by Angela Henry
“Yes. He hooked me up with a friend of his, Howard James. I met with him this morning. He’s agreed to take Timmy’s case. He said to find Timmy as soon as possible because it will look better if he turns himself in. The only problem is, I still don’t know where he is. I got that one call and haven’t heard anything since.”
“Timmy’s innocent and he’s got a lot of good people who love him on his side. It’ll all work out, you’ll see,” I told her with an enthusiasm I didn’t really feel.
“I really needed to hear that,” she said, smiling warmly. “I was just about to make some coffee. Would you like some?”
“That would be nice, thanks.” The minute she left the room, I was out of my chair looking around, feeling under cushions on the couch, searching under the table. I couldn’t find the scarf. I looked up the stairway off the living room.
“Olivia, can I use your bathroom?” I called out.
“It’s up the steps, first door to your left.”
I headed upstairs and opened the first door on the right. It was Timmy’s room. I went in and shut the door behind me. Timmy’s room was a wreck, but I’d seen much worse. I wondered if it was Timmy or the police who had torn up the room. His twin bed was unmade and there were clothes, shoes, and underwear all over the floor. A poster of Janet Jackson graced the wall opposite the door. A small desk with a CD player sat next to the one small window in the room. A large milk crate full of rap CDs sat under the window. I looked through the clothes on the floor and then under the desk. Nothing. I turned my attention to the bed. I looked under it and saw nothing but giant dust bunnies. Then I saw something blue peeking out from between the mattress and box spring. I pulled it out. It was the scarf. I stuffed it in my pocket and I started to leave the room when I heard Olivia Milton’s voice in the hallway.
“Kendra? Are you okay in there?” I heard her knock on the bathroom door. Great. Now what was I going to do? I looked frantically around the room — for what, I didn’t know. Then I heard a buzzing sound, like a large insect, coming from the direction of the window. I walked over to the window, looked down and saw something metallic glint up at me in the moonlight from down inside the milk crate. It was Timmy’s cell phone and it was vibrating. It must have dropped in there when he went out the window. I picked it up and again heard Olivia knock on the bathroom door.
“Kendra?”
I’m not big on cell phones. I barely knew how to work one. I fumbled around with the buttons until I answered it. I heard a female voice. “Timmy? Are you there? Timmy? Where are you?” It was Shanda, and I quickly hung up.
I could hear Olivia jiggling the handle on the bathroom door and an idea came to me. I quickly dialed the Miltons’ main number and prayed it would ring before she opened the bathroom door and discovered I wasn’t in there. I was rewarded with the sound of Olivia Milton’s phone ringing. I heard her hurry back downstairs to answer it. I quickly turned off the cell phone and slipped out of the room. When I got back to the living room, I saw Olivia hanging up the phone with a puzzled expression.
“Must have been a wrong number. Are you okay?”
“My dinner must not have agreed with me,” I said, holding my stomach.
“Well, you probably shouldn’t drink any coffee, then. It might make it worse.”
“I think you’re right. I should be heading home now, anyway. I just stopped by to see how you were doing.”
She walked me to my car and we chatted for a few more minutes before I drove off. I imagined the look on Shanda’s face when I showed her the scarf. I even had an idea of how I could get her to tell me everything, if confronting her with the scarf didn’t work. By the time I got back to my apartment I was feeling much better.
Chapter 7
I put the scarf on Shanda’s desk at work the next day, along with a note that said: “We need to talk.” When she arrived at work and saw the scarf, she immediately looked at me with an expression of panic. I gestured for her to follow me outside.
“Where’d you get this?” she asked, looking around, clearly afraid — but of whom, I had no idea.
I snatched the scarf out of her hand. “I got it from Timmy’s room where you planted it after you went to his house and lied to his mother about being his girlfriend. How could you do this to Timmy? Do you know how much he adores you?”
“How did you know?”
“How I know isn’t important. But what I know is. And what I know is that you helped your boyfriend set Timmy up for Inez’s murder and I want to know how and why. I really don’t want to have to get your parents and your uncle Morris involved in this, but I will.” I was enjoying playing the heavy a little too much.
The mere mention of my telling her family what she was up to had a profound effect on Shanda. She burst into hysterical tears.
“Please don’t tell them, Kendra. They’ll be so disappointed,” she sobbed. I felt myself start to melt. But I resisted the urge to put my arm around her. So much for playing the heavy. I waited for her to calm down.
“I really didn’t have a choice, Kendra. I swear. Vaughn made me do it. You don’t know what he’s like.” She was pacing back and forth in front of me, wringing her hands and shaking. The sound of a car backfiring a block away made her jump and look around wildly.
I had a pretty good idea what Vaughn must be like if he was causing her this much distress. She was making me nuts just watching her. I finally grabbed her by the hands, led her over to one of the picnic benches on the other side of the playground, and made her sit down before she started tearing her hair out.
“It’s okay, Shanda. Vaughn’s not here now. What did he make you do?” I looked back at the building and saw Noreen watching us through one of the classroom windows. I ignored her and turned my attention back to Shanda.
“You know he hates Timmy, right?” she said after looking around one more time. I indicated that I did and for her to continue.
“He’s been trying to figure out a way to get at him for a long time. But he doesn’t want to go to jail.” I didn’t blame him. If I looked like Vaughn I wouldn’t want to go to jail, either. Talk about a place where being pretty isn’t a good thing.
Shanda continued on with her story. “Inez and Vaughn broke up and we started kickin’ it. Then Inez finds out about us. She starts telling me all kinds of lies about Vaughn. That he’s a drug dealer and he’s a bad person. I told Vaughn and he went to talk to her at the shop. But when he got there she was already dead. He touched her and got blood on his hand. He wiped it off with a tissue. Then he got an idea to plant the tissue in Timmy’s car. He gave it to me and I did it. Then he had me call the police and tell them I saw Timmy running away from the shop the night Inez was killed.” She was looking at me fearfully and she had good reason, because it took everything in me not to knock her off the bench. Stupid, stupid little girl!
“Shanda, honey, listen closely,” I said slowly, trying hard to remain calm. “Vaughn is a drug dealer. That’s how he knows Timmy. Timmy used to buy crack from Vaughn when he lived in Detroit. Didn’t Vaughn ever tell you how he knew Timmy?”
“No, he just said Timmy’s the reason his boy Ricky is dead.”
“Shanda, hasn’t it occurred to you that Vaughn is probably the one who killed Inez?”
“No! He’s not a murderer,” she said, jumping up from the picnic bench and pacing again.
“Shanda, Timmy’s no murderer, either. Now, you have to come with me to the police station and tell them everything you just told me.” I grabbed her by her wrist and started dragging her towards the parking lot. She went stiff and rigid the way toddlers do when they are about to throw a tantrum, pulled out of my grasp, and started sobbing.
“Nooo, Kendra. You don’t understand.”
“What, Shanda? What don’t I understand?” I felt like tearing my hair out at this point.
She slowly lifted up her T-shirt and I gasped when I saw the large, livid, purple bruises on her stomach.
“Oh my God, Shanda. Di
d Vaughn do this to you?”
“It was my fault. I was asking too many questions. He hates it when I ask too many questions.” She pulled her T-shirt down and I handed her the blue scarf to wipe her eyes.
“Shanda, we really need to go to the police. Vaughn needs to be locked up so he can’t ever hurt you or anyone else.” I reached for her hand again, and she backed away. “I know you’re scared. But you can’t let him keep doing this to you. He’ll kill you one day.”
“Scared? I’m not scared of Vaughn. He’s my man. I love him! You can’t make me tell the police anything.”
“If you don’t tell them, I will,” I said quietly.
“I’ll deny everything. You don’t have any proof and now I have the scarf, too,” she said, waving it in the air. Shit. This just wasn’t going to be my day.
I lunged for the scarf and Shanda sprinted off towards the parking lot. I started to chase her, tripped over a tree root, and landed flat on my face.
“What in the world is going on out here?” said a familiar prim voice. I turned and saw a red-faced Noreen walking towards me. “Kendra, please explain yourself.” I started to say something sarcastic, when I heard a car start up. I watched helplessly as Shanda pulled out of the parking lot and sped away.
“I’m waiting,” said Noreen, standing over me. I got up and dusted myself off.
“Join the club,” I told her miserably, and headed back into the building.
Without Shanda, I was up the creek. She was the only person who could prove Timmy didn’t kill Inez. Unless I could somehow prove that Vaughn was the killer, Timmy was headed for a lifetime in prison and a new career making license plates. Telling her parents and uncle had just been a bluff. I knew they wouldn’t believe me because it wasn’t in God’s plan for Shanda to help frame someone for murder.
I was walking around the grocery store in a daze after work. I was so preoccupied that I ran into a woman with my cart, almost sending her flying into a refrigerated display case full of buy-one-get-one-free packs of string cheese.
“You need to watch where the hell you’re goin’,” exclaimed the outraged sister. She inspected her white capri pants and discovered that my cart had left big black smudges on her behind. She glared at me as I apologized profusely. For one tense moment I thought I was going to get my ass beat right there in the dairy aisle.
She stalked off towards the checkout line, mumbling something about me being a stupid heifer, with her shiny auburn bobbed hair gleaming under the store’s florescent lighting. Something tugged at my memory. But it wasn’t until I was loading groceries into my car that I remembered who the woman was. She was one of the stylists from B & S Hair Design and Nail Sculpture who’d been at Inez’s funeral. The one who had called Vaughn a thug and said Inez had found out the hard way what he was into. I didn’t know her name. I only went to the shop every couple of months for a haircut, which usually took about twenty minutes, and was not familiar with many of the newer stylists.
Since I desperately needed to make a case for Vaughn being the one who’d murdered Inez, I had to talk to Auburn Bob about what she knew. But I was dreading it. After ramming her in the rear with a grocery cart and messing up her pristine white capris, girlfriend wasn’t quite feeling me at the moment. It would be best if I gave her a day to calm down before approaching her. The next day was Saturday and I had nothing else to do. It would be the perfect day to try and catch Auburn Bob in a better mood. I took my groceries home, ate leftover pizza for dinner, and went to bed early.
I sat in my car across the street from the shop at eleven-thirty the next morning. I had originally planned to go in for a haircut but decided against it. I wanted to talk to Auburn Bob alone. I could see her through the shop’s big front window working a relaxer into a teenaged girl’s hair. Since it was close to noon, I was hoping she’d leave the shop soon for a lunch break.
It was after one before she finally left. I followed her white mustang convertible, with vanity tags that read “Retha,” all the way to Domingo’s Cuban Deli on Water Street. I was waiting by her car when she emerged fifteen minutes later with several white Styrofoam containers. She looked happy enough until she saw me. It took a few seconds for her to recognize me from the store. But when she did she looked more wary than mad.
“Can I help you?” she asked, looking around for a potential source of help in case I turned out to be a nut.
“I’m so sorry to bother you but I really need to speak with you. It’s about Inez Rollins.” She sat the containers on the hood of her car and looked me up and down.
“What about her?”
“I overheard you talking about Inez and Vaughn Castle at the funeral. I need to know about their relationship. Please, it’s very important.”
“And this is your business because —” She paused, waiting for my response.
“Because an innocent young man has been framed and could end up in prison for the rest of his life.”
“You mean that wild-looking boy in the paper the other day?”
“His name is Timmy Milton, and he’s not a murderer.”
“Well, hell, I know that. When I saw that story I knew that boy didn’t kill Inez. I always knew they was lookin’ in the wrong direction.”
“You think Vaughn killed her, too, don’t you?” I was getting excited. Maybe I could help Timmy after all.
“That shady muthafucka had something to do with it, and if it wasn’t him, it was something to do with him.”
“So you’ll tell me about them?”
She looked at her watch. “Yeah, but not now. I gotta get back to the shop. I got a two o’clock appointment. But I could meet you someplace tonight.”
“Just name the time and the place and I’m there,” I said as I helped her load the containers into her car.
“Okay, eight o’clock at the Spot,” she said, getting into her car and starting the ignition. “You can buy me a drink. It’s the least you can do for fuckin’ up my favorite pants.” I watched her pull off then stop abruptly, backing up to where I was standing.
“By the way, I’m Aretha Marshall, and you are —?”
“Oh, sorry. Kendra Clayton.”
“See ya later, Kendra.”
Spending an evening at the Spot, a hole-in-the-wall bar better known as the Spotlight Bar and Grill, was not my idea of a good time. But I had no choice. I decided to kill time before then by cleaning my apartment. I was scouring out my bathtub when there was a knock at the door. It was detectives Harmon and Mercer. I reluctantly invited them in. Mercer was wearing tan chinos that were wrinkled around the knees, and a blue sports jacket over a red-and-yellow striped golf shirt that hugged his big belly like Lycra on fat thighs. Harmon was dressed in her usual plain drab suit, this one a faded green, and scuffed black flats. I offered them drinks, which they both declined, then asked them what they wanted with little ole me.
“Do you know where Timmy Milton is, Miss Clayton?” Harmon always got straight to the point.
“How would I know where Timmy is?” Boy, was I relieved to actually be telling the truth.
“He was spotted in this area recently,” said Mercer.
“And that has what to do with me?” I asked, the picture of innocence.
“Miss Clayton, we’d appreciate your cooperation in this matter. Aiding and abetting a known fugitive is a felony.” Harmon always treated me like I was a hardheaded child. I’d been down this road with her before and she still hadn’t learned anything about the catching-more-flies-with-honey concept.
“And, again, I ask, what does this have to do with me?”
“We know that your family is friendly with Timmy Milton and his mother Olivia. He was spotted in this area recently and we think he may have come to you for help.”
“Detective Harmon, I haven’t seen Timmy since before all of this madness started and whether you believe me or not is really no concern of mine.”
“So, you don’t believe that he killed Inez Rollins?”
&nbs
p; “No.”
“And why is that?”
“Timmy’s no murderer. Why would he have killed Inez?”
“We believe it was a robbery gone wrong. That he approached Inez Rollins in an attempt to rob her for drug money and he shot her in the process,” said Mercer, rocking back and forth on the heels of his loafers.
“Timmy’s been clean for well over a year now. He has a job at my uncle’s restaurant and until all this mess started hadn’t missed one day of class at the literacy center. I think I would have noticed if he was using drugs again, Detective.” I could hear the emotion creeping into my voice.
“Drug addicts are sneaky about hiding their habits, Miss Clayton. He may not be using heavily again at this point. It’s also possible that he only recently started using again.”
“And it’s just as possible, no, probable, that you’re looking for the wrong person. Since you want to talk about drugs, why don’t we talk about Vaughn Castle? Does that name ring a bell, Detectives?” They looked at each other in surprise. Bingo.
“What do you know about Vaughn Castle?” Harmon asked, her face turning slightly red.
“I know that he’s a drug dealer and he was Inez’s boyfriend. I know that he used to be Timmy’s supplier and he has it in for Timmy and framed him for Inez’s murder.”
“You have proof of this?” asked Mercer, looking at Harmon.
“Well,” I stuttered, looking nervously from Harmon to Mercer. I couldn’t tell them about Shanda. Vaughn would know where the information came from and I didn’t want her to end up dead, too.
“Not exactly,” I said, watching the light go out of Mercer’s eyes. “But it certainly makes more sense than Timmy killing Inez,” I concluded weakly.
“Let me tell you what we have,” Harmon began, looking a little too smug for my taste. “We have blood evidence found in Milton’s car. We also found a crack vial with his prints on it. He has no alibi that we’re aware of. We have an eye witness that saw him running away from the crime scene. And the fact that he’s hiding from the law doesn’t bode well for him. Now I ask you, if he’s innocent, why hasn’t he turned himself in?” They were both looking at me. I had nothing.