“No, I want to stay here until you find Camille. What if she’s hurt?” Jeanna said.
“Me too. Don’t make us go,” Rodney chimed in.
“Listen, both of you. I’m sure Camille is fine. There are only a few weeks of school left, so you can’t afford to miss any more days. She should be here by the time you get home.” He managed to muster up a fake smile.
“Go on, get your backpacks,” Consuela said. She waited until the children were gone then turned to Leon. “I’m sure Miss Camille is okay. Don’t worry.”
“Thank you,” he said.
Consuela quietly went out the back door to her car. After she left the kitchen, Leon prayed that she was right.
“Leon! I found her! Leon!” Jackson yelled from the front entryway. He held Camille by her arm as she tried to pull away from him.
“Uncle Jack, you’re hurting my arm,” she whined.
“Oh, thank God,” Leon said as soon as he saw her. He rushed over and hugged Camille. His nose wrinkled up and he stepped back. Her hair and her clothes reeked with smoke.
Camille leaned forward and squinted at him. “Waddup, Dad?” she slurred.
“She’s high as a kite,” Jackson said before he suddenly noticed the other children bounding down the stairs.
Rodney reached the bottom first. Elated to see her, he ran to his sister. Then suddenly he stopped. “Camille, you stink,” he said. He held his nose with his fingers.
“Rodney, you’re funny looking,” Camille slurred. Then she began laughing hysterically.
“Jackson, take her up to her room,” Leon ordered.
Holding on to her arm, Jackson obeyed. The other children stared at her as she stumbled up the stairs, giggling. They turned their stares to Leon, waiting for an explanation.
“Camille needs to rest,” he said.
“But, Dad ...” Jeanna began.
“Consuela is waiting for you both in the car. Hurry up so you aren’t late for school.” He reached down and hugged them both, holding on just a little bit longer than normal.
Leon was still standing by the front door in a slight state of shock when Jackson came down the stairs. He looked up at his brother. Taking him by the arm, Jackson led him into the den. “Sit down, baby brother. I know this is rough,” he said.
“Where did you find her?” Leon asked.
“I was on my way here and I saw her getting out of a blue Jeep parked on the corner.”
Leon couldn’t remember any of Camille’s friends who owned a blue Jeep. “Did you see who was driving?”
“Some thug with a bald head. I really didn’t get a good look at him, though.”
Leon slowly shook his head. “This situation is getting out of hand, Jack. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Well, first of all you need to ground her until she’s twenty-one. Then we need to go upstairs and take her cell phone, laptop, and any other communication device. I say we strip the room and just leave her a bed to sleep in. You’ve got to lay the smack-down of punishment on her.”
“She was already grounded. What difference does it make if I ground her and she sneaks out?”
“Leon, you can’t just let this slide. I know you’re upset, but she has got to be punished. You’ve got to let her know that you will not tolerate drug use in your house.”
Leon sighed loudly. “Jackson, you don’t understand. I know that Camille should be punished for sneaking out and for smoking pot, but that’s not the whole issue here.”
Jackson stared at him puzzled. “Then what is?”
“I need to find out why my daughter is using drugs. This is not like Camille. Ever since this whole situation with Sharmaine happened, she’s becoming a different person. I don’t even recognize her anymore.”
“When kids become teenagers they change, baby brother. I mean, do you really think this is all about Sharmaine?”
“I know it is. She says she hates her mother, and I know that’s not true. The lying, the sneaking out, and the drugs; it all began when her mother left. I know I should punish her, but all I want to do is get her some help.”
Suddenly they heard noises coming from the kitchen. Rushing in, they found Camille seated on the floor with her hand jammed inside a cereal box. The kitchen was in disarray, with all of the cabinets standing open. Various items were scattered all over the counter. She squinted at them as they walked over to her.
“I got hungry. Leave me alone,” she slurred. Camille tossed a handful of cereal into her mouth and dug in for more.
Leon snatched the box of cereal from her hands and laid it on the counter. Then he reached under Camille’s arms and pulled her to her feet.
“That’s it, Camille. I will not have you disrupting this house any further. Get upstairs to your room and take a shower. Now!” he screamed.
The boom of his voice seemed to shock her sober. Her lip began quivering and she started to cry.
“Get upstairs!” Leon yelled directly into her face.
Camille sprinted out of the kitchen and up the staircase. They heard her bedroom door slam.
Jackson slowly began closing cabinets and putting items away.
“Leave it for Consuela,” Leon said. “I need you to come upstairs with me.”
With Jackson close on his heels, he ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. They entered Camille’s room without knocking. Her shower was running, so he knew she was in the bathroom.
“Search every inch of this room, Jackson. I want to make sure she didn’t bring any drugs into my house.”
They searched through the dresser, the desk drawers, and the shelves of Camille’s closet. Leon knelt down and searched under her bed. He stood up, and with Jackson’s help, he flipped the mattress. When they found nothing, they dumped out her clothes hamper and searched the pockets of all of her jeans. Satisfied, they sat down on the bed.
Camille emerged from the bathroom a few moments later wrapped in her bathrobe. “What did you do to my room?” she demanded.
“Camille, where were you last night? Who was that guy you were with, and where did you get drugs?” Leon asked.
“I was in the SWAT,” she said. Camille began picking up her clothes that were scattered all over the floor.
Leon looked to Jackson for help. He mouthed the word Camille had used.
“The SWAT is southwest Atlanta,” Jackson answered.
“Is that a bad neighborhood?” Leon asked.
“It depends on where you live. Some is really hood. Some is middle class. And then there is some that is very affluent. It just depends on the street you live on. I’m guessing she was in the roughest part.”
Leon turned his attention back to his daughter. “Is that why you asked me for money? Did you spend the fifty I gave you on drugs?”
Camille ignored him and continued picking up her clothes.
Fuming, Leon stood up. “Give me your cell phone. You’re grounded for the next month. If this continues, it will stretch into the entire summer.”
Still not speaking to him, Camille pointed toward her dresser where the phone sat.
Leon grabbed it and shoved it into his pocket. He then walked over to her desk and picked up her laptop computer. He handed it to Jackson. Then he went to her entertainment center and disconnected the TV, stereo, and DVD player. He snatched the cords loose and handed them to Jackson as well. Finally, he grabbed her MP3 player, and the two men left the room.
In the hallway, Jackson slowly shook his head. “I see what you mean, man. There’s a lot of anger bottled up inside her.”
“Doesn’t the church have a drug counseling program?” Leon asked.
Jackson nodded. “I think so. Put this stuff in your bedroom. I’ll go call Bishop Snow.”
Camille locked her bedroom door behind Jackson and Leon. Then she went into the bathroom and pulled off the top of the toilet tank. She stuck her arm through the water to the bottom and retrieved the bag of weed Danté had helped her purchase. Glad they were done searchi
ng her room, she left the bathroom and hid it in the back of her closet.
Chapter Twelve
Sharmaine walked into her dining room and sat down at the table to begin her morning devotion. Although she took time every morning to talk with God, this particular morning she had a specific purpose in mind. Her attorney, Victor, had called the previous evening to let her know that he was unsuccessful in getting her trial date moved back. That meant Sharmaine would go on trial for the attempted murder of Leon in one week.
Opening her Bible, she asked God for strength and guidance. The Spirit led her to the book of Isaiah, 54:7 . She read it silently:
No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and their righteousness is of me, saith the Lord.
Sharmaine closed her eyes and recited the scripture over and over. She knew that the power of God was her only defense at the upcoming trial. When she was done meditating over the words, her mind wandered back to her last meeting with Victor.
“Sharmaine, the district attorney’s office has offered a plea bargain. I strongly suggest you take it,” he had said.
“What is it?”
“If you plead guilty to attempted second degree murder, you will be sentenced to ten years in prison. I’m sure with good behavior you could be out in between five to seven years tops. This is your first offense.”
Sharmaine looked at him in disbelief. “I can’t go to jail for five to seven years. My son would be almost grown when I got out.”
“If you are convicted, Sharmaine, you could go to jail for twenty years. Your son would be grown, and you’d be an old woman when you got out.”
“No. Tell them no.” She shook her head.
Victor slowly closed his folder and stared at Sharmaine across his desk. “Do you understand that you have no defense, Sharmaine? I’m going to walk into that courtroom and tell them that you didn’t do it, because you say so. You don’t even have an alibi other than you were asleep. I’m trying here, Sharmaine, but I’ve got nothing.”
“I know, Victor. I just don’t know how you expect me to willingly go to jail for five years without a fight.”
Victor sighed. “Fine. Were you able to get me that list of character witnesses I asked for? I need to subpoena those people to speak on your behalf.”
Sharmaine reached into her purse and pulled out a small piece of paper with two names written on it. She handed it to Victor.
“Bishop Jimmy Snow and Keisha Williams? Your minister and your assistant are the only two people you have on here.”
“I tried to get Shawn Reeves also. He agreed at first, but then he called and recanted. I’m sure Brenetta had a lot to do with it.”
Victor picked up his pen and added Shawn’s name to the list. “We can subpoena him anyway. His wife’s opinion of you won’t matter once he’s on the stand. I’m sure he’ll be truthful.”
“What about Leon? Is he going to testify?”
Victor nodded. “The prosecution has him on their list. The good thing is his testimony does not directly implicate you. It’s circumstantial. The bad part is the gun is registered to you, and your prints were all over it.”
“I just don’t understand. How did a gun get registered in my name if I didn’t apply for it?”
“I’m still working on that. The paperwork has your signature on it. I plan to call a handwriting expert to the stand to dispute it. Also, I have the gun shop checking their records to see if they have a photo of the person who picked up the gun.”
The meeting continued for more than an hour, with Victor giving Sharmaine details of what to expect when they went to court. With no other choice, his outline of defense was that Sharmaine had been framed. He intended to use the handwriting expert to cast doubt that she purchased the gun. He also had the forensics report. There was no evidence that Sharmaine had fired a gun, as no powder residue was found on her hands. The prosecution would simply say she washed it off, but he intended to bring it up anyway.
She listened intently, until he said something that stunned her.
“The judge made a ruling, and they are going to allow the sex tape as evidence. Clips will be shown to the jury,” he said.
Gasping, Sharmaine covered her mouth with her hand. “You have got to be kidding.”
“I’m afraid I’m not. I fought it as hard as I could. I argued that it had nothing to do with this case. The prosecution says it’s relevant to your motive. They state you shot Leon after he confronted you about the tape. It also serves to strip your credibility as a loving and devoted wife.”
“This is horrible. That means any bystander in the courtroom will be able to see it.”
“Well, no. The good news is that the courtroom will be invitation only. Because of your celebrity status, I was able to get the media banned. No one will be allowed inside unless they have a court-ordered reason to be there. Also, there is no proof that it’s even you in those tapes, and I will make a point of that.”
“Thank you, Victor. I know that things don’t look good right now, but I really do appreciate everything you’re doing to help me.”
As she sat at her dining room table praying, Sharmaine called on a higher power to assist Victor with her defense.
Her prayers were suddenly interrupted when she heard keys unlocking her front door and someone walking in. “Is that you, Keisha?” she called out.
A short and stocky man with greasy black hair and hairy arms entered her dining room. “No, it’s not,” he answered.
Frightened, Sharmaine stood up from the table and backed up near the wall. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
“This isn’t your house anymore. Hey, are you that actress?” he asked, suddenly recognizing her.
“Yes. Who are you?” she demanded.
The man extended his tanned hand for her to shake. “The name’s Lou Giordano,” he answered. He pulled his hand back when he realized she wasn’t going to take it.
“Okay, Mr. Giordano—”
“Call me Lou,” he said, interrupting her.
“All right then, Lou. What are you doing in my house?”
“I thought you’d be gone by now. I bought this place at auction a week ago.”
Sharmaine’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What do you mean you bought it at auction? I never authorized anyone to sell this condo.”
Lou looked at her strangely. “This property went up for auction for delinquent property taxes. Maybe you didn’t authorize the sale, but DeKalb County certainly did. I own it.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a deed of sale. He handed it to Sharmaine.
Sharmaine skimmed the paper with her address written at the top. When she was done, she handed it back to Lou. “There must be some mistake. I’m sure my accountant has kept up with the tax payments.”
“I don’t know about all that. All I know is that you’re in my place. I came over to see what kind of shape it was in. You’ve taken good care of it. I appreciate that. Most of the times when I buy these places, even in a good neighborhood like this, it’s a mess. I’m sure you understand.” He looked around the dining room, then pulled a tape measure from his pocket and began measuring the length of the room.
Sharmaine understood perfectly. Leon’s business purchased several foreclosed or tax delinquent properties, and he spent thousands repairing them. “I do understand, Lou, but this condo is not one of those properties.”
Lou put his tape measure back into his pocket. “Look, lady, it’s obvious there is some kind of confusion. Tell ya what. I’ll give you a few days to vacate the place. I paid my money, so I know this is my property, but I won’t throw you out on the street.” He reached into his burgeoning back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He reached inside it for a business card then handed it to Sharmaine. “You can reach me at this number once you have your affairs squared away.”
He turned to walk ou
t of the dining room then stopped. “I’ll be back on Friday, whether I hear from you or not. I’d suggest you have all of your things out.”
As soon as he was gone, Sharmaine locked the door, turned the deadbolt, and latched the chain. She went to the phone to call Keisha.
“Hey, Sharmaine, what’s up?” she asked.
“Some weird Italian guy was just here and he says he owns my condo.”
“What are you talking about? You own your condo.”
“He says that the taxes were not paid and he bought it at an auction. Do you know anything about delinquent tax notices?”
Keisha shifted the phone from her right to her left ear. “Sharmaine, I never handled any of that stuff. Have you called your accountant?”
“Will you call him for me?” she whined. “I just can’t deal with any more bad news right now. See if you can find out what’s going on and get back to me.”
“Sure,” Keisha answered. “Just relax. I left you some homemade smoothies in the refrigerator. Why don’t you drink one for breakfast, and I’ll be over this afternoon. It’s probably some stupid clerk’s error.”
“That’s a good idea, Keisha. I’ll see you when you get here.”
Three hours later, Keisha arrived at Sharmaine’s condo. She tried using her key to get in the front door, but was blocked by the deadbolt and the chain. She knocked loudly on the door. “Sharmaine, it’s me, Keisha. Let me in.”
When there was no answer, Keisha went around the yard to the back door. She let herself into Sharmaine’s kitchen. Leisurely, she walked around the condo, leaving items. Finally, she went into the master bedroom, where she found Sharmaine face down on the floor. Keisha walked over and knelt beside her. She lifted her wrist to check for a pulse. It was faint, but steady.
Casually, she walked into the living room and dialed 911. When she was through speaking with the dispatcher, she sat down on the couch and flipped on the television. Scanning channels, she stopped at a rerun of Sanford and Son and began laughing hysterically.
Sharmaine blinked at the blaring white light shining in her face. Momentarily, she wondered if this was the end. She’d heard stories of people dying and seeing a calming bright light that beckoned them forward. But this light was different. It moved and flashed back and forth, almost blinding her. She didn’t feel calm or want to go toward it. It frightened her. She blinked again, trying to make it go away.
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