Chapter 4
Sheldon and Michael crouched by the door and watched as the officers climbed into their vehicle. It seemed like it was taking forever for Detective Griffin to start the car.
“Can I ask what the hell you two are doing?” Frankie asked, standing behind them.
“Shh,” they hissed over their shoulders, their eyes glued to the car.
The engine started. Michael and Sheldon reached for each other’s hands and held their breaths while the car backed out of the driveway. The short paved slab suddenly seemed a mile long.
Annoyed to be left out of the loop, Frankie inched up and crowded around the thin, glass panes next to the front door. Still she was clueless why they were watching the cops leave the property.
“That Detective Dekker was cute,” she hazarded a guess as to what the big deal was. “He’d make a good rebound guy.”
No response.
Frankie rolled her eyes.
The cop car pulled off from the property and Sheldon jumped as if a bomb had exploded beneath her.
“Michael Anthony Adams, you have lost your mind!” She snatched her hand away, bolted from the door and raced through the house.
“I can explain,” Michael lied, dogging her heels.
Frankie took up the rear, still clueless. “Somebody tell me what’s going on!”
“We’re going to jail!” Sheldon shouted as she threw open the basement door and flew down the stairs. “My children are going to grow up without a mother because I have a crazy sister!”
“Stop being dramatic,” Michael said, determined to downplay the situation.
“What about the rats?” Frankie asked, slowing as she descended the stairs. “Shouldn’t we wait until we call the exterminator?”
“There are no rats!” Sheldon shouted. She rounded the corner and skidded to a stop as if she’d somehow hoped seeing her ex-brother-in-law tied to a chair had been a mirage.
In truth, Michael had held the same hope.
Frankie curved the corner, stopped and then let loose a high-pitched scream that required both Michael and Sheldon to backtrack and clamp their hands over Frankie’s mouth.
“Will you be quiet?” Michael hissed in Frankie’s ear. “Do you want the neighbors to call the cops back here?”
Frankie stopped screaming but her eyes remained bulged over the rims of their fingers.
“If we remove our hands, you promise you’re not going to scream?” Sheldon asked for verification.
Frankie nodded.
Slowly, Michael and Sheldon removed their hands, but Frankie panted as if she was on the verge of hyperventilating. “What. Is. Going. On?”
“Everybody, calm down,” Michael instructed, though she was far from the emotion herself. “I’m sure there is a logical explanation for everything.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sheldon asked. “You’re sure there’s a logical explanation? Aren’t you responsible for this?”
“Now, why would you think that?” Michael thundered back.
Sheldon tossed up her hands. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re insane.”
“You take that back!” Michael demanded.
Sheldon leaned into Mike’s face. “Make me.”
Frankie rolled her eyes and marched over to Phil. “You two, can it.”
Michael and Sheldon held combative stances while Frankie unwound the duct tape on Phil’s face. “I’m sure this whole thing will just blow over.” When she ripped the last of the tape from Phil’s mouth, he recoiled in pain.
“Ow. What are you trying to do, rip the skin off my face?” he accused, stretching his face, flexing to see whether the muscles still worked.
“Sorry,” Frankie said in a tone that indicated she was anything but.
Phil turned his head and his gaze speared Michael. There was no mistaking or denying the waves of anger pulsing from him. “You’ve gone too far this time,” he accused. “I’ll see you rot in jail for this,” he promised.
Michael’s chin came up while the muscles around her heart squeezed painfully. She knew when Phil meant business and this was one of those times. “I had nothing to do with this.”
“Tell it to the cops!”
“C’mon, Phil.” Sheldon stepped forward in an attempt to play peacemaker. “I’m sure we can work this out within the family.”
“I’m not a part of the family anymore. Remember?” he asked. “And thank God. You all are about as psycho as she is. Now untie me!”
“Don’t!” Michael shouted. She was nowhere near ready to go to jail…again.
“We can’t leave him tied up down here,” Frankie reasoned, cradling her bejeweled hands against her hips. “I love you, but I’m not about to become an accessory after the fact. I happen to love my freedom.”
“And I don’t?” Michael stepped forward, ready to direct her anger at someone else. Anyone, really, would do. “Why should I go to jail for something I don’t remember doing? For all I know, he tied himself up down here.”
Everyone kept their incredulous eyes on her.
“Well,” she said, annoyed no one bought that outrageous possibility. “It could’ve happened,” Michael insisted.
“Phil is right,” Frankie said. “You’re psycho!”
“Now you take that back!”
“Make me!” Frankie stepped forward.
“Girls, girls!” Sheldon planted herself between the sisters. “Everyone needs to just calm down and take a deep breath.”
Michael took several, but it did nothing to calm her nerves or steady her heartbeat. Over the years, she’d prided herself on getting out of some pretty sticky situations, but now she feared she’d finally landed in something she wouldn’t be able to get out of.
“Just tell us what happened,” Sheldon continued in the same calming voice.
Michael closed her eyes and tried to remember, but the only images that would come were snippets of her laughing and drinking at the Peppermill, vomiting in Peyton’s car and staring up at the blanket of stars while lying in the backseat.
“I don’t remember,” she finally said. Her shoulders slumped with despair. “But I know I was in no condition to pull off a kidnapping. You girls know that.”
Sheldon and Frankie reluctantly agreed.
“But you were apparently able to hire two thugs to do your dirty work,” Phil cut in snidely. Anger still simmered in his eyes.
Sheldon and Frankie groaned; their support shifted back into Phil’s court.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” Phil spat. “I had just come home from working late at the office—”
“Geez, we’re not even married anymore and you’re still using that same tired excuse?”
“I. Was. Working,” he insisted, eyes blazing.
Michael made a dismissive wave. “Whatever.”
Sheldon and Frankie rolled their eyes.
Phil cleared his throat. “Now, where was I?”
“You just came home after working,” the women repeated dully.
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “I went upstairs to take a shower, but just as I walked into my bedroom—”
“Our bedroom,” Michael couldn’t help but correct him.
“You don’t live there anymore.”
“It’s still part mine until the property is sold.”
Phil opened his mouth to respond, when Sheldon jumped in. “Are you two kidding me? You two are divorced. Michael, will you please let him finish this story before my hundredth birthday?”
Phil flashed a smug smile.
Michael stuck her tongue out at him.
“What is this—Romper Room?” Frankie snapped.
Thoroughly chastised, Michael crossed her arms, clamped her jaw shut and grudgingly let Phil finish his story.
“So,” Phil went on. “I walked into my bedroom and before I could flip on the light switch your two goons slipped a pillowcase over my head and proceeded to beat the living crap out of me!”
A
genuine smile eased across Michael’s face. “Now, that I wish I was around to see.”
“Michael,” Sheldon warned, and then returned her attention to Phil. “What men?”
“How the hell would I know?” he said defensively. “Men—her cronies. All dressed in black and threatening to cut off my…” He coughed and cleared his throat. “Threatening to hurt me if I didn’t come with them.”
The sisters stared.
“So you went with them?” Frankie asked, trying to speed along the story.
“Like I had a choice.” Phil’s hard gaze swung from Mike to Frankie. “After the largest man used my chest as a punching bag for a few rounds, it was more like they carried me out.”
“This is crazy!” Michael barked. “I didn’t send any men over to rough him up or kidnap him,” she pleaded to her sisters.
Sheldon rolled her eyes. “And yet, here he is tied up in your basement.” She returned her attention to Phil. “Continue.”
“What else is there to say? I was clubbed over the head and dragged here. And now the three of you refuse to untie me.”
“We’re not refusing,” Frankie snapped, but made no move to release him. “We’re carefully weighing our options.”
“Where do I come in on this incredible story?” Michael asked. “I didn’t know you were here until I came down for some coffee.”
“Tell it to a jury,” Phil said. “Now, untie me!”
No one made a move.
“Now!” he roared.
“Can you put the tape back over his mouth so we can think?” Mike asked.
Frankie complied, but not without muttering, “Sorry about this.”
“No. Wait. No.” Phil tried twisting his head, but Frankie successfully rewound the duct tape around his mouth.
Mike still couldn’t conjure a defense to Phil’s allegations.
“What’s this?” Frankie asked, removing something pinned to Phil’s filthy blue shirt.
Michael and Sheldon quickly crowded around while Phil went back to mumbling behind his sealed lips and bouncing in his wooden chair.
“Oh, simmer down.” Michael popped him on the back of the head. The man really could be annoying at times. “Who’s it from?” she asked, returning her attention to the letter.
“‘Dear Mikey,’” Frankie read. “‘After seeing you so depressed last night at the Peppermill, Ray and I thought you had a killer idea on how to exact revenge on your ex.’”
“Ray?” Michael said, bouncing the name in her mind, but coming up empty. Hell, she still hadn’t had her morning coffee.
Frankie continued, “‘By the way, I never liked your ex personally. I always thought you could do better. You should have seen him crying for his momma when we picked him up.’”
The sisters swung their eyes toward Phil.
“‘Ray has it all on his camera phone. Funny stuff.’”
Michael laughed. “Looks like I will get to see it.”
Frankie read on, “‘No need to thank us, we figured this would make us even for when you helped us get revenge on a certain fraternity back in college. Good times, huh? We roughed him up a bit, but it was all in good fun.’”
“See? There’s nothing in there that says I had anything to do with this.”
“‘Your directions to the house were great,’” Frankie read.
“What?” Michael sputtered and then glanced around at the hostile crowd. “All right…” She stalled while trying to think of something to say. “Maybe…I mentioned where I used to live.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t mean I told them to break in.”
Frankie read the next line. “‘You were right. Your husband hadn’t gotten around to changing the security codes and we walked right in.’”
Sheldon groaned and looked around. “I need to sit down.”
Michael stubbornly clung to denial. “I did not tell them to kidnap Phil.”
Again Frankie read. “‘You’re an evil genius, Mikey. Your plan went off without a hitch.’”
“Give me that.” Michael snatched the letter from her sister’s hands and read the damning words for herself and then quoted the last line. “‘Give him hell, doll! Your faithful friends, the Damon twins.’”
“More like the Demon twins,” Sheldon said, and then added, “Well, it looks like we’re going to jail.”
Chapter 5
Kyson tried to concentrate on his job. Truly he did, but during the ride back to Phil Matthews’s neighborhood, his mind looped footage of Michael Adams answering her front door. She’d looked either sexy or crazy—or maybe even a little of both, depending on your preference.
He, for one, found the combination fascinating. She was also older—another thing he found attractive. Lately, he had a penchant for older ladies. The closely guarded secret being older women were cougars in the bedroom—and if she was a thick girl, too? Lawd, have mercy.
Kyson sucked in a breath and rolled his eyes skyward at the possibility of reaching heaven in Michael Adams’s arms.
“You’re still thinking about that chick, aren’t you?” Griff asked, chuckling while he parked.
Instead of answering, Kyson climbed out of the car and strolled up the paved driveway with the sound of his partner’s laughter trailing him.
After two quick raps on the door of 519 Hillendale Drive, the partners put on their game faces and waited for the door to open. There was a long wait; but when it finally did open, only a partial view of the left side of an elderly woman’s face could be seen.
“What do you want?” a quivering rumble snapped.
Griffin flipped opened his notepad and inquired, “Ms. Juanita Perkins?”
“Who wants to know?”
Kyson and Griffin drew deep breaths.
Kyson took over. “Ms. Perkins, I’m Detective Dekker and this is my partner, Detective Griffin. You called reporting a disturbance?”
“You the police?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kyson answered, still mystified by her behavior. One would think she lived in the middle of Compton instead of in the hub of suburban paradise.
“Show me your badges,” she barked.
The two detectives followed her command and waited to be granted permission to enter the premises.
“How do I know those are real?”
Was she serious?
“Ma’am, you called us—not the other way around,” Griff snapped, his patience for BS nearing its end.
There was a grunt before she slammed the door. Seconds passed like minutes and the cops shared a careless shrug and turned around.
The door swung open.
“Are you guys coming in here or what?”
Old or not, the woman was riding Kyson’s last nerve. However, when he turned back around, he was stunned to see someone who was only tall enough to reach his hip.
The partners strolled into the house, but nearly tumbled back out when the harsh scent of Ben-Gay singed their nose hairs.
What did the lady do, use a whole tube?
Griff rudely fanned the air around him.
“What took you so long to get here?” she snapped, slamming the door again. “I’ve been calling the station all morning.”
Kyson walked past a stool and guessed that was what she’d stood on when she’d opened the door. “Sorry, ma’am. We just received word of your call a few minutes ago.” He glanced around and wondered if the woman would take offense if he was to suggest they crack a window open.
“Mmm-hmm,” she said in a tone of disbelief and began a slow creep toward the living room.
The partners surmised that they were supposed to follow. “Ma’am, if you could just tell us what you saw last night…”
“Hold your breeches, young man,” she snapped. “We’ve waited all morning for you, you can at least extend us the same courtesy.”
“Us?” Kyson repeated just as he entered the living room and saw a small circle of five elderly women nestled in upholstery furniture, crowded with throw pillows.
“Di
d we interrupt an AARP meeting or something?” Griff whispered, coming up behind Kyson.
“Ha. Ha,” Ms. Perkins said, sounding anything but amused. “The white one is a regular Rodney Dangerfield,” she informed the group.
The women’s eyes narrowed and successfully wiped the cocky smile from Griffin’s lips.
“I may be old, honey, but there’s nothing wrong with my hearing,” Ms. Perkins chastised as she made it to her seat on the sofa’s last cushion. “You young folks today need to learn to respect your elders.”
Kyson and Griff stood before the ring of women, feeling as if they’d just been caught stealing cookies out of the cookie jar.
Apparently feeling she’d made her point, Juanita Perkins pulled a crocheted blanket over her lap and then reached for her teacup and saucer from the table next to her.
After a beat of silence, Kyson cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, ladies. We apologize for not responding to your call sooner, but my partner and I were chasing down other leads. I hope you can forgive us.”
Ms. Perkins finally cracked a smile—a small one, but at least it was a start.
“Well, you gentlemen are looking at the best Neighborhood Watch in the country.”
Griff lifted a curious brow. “Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right.” The smile vanished from Juanita’s face. “You know I don’t like your condescending tone. We run a tip-top shift in this neighborhood. Isn’t that right, Estelle?”
“It most certainly is,” the only white woman in the pack, with hair so white it looked like a fluffy ball of cotton, said. “We know everything that goes on in this block.” As if offering proof, she brandished a walkie-talkie just as it chirped to life.
“Mr. Ellison has just left the premises to walk his dog. Looks like he finally heeded our warnings to put a leash on that wild beast. Maybe it will keep that four-legged freak out of your prized flower bed, Estelle. Over.”
Estelle smiled in triumph. “He better or I’ll clip the dog’s balls off myself.” She returned the walkie-talkie to her lap. “Ferocious animal.”
“What kind of dog is it?” Kyson asked.
“Chihuahua. Barks like the dickens.”
Controversy Page 3