.”

  “You just got less cuddly. See ya!”

  “All righty then. I’m off to Rocky’s house. Where I’ll see Rocky. Spend time with Rocky. Just be with Rocky.”

  His already fair-skinned face blanched. His angry expression looked so comical I started to laugh. I’d infuriated him.

  “Oh, you think that’s funny, Bell?”

  When I could compose myself, I said, “Do you remember that Three Stooges short with the scene in which, whenever someone said, ‘Niagara Falls,’ this man—and you could tell he had issues—yelled out, ‘Niagara Falls’?”

  Jazz tried not to engage me.

  “Then he would go…” I started my imitation. “Sloooooooowly I turned.” I actually turned, slowly, of course. “Step by step, inch by inch.” I pounded on the floor with my feet.

  Jazz looked really irritated. “What’s your point, Bell?”

  “Apparently the name Rocky combined with the idea of ‘I’m going over there’ is your Niagara Falls, triggering an immediate episode.”

  He scowled at me for an uncomfortable amount of time, no doubt plotting my destruction, then stood up and marched over to my closet.

  “Step by step, inch by inch,” I teased, in time with his feet hitting the floor.

  He hadn’t laughed. It occurred to me that I’d hurt him again. I sighed. That’s it. He’s leaving and never coming back.

  I bounced on one foot over to him. “I’m sorry.”

  With eerie calm and precision, he took out his coat and slipped it on. Next he took out my coat and extended it to me.

  I grinned like an idiot. As he helped me into my coat, I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Jazz.”

  A low, guttural sound, something between a grunt and a moan, emanated from him. Whether or not he meant it in the affirmative, I didn’t care, nor did I ask. I got my boots on, and he reached out his hand and made another caveman noise that sounded remotely like “Keys.” I put my keys in his hand with great pleasure.

  Score another one for Bell.

  chapter nine

  JAZZ AND I ARRIVED at Rocky’s house, but before we got out of the Love Bug, I thought I should lay down a few ground rules. “Jazz, you may not beat up Rocky.”

  “Aw. You never let me have any fun.”

  “Promise me you’ll behave.”

  “No.”

  “Jazz, Rocky didn’t know—”

  “Don’t want to hear it, baby.”

  I looked out the window at the sky. Bursts of silver starlight sparkled in the black night. “Why can’t we talk about this like rational adults?”

  “Because nothing you say will make that scenario work for me.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jazz.”

  His silhouette turned grim. “Are we going in or do you want to go back home?”

  “Home? Exactly where is your home these days, Jazzy?”

  “In or no?”

  “In. And no hitting Rocky.”

  “Fine.”

  “And no smart-alecky remarks.”

  Jazz didn’t respond.

  “Jazzy. Don’t go in there talking trash. We’re working on a case.”

  He blew air from his cheeks. “We are not on any case, especially you.” He pointed to himself, doing a really good Tarzan imitation. “Me, Detroit cop.” Then to me. “You, psychologist.”

  I grinned at him. “But if you look into this for me, I’ll play Tar
zan and Jane with you later.”

  A blush crept up his cheeks. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Jane.” He must have had a zinger of a thought because he snapped back to being crabby. “No, I won’t. In fact, I’m not even going to look into this for you. And you are not even going to think about sleuthing again because, one, this is probably a tragic accident, and, two, you end up almost getting killed every time you poke that pretty little nose of yours into police business.”

  My heart rate quickened. “So, you think this could be police business—a murder?”

  “Bell, you know I think all deaths are murders. It’s a sickness I have. And since when do you care what I think?”

  I bumped his shoulder with mine. “I care what you think. Especially if you think my nose is pretty.”

  He glared at me, but it didn’t discourage me.

  I cuddled my head into his neck. “Do you think my face is pretty?”

  He raked his hand through his hair. “Can we go inside?”

  I nuzzled his ear with my lips. “Do you want to kiss me?”

  “No, Bell, I want to knock you in the head, but I’d go to jail for that, and I don’t like jail.”

  I laughed and nibbled his earlobe. He’s so much fun to frustrate.

  “Don’t think it’s lost on me that you didn’t try these bold maneuvers at the apartment where you’d have had to back up your actions.”

  “Who says I can’t back it up right here?”

  “Bring it on, Bell. We could give a whole new meaning to ‘Love Bug.’”

  I eased away from Jazz. He suddenly seemed a bit menacing, in a very sexy way. And I liked it. “All right, Jazzy. Shall we go inside?”

  He looked at me like an innocent little lamb. “What’s the rush? Why don’t you do that nibbling thing again? Then I’ll show you something I can do.”

  Honestly! When he smiles at me, my bones melt. He unclicked his seat belt, opened the door, and stepped his long legs out into the frigid air. I thought a friendly reminder would be in order.

  “Don’t start a fight with Rocky.”

  “I won’t.” But he stepped out and slammed the Love Bug’s door.

  His irritation didn’t stop him from being a gentleman, however. He opened the door for me, and our sleuthing officially began. Whether or not my husband knew it.

  Jazz knocked on the Rock House door, and none other than Pastor Rocky Harrison himself answered. His face registered surprise upon seeing me with Jazz, and he opened the door without saying a word. That is, until a burst of Rockyesque enthusiasm spilled out of him.

  He threw himself at Jazz and pulled him into a friendly hug. Way too friendly for Jazz.

  “Dude, I’m so glad you’re here,” Rocky said.

  Poor Jazz. He stood ramrod straight, a ghastly expression frozen on his face.

  God knows I tried not to laugh…

  I covered my mouth, my shoulders shaking with mirth. I may have been able to control myself had I looked away, but for Rocky’s safety I kept my eyes fastened on the pair.

  All Jazz could say—to me—was, “Touching!”

  Poor Rocky held on for dear life, and Jazz progressed to saying two words. “Touching, Bell!”

  That did it. Laughter exploded out of me. I peeled Rocky off my husband, and snorted in a most undignified manner. Honestly, I tried to pull myself together. I looked into Jazz’s hard brown eyes. Let me tell you, not much good was going on in those Godiva chocolate peepers. He’d balled his hands into fists, and his mouth flattened into a hard line.

  “Jazz, Rocky is very happy to see you.”

  Unintelligible grunt.

  “I’m seeing this as an opportunity for reconciliation.”

  Growl-like utterance from Jazz.

  “Can’t we all just get along?” I waited for Jazz to call me Rodney King—like he always did whenever I quoted Rodney—but Rocky’s affections must have compromised his ability to articulate.

  Finally, Jazz said something understandable. “Kids,” he growled. He hadn’t unfurled his fists of fury, so we still weren’t in the clear.

  “Rocky, my friend,” I said, very loud and extra friendly, hoping to inspire Jazz not to hit either of us. “We’d like to talk to Zekia and Zeke.”

  Rocky still didn’t seem to understand that my husband was trying desperately not to kill him. He put his hand on my shoulder—a dangerous move. “You know I want you to talk to them, but their mom kinda wants everybody to leave them alone. The shock, you know. And they’ve already talked to the police.”

  I shot a look at Jazz.

  He crossed his arms over his chest.

  I turned my attention back to Rocky. “Did you hear what they said to the police?”

  “They just repeated the same story I told you earlier.”

  “About Zekia leaving the baby so Zeke could use the bathroom?”

  He nodded. “Right.”

  I pried Jazz’s hand off his own elbow. He allowed me to hold it. “Take us to them, Rocky. Maybe I can pull the psychologist card and Mrs. Thunder will let us speak to them.”

  “I don’t know, babe.”

  At “babe” Jazz nearly broke all the bones in my hand.

  “Don’t call me babe,” I said with a broad, very tight smile. “And I really mean it this time.” I hoped Rocky would take the hint.

  He ventured a peek at my livid, reddening husband. “Right this way, Lieutenant and Mrs. Brown,” he said.

  I thanked God for the momentary discernment of spirits.

  We followed Rocky to the living room, and Jazz’s hand relaxed into mine. Having him with me felt more comforting than I’d realized. Man. I really needed to let my hubby know how much I loved him.

  A sniffle arrested my attention. My gaze went to Zekia and Zeke. The poor babies had curled into each other on the sofa, holding on for all they were worth. Mrs. Nikki Thunder sat on the edge of the couch, as far away from them as possible. I thought it odd that the children weren’t in her arms, then attributed it to a stepmother thing. But, if that was true, why was she so protective about who talked to them?

  I stole a glance at my husband. I’d seen him in this mode before. He was taking everything in. My attention went back to the family.

  Rocky made introductions. “Nikki, you remember babe—uh, Amanda from the crusade, right?”

  Her gaze flickered over me, and she looked as if she smelled something unpleasant. Her head darted up and down in a curt nod. Her reaction to Jazz, however, couldn’t have been more different. Nikki sized my husband up like she was trying to figure out whether he wore boxers or briefs.

  Rocky obviously had no clue about her appreciative appraisal. “This is her husband, Jazz.”

  “I’m deeply sorry for your loss,” my husband said, extending his hand.

  He gave Nikki one of his Colgate smiles, and I could tell that heifer heated up like she’d been blasted with a warm front from the Florida coast. She took his hand, no doubt undressing him with the lusty gaze she’d fastened on him. She let him cradle her hoof in his hand longer than I felt was necessary for social intercourse.

  I turned my attention back to my schmoozing husband, who gave her his sexy Denzel Washington narrowed eyes.

  “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling now,” he murmured in a way that made it the hottest condolence I’d ever heard.

  I could imagine what she was feeling. And I didn’t like it!

  She gave Jazz a demure nod and continued to ignore me. “Thank you, Jazz. I appreciate your being here.”

  I’ll bet she does, the…child of God. Man, that wasn’t as satisfying as “heifer.” Not by a long shot.

  Jazz dropped to his knees in front of her, as if Mrs. Thunder were the Queen of All Things. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  I’ll bet she would. I knew that look. I’d given him that look, and the next thing you know we were married.

  Mind you, this played out in the most subtle way. Jaz
z giving her nonverbal signals. Her responding by discreetly answering and even matching his cues. Her eyes a little wider to take in more of him. Her posture a little more open. His move. Her move. A delicate dance I had no part in.

  I plopped down in a chair across from the sofa where I could keep an eye on them.

  Nikki sat up just a wee bit in her seat, her attention fixed on Jazz. She uncrossed her legs, and in the most telling way, opened them slightly.

  I’d hurt that cow. Truly.

  She spoke demurely, “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” But her words didn’t match her body cues, unless she was talking about ditching her husband for Jazz.

  The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, my eye. And I almost meant that literally so I wouldn’t have to look at the two of them.

  Jazz finally got up from his kneeling position and sat in a chair beside me.

  Don’t get me wrong. I’m not disparaging her quoting the book of Job. I’m all for faith while suffering; but honestly, she came off with as much authenticity as a Milli Vanilli song. I still cry, even now, over the child I lost, and that happened more than a decade ago.

  I took a shot at her. “Wow. You sure are strong, Nikki,” I said. It came out a bit more acidic than I’d intended.

  Jazz cut his eyes at me.

  She waved my comment away like she would a mosquito buzzing around her head. “I have to be.”

  “Amazing,” I said. “Most women would be crying their eyes out. And your faith,” I said, “talk about moving mountains!”

  “And speaking of moving, Amanda,” my husband quipped, “why don’t you and Rocky go get this poor woman something to drink.”

  “What? I’m the maid now?” Fortunately, Rocky pulled me up from my seat and away.

  He dragged me into the kitchen. “What’s the matter with you, babe? You’re being very rude.”

  “Rude? They were flirting right in my face.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that he’s just being nice? And maybe she needs some kindness right now.”

  “Rocky, you always see the best in people. That’s an admirable quality, except for when my husband is trying out his game on another woman right in front of me.”