Brandi laughed and for a moment all anger was forgotten. “Do you think he can actually find the hole?”
“Honey, I think it’s an aerobic experience just to wipe his own ass.”
Brandi busted up with laughter. When they both settled down, Avie said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know, girl, it’s just a lot going on right now.”
“So how’s business?”
“Both of them are slow as hell.” Brandi scanned the documents detailing her cash flow—or lack thereof. “The Perfect Match is at a standstill. Tanya came up with a great concept to take it in another direction, and though we’ve been implementing it, she didn’t count on the fact that getting the women to sign up would be easy, but that men aren’t too willing to have a dossier compiled and shown to the women they’re trying to get with.”
“And you thought men would rather have it all out in the open, rather than feed it to them bit by bit, and squirm their way out of things like normal?”
Brandi grimaced, realizing her friend was close to the truth. “I didn’t count on the fact that women could be pressured into putting off getting information they should have before taking that final step. Or, that women with children wouldn’t try to find out the criminal histories of the guys they’re letting into their homes.” She picked up another file that almost brought her to tears every time she looked at it—the one that said closing The Perfect Match would be the best thing overall. “So far, at least eight out of the twenty applicants turned up felons, three of them child molesters. When we pointed this out, the women made one excuse after another and I’ll bet you any type of money the men are still there.”
“You know you’ll have to report it, right?”
Brandi looked up from the reports and stared ahead. “I do?”
“Yes. The men aren’t supposed to live with children under any circumstances.”
“I’ll get on it after I finish this call.”
“So, what about us?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb, woman.”
Brandi thought about that a moment. Her best friend had betrayed her, but so had her husband. She had forgiven him in a way, so she could forgive Avie, too. “We’re cool. Just don’t let it happen again.”
“No problem,” she said, letting out a long sigh of relief.
“And you owe me lunch every day for the next month,” Brandi said, realizing she could capitalize on this new development. “Something that costs more than Seven dollars and fifty-eight cents. No Corner Bakery.”
“Ouch.”
CHAPTER Forty-Nine
Vernon landed at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport in Atlanta, rented a midsize car, and soon was on a happy journey to Social Circle, Georgia. Soon he’d have enough information on Tanya to get her out of his hair.
He whizzed along Cherokee Road going over his father’s plan in his mind. Then he ran into traffic. The overhead banner read, “Cruise In.” Classic cars lined both sides of the road. He couldn’t inch forward if he paid someone. Inhaling a whiff of fresh country air, he choked as an unpleasant smell drifted in from the cows out to pasture in a field off to his right. He rolled up the window. Things were a little too fresh for his taste.
Chicago hadn’t been warm, so he’d worn a heavier suit. He’d had to take off his jacket and unbutton his shirt the moment he touched ground.
Two hours later, he’d only made it as far as the Wiccams General Store. Just his luck that he’d come in during a major event.
He hoped he would get this finished and be back on the plane before the end of the afternoon. No one would know but him, his father, and the Good Lord.
Tanya had only told him two things: She was from Social Circle, Georgia, and her father was mayor. Hopefully, what he knew would be enough to get what he needed.
She’d mentioned her brief marriage, and living in New York, but was vague about everything else. It didn’t matter to him at the time—what really mattered was what she did in bed. The more he racked his brain to remember other things about her, the more he wondered: Who was the woman he had spent two years of his life with? She had been tight-lipped about her life before Chicago. Suppose she was some type of criminal!
As he strolled the aisles of the Wiccams Store, he passed huge barrels of flour, sugar, grits, and rice. An old man with a long pinkish face, white shirt, suspenders, and plaid pants asked, “Can I help you, son?”
Vernon hesitated for a moment, then realized that the man seemed friendly enough. Almost like a traveling salesman. “Do you know anyone from the Kaufman family?”
“Kaufman?” The man rubbed his chin. “There’s no one ’round these parts by that name.” Then his friendly face broke into a warm smile. “Where you from?”
“Chicago.” Damn, what was Tanya’s maiden name? “You sure?”
“Son, the Wiccams family’s been in Social Circle since John P. Blackmon first bought out his partner for thirteen cents an acre back in 1824.” The man poured wine into a coffee cup, and handed it to Vernon. “ ’Bout how long we’re talkin’ since they’ve been here?”
“Maybe thirteen years or so?”
“Hmmm,” he said, taking off his baseball cap to scratch his head. “Don’t reckon I can put my finger on who you’re talkin’ ’bout.”
“Her father was mayor at one time.”
“No, no mayor by the name of Kaufman.” He studied Vernon closely, eyes glancing over his suit more than once. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”
“You think someone else might know around here?”
“Nobody but family’s ever worked here and if I don’t know ’em, they wouldn’t know ’em either. Nothin’ against your kind, mind ya, but only family’s allowed to work in the store. Don’t reckin’ no African-Americans floatin’ in the blood. At least none of ’em spoke up yet.” Then he laughed at his clever joke. “Maybe you might want to talk with somebody on the east side of the tracks.”
“Why there?”
“That’s where the nig—Negroes—I mean; colored—sorry, Blacks—Shoot! African-Americans live,” he stammered. “It’s so hard to keep up these days.”
Was he being funny? Vernon replied, “No, she’s a cracker—um, redneck—I mean she’s as white as they come: blonde hair, blue eyes.”
The man peered at him for a long time, taking in the returned insult. A few kids walking around had scurried out of the store.
“White?” Mr. Wiccams finally asked, obviously realizing that Vernon wasn’t one to be toyed with. “Why didn’t you say so? Well now, that puts a different spin on things.” He leaned over, resting his elbows on the wooden counter. “The mayor we’ve had for the past thirteen years is Nicholas Steward. Before that it was Wilbur Jaunal, but he’s been in the slammer for thirteen years. Just got out. There was some family scandal about him and his daughters. One disappeared and the other turned up dead. Found her body over there on the east side of town. Least folks suspect it was her. Couldn’t really identify that little girl. Teeth were smashed, fingers were sliced off…”
Vernon’s stomach churned.
“Blonde hair and blue eyes? Father was mayor…I reckon you’re talkin’ ’bout Tanya Jaunal. That might be who you’re lookin’ for. Seems about the right age,” He said, letting his gaze pass over Vernon again. “What you want with the Jaunals? That man’s meaner than a junkyard dog.”
“Oh, nothing really,” Vernon said quickly. He was in over his head. “I don’t think she’s the one I’m looking for.”
“You sure you ain’t tryin’ to collect that there hundred thousand dollar reward for knowledge of her whereabouts?” The man pointed to the powder blue sign tacked up on a board showing a teenage Tanya with a gorgeous smile.
“How long has this been here?”
“That wanted poster of her has been up for thirteen years. Seems like a whole lot of people are lookin’ for that lil’ girl. Think Jaunal’s looking for some payback for all that time
in prison. Her court case started a federal investigation that didn’t stop until they put his butt in the slammer. Was as rich as the Rockefellers. Now he’s poorer than a church house mouse.”
At that moment, Vernon realized his visit to Social Circle should end—pronto. Even though one hundred thousand could help pay off what he’d borrowed from members of the League and put The Perfect Fit in the clear a lot sooner than the two years he projected, no way could he serve Tanya up to a man like that.
Tanya came from a rich family? Why did she make it seem like she didn’t have a dime? A sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. The more he learned, the more he knew he should turn tail and catch the first thing smokin’ back to Chicago.
They thought she was dead like her sister and he had shown up to prove them wrong. How could he get out of this?
“Uh, I think you’ve told me everything I need to know about, uh… Tanya Jaunal. But I don’t think she’s my girl.” Vernon slipped the man a hundred-dollar bill.
The man glanced down at the cash and grinned. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. Information’s always free,” he said, sliding the money back across the counter. “Now order up another glass of that plum wine you’re drinkin’ right now, and that’ll cost you plenty.”
Vernon grinned at the man and raised his cup. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
Vernon picked the pace as he left the store. If he had turned back, he would have seen good old Mr. Wiccams pick up the rotary dial phone. If he had stayed close to the entrance, he would’ve heard, “Cousin, I think I’m gonna be the one to get my hands on that money you’re offering. How soon can you round up the boys and get over here?”
♥♥♥
Vernon slammed the car door, started the car, and punched the pedal to the metal, feeling a strange sense that something bad was about to happen. He couldn’t put a safe distance between himself and the beautiful country fast enough. What was he thinking, opening up that can of worms?
He returned the car to the rental husband, took the shuttle to his terminal, hoping to make it to the Delta Airlines counter. He was almost home free!
Then he pulled up short, making tracks as he came to a sudden halt. All sense of safety seeping out of his pores. A group of white men in dress ranging from business suits to overalls stood in front of the entrance. As though guided by some inner voice, all heads turned in his direction. Mr. Wiccams pointed a shaky finger and said, “That’s him right there.”
Vernon did a half turn and hauled ass, went through another set of entrance doors, pounding the pavement better than a Dallas Cowboy running with an open path to the goal line.
His heart slammed into his chest as he staggered through a group of flight attendants. He ducked past a newsstand but they were still hot on his heels. People turned to stare as he sprinted past heading toward the construction area, a Black man with a trail of white men on his tail—ranging from skinny, to overweight, to giant-sized. Damn, where was security? This big ass airport and no one’s helping? For a moment, he felt a connection with his ancestors. Back then it was about lynching. Vernon had a feeling that if this group caught him he would suffer the same fate.
Vernon had the lead and was home-free to make it back outside and get into a cab. Then a little boy grinned up at him. Something about that smile was all wrong. At the very last second the boy stuck his leg out. Vernon didn’t see it soon enough to avoid the headlong tumble that landed him on the ground with the boy pinned and yowling underneath. Served the little bastard right.
“Hey, watch it! You pervert,” the mother shrieked, planting little kisses all over her evil seed’s pudgy face.
A meaty hand jerked Vernon to an upright position as the men crowded around him and dragged him with them. As they trekked back to the construction area, Vernon tried to find a way to escape, knowing that if they pulled him away anything could happen and no one would find him until it was too late.
“Get his wallet, Bubba.”
Vernon’s gaze flickered to the speaker. A man with a wide frame, menacing scowl, and blue eyes just like Tanya’s.
The giant-sized guy holding his neck jammed a hand in his back pocket and scrabbled to remove his black wallet as Vernon struggled against his restraints.
“Let me go!”
A man stepped forward wearing a blue-and-white-striped suit Vernon wouldn’t be caught wearing to his own funeral. “Not until you tell us what we need to know.”
“I don’t know anything!” Vernon struggled to get out of Bubba’s death grip. “Let me go!”
Wilbur Jaunal flipped opened the wallet and looked at the license inside. “A Yankee boy! Now just what are you doing ’round these parts?”
“Vacation,” Vernon supplied quickly.
The man looked on either side of Vernon. “With no bags?”
“A short vacation.”
“Hmph.” The man’s blue eyes scanned Vernon’s face. “Maybe you should come on with us and we can settle on exactly what you know and what you don’t.”
“What’s goin’ on here?” A brown-skinned, silver-haired man with a sharp gaze, a slight scowl and a uniform stood a few feet from the crowd. His dark eyes swept across everyone in the group before landing on Jaunal.
“Mind your business, boy. He’s got my girl in the family way—we just want to make sure he does the right thing by her. We’re handling a little family business. Off with you,” Jaunal said, shooing the janitor away.
Vernon yelled, “Help me! They’re trying to kill me! Help—”
The sudden pressure of a gun in his side put an end to his pleas.
To Vernon’s dismay, the man shifted off.
“Where’s my daughter?” Jaunal growled, jamming a hand around Vernon’s neck.
“I don’t know who your daughter is.”
“Tanya Jaunal,” he said evenly.
“No, it’s Kaufman now.” Mr. Wiccams broke through the sinister-looking crowd. “He was lookin’ for a Kaufman. She must’ve changed her name.”
The men fanned out protecting the door as people tried to peer into the split in the tarp.
Mr. Wiccams leaned in. “Hey, you’d better not stiff me on the money, either,” he said, poking a long finger at Jaunal’s chest. “Or I’ll just tell that D.A. person that Margaret paid my boy to get rid of that kid for you. Said that little girl was bleeding like a stuck pig when she got off his table. He said Margaret was doing it on your instructions. I’m sure.”
Bubba jerked Vernon forward. “You want me to take care of him for you, Boss?”
“No, there’s too much at stake,” Janual said, scanning the crowd. “Can’t trust you guys to do diddly-squat. She’s still breathing, ain’t she?”
Vernon knew he was not getting out of Social Circle alive.
CHAPTER Fifty
Brandi strolled through the empty cubicles of her company. The place was like a ghost town. The sound of copiers rolling, fax machines churning, chatter, and gossip was sorely missed. The sounds meant business, which meant cash flow, which lead to progress. The latest projections were horrible and she had to face facts.
She called another company meeting with the last remaining employees. A lump formed in her throat as she stood before them. “The Perfect Match isn’t doing so well. And as much as I’d like to keep everyone on board, I suggest you take any offer TPF has extended…”
Short, bitter, and to the point. With solemn faces and very few questions they filed out of the room.
Ella, Renee, and Michael all stayed behind.
“I’m not leaving,” Renee said with a pat to her red afro. The woman could never keep a style for long.
Though warmed by the gesture, Brandi knew there really wasn’t a choice. “I’m tapped out. I can’t pay your salaries right now.”
“Then lay us off,” Renee replied softly as she looked over at Ella Clark. “We can file for unemployment and still come to work. You can pay me a ‘consultant fee’ for the difference—in
cash.”
Brandi gasped, looking at the woman as though she had lost her mind. “But that’s unethical.”
“No, that’s survival, honey,” Ella said, giving Renee a thumbs-up. “Works for me.”
Brandi hesitated, needing to think about the consequences for The Perfect Match. Avie would kill her. But then again, her lawyer was also the one who had helped orchestrate the little savings plan that had kept the business running for all this time. Now that green safe-deposit box was empty.
Then she thought about Renee’s suggestions, knowing that things could turn around if The Perfect Match could survive the storm. “The work will be doubled up.”
“When have we been afraid of a little hard work?” Ella shot back, lifting her chin.
“Okay,” Renee said, rolling back her sleeves. “We can do this!”
Michael waited until the two women had filed out of the conference room. “You know you don’t have to pay me a dime. I only came on as a freelance accountant to clean up the mess Vernon’s friends had made. You insisted I have an office here, but my own business is doing quite well. So money isn’t an issue.”
Brandi knew Michael would always come through for her and she felt a little bit of relief that he still had her back. Then he messed it all up by asking, “Have you given any thought to my offer?”
Lord, she didn’t need this right now! “Do you want the truth or a good lie?”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” His tone was dry and a tad bit angry.
“Then you definitely won’t like my answer,” she shot back. “I’ve got too many other things on my mind to deal with this right now.”
A flash of anger lit and died out in his brown eyes. “You know, I would have supported you in anything you wanted to do. I would never have fought against you like this—ever.”
“I know, Michael,” she said softly, realizing that he would have done just that.
“So you still need more time?”
“Lots more, and you still might not get the answer you want,” she said, as his eyes bore into hers. “I know I felt something for you back in college and I feel a little something for you now, but that doesn’t mean when all is said and done that I’ll feel more than that.”
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