2 Timers

by Amaleka McCall

  Harmony’s jaw stiffened. Detective Simpson sat up straight, his facial expression was serious, but Harmony could see in his eyes that he was saddened by what he was hearing.

  “One time, Ava beat Lyric’s hands with a belt. I can’t even remember what Lyric had done—maybe dropped her sippy cup on the carpet or something. I was so angry at Ava for hitting Lyric that I rammed my little body into her with the force of a wrecking ball. I screamed ‘don’t hit my baby sister.’ I started biting, kicking, and scratching Ava. I got the worst beating that day. I was five years old, but from that day forward, I knew that I needed to protect my baby sister from our mother. I took beatings for Lyric all the time. I covered Lyric’s ears when Ava called her names. I never wanted my baby sister to know how much our mother truly hated us.

  When Ava would make us wear five-inch heels to dance and sing for hours until our little bodies nearly gave out, I was the one who would comfort Lyric, rub the cramps from her muscles, sneak her little sweet treats.” Harmony’s voice grew gruff, and the tears fell freely from her eyes now. She didn’t even try to wipe them anymore. Speaking about Lyric was the one thing that caused Harmony the most pain. She was still haunted by what Ava had done to Lyric. Harmony regretted that she didn’t do anything to stop it or change it.

  But she didn’t share that story with Detective Simpson. Harmony thought telling him that their mother had basically sold Lyric as a sex slave to Andrew Harvey, a perverted record executive that was old enough to be Lyric’s grandfather, in order to get them a record deal, would push Lyric to the top of the murder suspect list. Harmony would rather the police tear her apart than harass Lyric.

  Harmony never forgave herself for allowing that to happen to her baby sister. Now, she felt like it was her responsibility to protect Lyric . . . to save her.

  “I’m very sorry, Ms. Bridges. But you did say earlier that your mother had one redeeming quality. She was the reason you all made it big, right?”

  Harmony opened her hands, palms up, and hunched her shoulders. “If you want to look at it that way, yes. All of Ava’s cruel treatment was attributed to her desire to see us become the next big girl group. She was the reason we had the work ethic and singing skills to make it to the top of the charts. Ava made us work hard, and she’d crack the whip . . . literally sometimes. We had chart-topping hits and Grammy Awards to show for it. But we lost in the game of life. We had no childhood friends, no school trips, no candy, no sleepovers, no amusement parks . . . none of the things normal children experienced. We were just one big music experiment—a get-rich-quick scheme that happened to pan out. So, yes, my mother was good at recognizing talent and exploiting it. She gambled with us, and she won. We won too—until it all came crashing down around us.”

  “And at the height of your success, you just walked out on it all?” Detective Simpson asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

  “Yes. When I grew tired of the abuse, the lies, and the cruelty, I left. And you know what? I walked away only with the clothes on my back and a few dollars in my pocket, and it was the smartest thing I’d done in my entire life. I felt strong, independent. Most importantly, I felt free.” Harmony used the back of her hand to wipe her runny nose.

  “Sounds brave,” Detective Simpson said. “You must’ve been proud of yourself.”

  “It didn’t matter if I was proud of myself because still, only Melody could ever make Ava proud. Only Melody was ever good enough. And you know what? In the end, Melody turned her back on Ava too. I’m not afraid to admit I hated my mother for the things she did to me as a child, Detective Simpson, but it doesn’t mean I killed her.”

  “What about your sisters? Would they have a good enough reason to end your mother’s life?” Detective Simpson asked point-blank. Before Harmony could answer his question a loud knock reverberated through the door.

  “Harmony? Are you in there?”

  Detective Simpson looked at Harmony, his eyebrows rounded into arches.

  “Well, Detective Simpson, you’ve met Lyric, and you’ve met me . . . Now, brace yourself. You are about to be graced with the presence of her royal highness, Melody Love.”

  Chapter 4

  Melody

  Melody was ready to battle as soon as the interrogation room door swung open. Her jaw was set, and her eyes squinted. How dare the police think they could hold her sister and question her without a lawyer!

  Melody pursed her lips, ready to unleash a vile stream of curses. But the words she’d prepared went tumbling back down her throat at the sight of the gorgeous man standing in front of her.

  Damn! He’s fine.

  This was no balding old man in a donut jelly-stained shirt like she’d expected.

  “Ah, if it isn’t the famous Melody Love, here in the flesh,” Detective Simpson said, flashing his gorgeous smile. The lone dimple in his right cheek winked at Melody. She was speechless; a first for her.

  “Detective Simpson. Brice Simpson. Come on in. We were just discussing you,” he said, inviting Melody into the tiny room, gesturing to a nearby chair.

  Melody sauntered into the room, her bodyguards in tow.

  Detective Simpson held up his hand. “Your secret service detail can stand right outside. There’s not enough room in here,” he directed, shooing away the bulky men in dark suit jackets.

  Melody sucked her teeth, but she nodded for her security team to do as instructed.

  Before he closed the door, Detective Simpson stuck his head into the hallway and yelled at the precinct staff that were hovering nearby. “Get back to work. No one is getting autographs or concert tickets. And don’t even think about leaking any information to the press.”

  The staff went scurrying back to their offices. He shook his head in disbelief.

  “Boy oh boy, the way these people are acting, you would think it was the Second Coming of Christ,” he said as he stepped back into the room.

  “You must not know ’bout me,” Melody said indignantly, flipping her long, sandy-brown hair.

  “Trust me, I know about you. In fact, I know more about you than you think,” he said confidently.

  Melody blushed at his brazenness. “Well, if you know me, then you know I came to get my sisters. Neither they, nor I, will speak to you or any of your people without our attorney present,” she said, obstinately lifting her chin and folding her arms across her chest. “Let’s go, Harmony. We’re finished here.”

  “Everyone has a right to have an attorney, but most of the time, people request them when they’re under arrest or guilty of something they don’t want us to find out about. I’m simply trying to help you ladies find out who could’ve harmed your mother,” Detective Simpson said evenly.

  “Like I said, you’ve probably heard more than you should have without an attorney present,” Melody shot back. “Let’s go, Harmony,” she said, tilting her head toward the door.

  “I don’t need your attorney, Melody. I was done here anyway. I have a baby at home that needs my attention. Besides, you’re the only one they haven’t interrogated,” Harmony snapped, standing up and heading for the door. “I will see myself out, Detective Simpson.”

  Melody rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth as she watched her sister storm toward the door. That was the thanks she got for trying to come to the rescue. As usual.

  “This is always what I get for trying to help you and Lyric? Attitude. Ungratefulness,” Melody huffed, shaking her head. “I’m leaving too.”

  “Ms. Love,” Detective Simpson said, holding his hand up. “You might want to reconsider that. I have information you’d be very interested in,” he said cryptically as he slid a yellow folder across the table.

  “And just what the hell is this? A court order? Some kind of trumped-up evidence? You don’t have a right to detain me and question me without . . .” Melody stopped midsentence after Detective Simpson opened the folder in front of her and leaned back in his chair to gauge her reaction.

  “This change your mind?”

  Me
lody froze. She swallowed hard. Almost immediately, sweat beads cropped up at her hairline. Suddenly, the incident flashed across her mind’s eye like it was happening now.

  * * *

  “Let’s go. No distractions and no more stopping . . . period,” Melody had ordered as she slipped into her stilettos. All six of her dancers fell in line and proceeded to perform the first set. Melody swung her head up and down, gyrated her hips, and moved to the music. She got to the fourth count, and before she knew what was happening, her face collided with the hardwood floor. A sharp pain shot from her nose straight up to her brain. It felt like all of the bones in her skull had shattered. She tasted blood in the back of her throat and saw small squirms of light invading her peripheral vision.

  Melody opened her eyes slowly. Pain reverberated through her skull. The dancers gathered around her, their faces contorted into different stages of shock and horror. Someone bent down and helped Melody to her feet. The pain intensified as she stood. The room spun.

  “Ms. Love, I’m . . . so sorry. My leg caught a cramp, and I almost fell. I didn’t mean to use you to break my fall. Oh my God, I am so sorry,” the clumsy dancer apologized, her hands stretched to help Melody to her feet.

  Melody blinked rapidly as the room came back into focus. Blood pooled under the skin near her eyes, and her temples pulsed with pain. She lifted her hand to her face and touched the bridge of her nose. An explosion of pain made her see fireworks. A fucking broken nose three weeks before the tour kicked off. Just what she needed . . . another damned distraction!

  White-hot fury engulfed her body, causing her blood pressure to rise. She squinted her eyes and scowled at the faces gathered around. The adrenaline coursing through her veins seemed to temporarily numb the pain. The dancers’ eyes were wide, and some trembled visibly. No one dared move.

  Melody calmly stepped out of her stilettos, then bent over to pick up a lone shoe as if to examine the heel. “I’m fine,” she said in a low growl, her heart beating wildly in the base of her throat, embarrassment tingeing her skin an unbecoming shade of red.

  “Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” Melody said in a voice devoid of emotion. Before anyone could move, Melody spun around and drove the five-inch heel right into the side of the guilty dancer’s head. The girl emitted a bloodcurdling scream and crumpled to her knees.

  “You’re fired,” Melody panted, blood dripping from her nose and spit spraying from her lips. “You’re fucking fired.” Melody couldn’t even feel the pain from her injuries anymore. Everyone in the room froze. There were agape mouths, eyes the size of saucers, hands clasped over lips, and arched eyebrows.

  “You’re fired!” Melody shouted as she used her fists to punish the girl. Screams rose and fell, echoing off the studio walls.

  “Please,” the victim cried.

  Melody could not control the demon that had been unleashed. Sweat pooled over her face and neck, and blood leaked from her nose, but she continued to pound the helpless girl, like a nail driven into a piece of wood.

  “You’re going to kill her,” someone screamed.

  * * *

  Melody shivered now, unable to pry her eyes away from the pictures of the bloodied girl. The words on the papers next to the picture: ARREST WARRANT.

  “Like I said, Ms. Love, I thought you would be interested in what I had to show you,” Detective Simpson smiled. Melody swallowed hard, and her hands fell at her sides.

  “Good. Have a seat. Get comfortable. Let’s talk.”

  Melody took a seat and folded her hands neatly in front of her like an obedient schoolgirl.

  “What would you like to know, Detective?”

  He smiled and reared back in his chair. “Tell me about your mother, Ava Love. Why do you think someone would want her dead?”

  Melody sighed and closed her eyes. “There are a lot of possibilities, Detective Simpson. Ava . . . my mother . . . She was different.”

  “How so?”

  “Look, you know you don’t have to play games here. I can see in your eyes that you know things and you’re trying to get me to corroborate them. I know my sisters have probably already told you all about how they felt abused as kids and how I was the favorite,” Melody said, glaring.

  Detective Simpson nodded.

  “You do this for a living, so I know that you know there’s always three sides to a story: theirs, mine, and the truth. What really happened will probably fall somewhere in between the three.”

  “You’re right, Ms. Love. Since I have theirs, why don’t you tell me yours,” he replied, his gaze serious.

  “My mother grew up in the South, Detective. She left the South as a teenager with nothing but a bus ticket and the clothes on her back. The one thing my mother had that set her apart from the rest of the wide-eyed, young hopefuls who were trying to escape the backward ways of the South was her voice. When Ava arrived here in Brooklyn, New York, in 1979, Ava Love did not have to sell her ass or clean anyone’s kitchen to get by. All she had to do was open her mouth and let out the blessed sound. Her voice could capture you and hold you hostage forever. It was just as beautiful as her face,” Melody said, her eyes lowered dreamily, and her lips curled into a slight smile.

  “Impressive,” Detective Simpson said dryly. Melody shot him an evil look; her mood snapped back to reality.

  “It was more than impressive, Detective. If you know anything about those times, you know that Ava wasn’t expected to succeed. And she did. She made something out of nothing. That same year she was singing backup for Donna Summer, and a couple years after that, she was set to record her own album, but . . .” Melody’s voice trailed off.

  Detective Simpson leaned in closer to the table, his brows arched.

  “She got pregnant, and the industry snubbed her. All of that talent gone to waste.” Melody lowered her eyes to her fidgeting hands.

  “Tell me about your relationship with her.”

  Melody closed her eyes and sighed. “I won’t lie. Ava treated me 100 times better than she treated my sisters. But that doesn’t mean it was all good. You have no idea how it felt growing up feeling inferior all of the time,” Melody said, looking up at Detective Simpson. His face was crumpled into a frown.

  “You think just because I was the favored one, it meant I felt better? Quite the opposite. My sisters had an alliance that I’ll never be a part of, Detective. They had each other . . . I had no one. I had nothing but my music.”

  Detective Simpson nodded his understanding.

  “It may sound ungrateful, but there were many times I wished to be the one getting called the names or taking the beatings from Ava just so I could have something in common with Harmony and Lyric. I hurt for them, and because I was always so jealous that they had each other, I did cruel things to them too. I had learned from Ava.” Melody’s voice cracked. She sat up erect in the chair and exhaled a heavy breath.

  “I am not going to dredge up these old feelings,” she said, running her hands through her hair. “Let’s keep it present, Detective. I was mad at my mother. I hadn’t seen her in six or seven months . . . maybe more. In my opinion, Ava had reached a new low, and I just couldn’t stand it anymore,” she confessed. “I just couldn’t stand it.” She thought back . . .

  * * *

  “What?” Melody had gritted, her fists curled at her sides. Gary fanned himself like he was about to faint.

  “Yes, hunty. You heard me right. Ava said, and I quote, ‘If Melody doesn’t up my payments and turn over some of the publishing rights to Sista Love’s albums, I will go to the tabloids with the story about her and a certain senator,’” Gary relayed. Melody began pacing around the small studio space.

  “But what does she have? Won’t it be her word against mine?” Melody said, her voice shaky.

  “It would’ve been had you not taken her to those fundraisers with you back then. Ava has pictures. Oh, and that night you couldn’t get me so you called her to talk through the pain of the senator’s public shunning for his wife’s
sake. Ava has all of that, Mel,” Gary reminded her. Melody stopped moving and eased down into a chair. She lowered her face into her hands.

  “Ugh. I could just kill her,” Melody growled. “She can’t just be a fucking good mother for once in her life. If it doesn’t benefit Ava Love, then it won’t happen. I wish she would just disappear forever. The world would just be a better place.”

  “I hear you. I hear you loud and clear. It is a shame,” Gary comforted, rubbing Melody’s shoulders.

  * * *

  “When you say ‘new low,’ what do you mean?” Detective Simpson asked.

  Melody shook off her memory. “Um . . . I . . . just mean,” she stammered, trying to gather her thoughts before she said the wrong thing.

  “Ava was demanding money. She was doing things in public to embarrass me. That’s what I mean when I say new low,” Melody lied.

  “Did it make you angry?” the detective pressed.

  “You damn right it made me angry, but not angry enough to kill my own mother,” she replied. “I didn’t kill Ava, Detective Simpson. But once I tell you more about Ava’s relationships with my sisters, you may figure out who did.”

  Chapter 5

  Lyric

  When the Range Rover pulled up to the curb, Lyric stared out the window at the familiar building. She took a deep breath and smiled. The nighttime sounds coming from the Harlem jazz club on the corner and the bustling sidewalk made her feel warm and at ease. To her, it was a like a kid coming home from school and walking into a house with freshly baked cookies and a sweet kiss from her mama.

  “Damn, Harlem, I fucking missed you,” she whispered in the dark as she exited the vehicle.

  “I’m good. Y’all can go ahead.” Lyric dismissed Melody’s security team. The gorilla of a man in the front passenger’s seat opened his mouth to protest, but Lyric held up her hand.