I tried the front door. It was open.
I pushed it open, and Laughton and I moved in with weapons drawn. The basement door was down the hall to the right. No light shined up from the basement. Laughton moved right around through the living room; I went left through the dining room. We came together at the basement door.
It was dark, but the smell of rancid fish and funk settled in. I pinched my nose and Laughton nodded.
Laughton flicked the switch on the wall leading down into the basement. “Jesse, we know you’re down there. Give it up, man. It’s over.”
There was no response. Going down the stairs meant leaving ourselves open for target practice.
“I’m coming down. I just want to talk.”
I motioned to Laughton not to be stupid. How do you motion “stupid”? you might ask. With a lot of whispering, arms flailing, mouthing of swears, waving of a gun, and bending from the knees up and down. Laughton put his hand up for me to stop.
Sweat dripped into my eyes, down my arms, off the tips of my fingers.
Laughton started down the stairs. “I’m lowering my weapon, Jesse. Don’t shoot.”
Silence.
I followed in Laughton’s steps, ready to shoot, ready to blow Jesse Boone’s head off.
At the bottom of the stairs, Laughton turned around to see the entire room. He stopped halfway around and was still, staring. I continued down the stairs and stopped at the bottom, following his gaze. Jesse Boone sat upright on the floor, leaned up against the back wall of the basement with a gun pointed directly at Laughton. I aimed at him. He twitched, I fired.
CHAPTER 28
Jesse Boone dead felt good, but not like I expected. If I could smack him back to life and shoot him again, and smack him back to life and shoot him again . . . fifty, one hundred times, each time making him aware of what was coming . . . maybe then.
No matter how many times we killed him, the damage would remain the same, though. Nareece stared blindly into space, seemingly unaware of her surroundings, or her husband’s funeral going on right in front of her.
Rose and Helen stood beside me at their father’s graveside memorial service crying so hard their bodies shook as though freezing from cold. I held them close, one on each side. They blessed me with drippy nose wipes on my black paisley suit. And Travis stood soldier-like behind Nareece’s wheelchair, stone-faced and white-knuckled from gripping the handles.
John’s gravesite was in Fairview Cemetery in Hyde Park, Massachusetts. The burial had taken place weeks ago, but the twins had wanted a graveside service for their dad. The gravestones glistened in the June sun, which had already pushed the temperature to 85 degrees at 11:00 a.m. Ama’s moans drowned out the preacher’s final blessings. The moment the preacher stopped talking, Jerry and Debbie whisked their mother away without even a look across the gravestone at us, the only attendees besides Dulcey and Bates. Rose and Helen were crying too hard to care, thank goodness.
As Jerry’s car pulled away from the curb, I focused in on Laughton’s silhouette in the distance, the sun at his back and in my eyes. I shaded my eyes to see better, but he was gone. Maybe it was my imagination?
On the way to the car, Bates stopped me. I sent the twins along with Dulcey.
“There’s bound to be some fallout behind all this,” he said. “Like I told you, Boone had business in Boston, too. This whole thing has more to do with drugs and weapons and money than your sister. I suspect Boone left some things hanging.”
“Much appreciated, Bates, but I really don’t give a damn about Boone anymore or anyone connected to him.”
“You’re not hearing me, Muriel. Your sister might still be a target. Does she talk at all?”
I watched Travis half-lift Nareece into the van.
“No. She doesn’t do anything anymore.”
“I’ll be in touch. You take care,” he said, kissing my forehead. “You need for anything, you know I’m your man.” He chuckled lightly.
“Thanks, Bates.”
I drove down I-95 in a rented Caravan, back to Nareece’s house. The twins unbuckled their belts and opened the vehicle’s door before I had fully stopped in the driveway.
“We’re home,” they said with a hint of excitement.
A Realtor met us at the door, ready to finalize the deal of selling the house. Inside, the twins raced up the stairs to their bedroom for one more look, one more check in case something important was left—one piece of paper, one manila folder, one pencil, or one clue to any of the cases employed by the Twofer Detective Agency.
“We can’t let our clients down,” they quipped. Rheumy eyes contradicted their bouncy demeanors.
The warmth once exuded by Nareece’s eclectic decorative style was now ripped away. Now the décor consisted of rolled rugs, gleaming wood floors, stark white walls, boxes of every size stacked against them, and furniture pushed together at the center of the living room like a fortress prepped to thwart the movers’ assault the next day.
Our footsteps echoed, and voices bellowed in the emptiness.
A half hour later, we sped down I-90 toward Philly, the twins huddled in the far back of the van watching a movie, Nareece and Travis asleep in the midsection, and Dulcey driving. I worked on wrapping my brain around what lay ahead, a much happier prospect.
I embraced raising Rose and Helen in the house where Nareece and I had grown up, where we’d once lived as a happy family. I took a breath, whisking away the bad memories determined to whittle their way front and center. Today they lost the battle. New day, new memories.
Plans for remodeling the family house were underway. They included redesigning the kitchen and bathrooms, painting inside and outside the house, refinishing the wood floors and replacing carpets. Other plans included building an addition for a live-in nurse to care for Nareece and a shed-sized outhouse in the backyard for the twins’ detective agency. Between me and Nareece, we had plenty of furniture and household goods to outfit the place.
I decided to rent out rather than sell my house. For now, it was where we would live until the renovations were completed at the family house.
I took leave from the department, unsure whether my road to happiness spelled retirement. Fifty years rested on my shoulders, asking the question: What do you want to be now that you’re all growed up? Summer first, I decided.
Seemed like a lifetime ago I was tripping about being old, menopause-old, and not having accomplished a damn thing, and being alone. Menopause pummeled me at full throttle and sent me deep within God, help me territory, but I realized my saviors were upon me. The twins squawking double-time, Nareece needing everything from dribble wipes to ass wipes, and the prospect of telling Travis the truth, actually cooled the sweats and backed my moods into a dark room, slamming and locking the door after them. Crazy. Crazy.
My worst fear was still about Travis’s reaction when he learned his true identity and that his whole life echoed regurgitated lies. The good news was that the past was the past for now and evermore—banished, handled, resolved, and done. At least it would be done after Travis learned the truth.
Next thing I knew, Dulcey was waking me up as she pulled curbside in front of my house. It was 9:30 p.m. Travis went to unlock the front door, while I got the twins out of their seat belts and guided them up the walkway and up the stairs to Travis’s room. Travis went back and got Nareece. He carried her into the house and up the stairs to my room. Dulcey walked behind him the whole way with her arms out in case they stumbled and she needed to catch them. Then they would all be goners, for sure.
I settled Nareece in my bed, while Dulcey settled the twins in Travis’s bed. I would sleep on the living room couch, and Travis would sleep downstairs in the basement.
“Girl, it has definitely been a journey,” Dulcey said, trudging down the stairs. I followed behind her.
“It is not over yet.”
“It’s over for me, girl. I’m about beat to a frazzle. What’s left is left for you.” She stopped at th
e front door and said, “Now, Missy M, ain’t nothing blocking your way but what you put there.” She squeezed my hand and left. I watched her get in the car and drive off, before I closed the door and held on to the doorknob, contemplating running away—far, far, away. Then I went into the kitchen to put some water on for tea.
Tomorrow was a new day. There was Mr. Kim to check out, since I had not seen or talked to him since he’d left the note in my door. He wasn’t answering his phone and seemingly had not been home since I went there after receiving the note. A tinge of concern stayed in my gut, even though I knew Mr. Kim was quite capable of taking care of his own.
There was the money, two million dollars, not five, as Cap had said, but still, two million dollars in drug money hidden away for twenty years—now a curse or a treasure? Calvin had returned it to me, and all I could think was, who else knew about it? Would there be others coming for it? I decided that when Nareece was better, we would figure out what good we could do with it, because she certainly did not need the money.
Turns out I never knew exactly what John did for work because he did not do much of anything. At twenty years old, he had invested in Microsoft and made a small fortune, then invested some of that and made more. He and Nareece were set for life. Now Nareece and the girls were set. I was good, too—content with what I had, with no desire to profit from drug monies.
And then there was the matter of my heart. Calvin. That was going to be either a long-ass conversation or a very short one. No matter, I was ready, able, and pumped. “Bring it on.”
Travis snuck up behind me at the kitchen sink and kissed my cheek. “Talking to yourself, huh? You know what they say about people who talk to themselves? They got issues, ain’t all there.”
“That sounds about right.”
He spun me around and hugged me tight enough to send my brains shooting out the top of my head. He turned me loose and kissed me again. I tousled his hair and scratched his beard. He slapped my hand away.
“I know, I know, I need a haircut and a shave,” he said.
We laughed.
“Sit down, son. It’s time we talked.”
A READING GROUP GUIDE
HOT FLASH
Carrie H. Johnson
About this Guide
The suggested questions are included to
enhance your group’s reading of
Carrie H. Johnson’s Hot Flash.
Discussion Questions
1. It is said that a strong woman loves, forgives, walks away, lets go, tries again, and perseveres, no matter what life throws at her. Do you think Muriel is a strong woman? Why or why not?
2. Do you like Laughton and/or Calvin? Do you think the author intends for us to like them? Why or why not? Who do you think is the man Muriel should end up with?
3. Both men in Muriel’s life—Calvin and Laughton—lied to her about who they are and other important information. Yet in the end, when it came to going after Jesse Boone, she trusted them to help her. Would you have made the same decision? Why or why not?
4. What is Dulcey’s role in the book? Why do you think the author wrote her as Muriel’s “other sister”? Is she a likable character? Why or why not?
5. Muriel holds a lot of guilt for what happened to Nareece when she was only sixteen. Since then she has made it her life’s priority to be there for Nareece. Do you think her guilt is justified? Do you think her being there at Nareece’s every whim helped or hurt Nareece?
6. Do you like Travis? Did you think he was a strong character despite being a mama’s boy? How do you think he will handle finding out he is Jesse Boone’s biological son?
7. It is said that “God made us sisters, but love made us friends.” Is Muriel and Nareece’s relationship a “typical” sister relationship? How does it compare to your relationship with your own sister or someone you know? Would you have done things differently if it were your sister in Nareece’s situation?
8. Nareece has acted poorly toward Travis to the point where Travis never wanted to visit her with Muriel. How do you think Travis will deal with Nareece now that he knows she is his real mother?
9. Do you believe Laughton would have killed his brother Jesse if he had found him before Muriel did? What kind of feelings do you think Laughton had about Jesse? From the way the author describes Laughton and his actions, do you think Laughton might be more like Jesse Boone than we would like to believe?
10. Were you satisfied with the book’s ending? Why or why not? What do you think the future holds for Muriel, Travis, Nareece, and the twins?
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CHAPTER 1
Middlebury College, Vermont
Spring, 1919
It was graduation day, and the strange man standing at the top of the cobblestone stairwell gave me an uneasy feeling. It was like he was waiting on me. With each step I climbed, the feeling turned into a gnawing in my stomach, gripped me a bit more, pulling at my good mood.
I glanced at my watch, then down at my shiny, black patent leather shoes. First time I’d worn them. Hadn’t ever felt anything so snug on my feet, so light. Momma had saved up for Lord knows how long and had given them to me as a graduation gift.
Again I looked up at him. He was a tall, thin man, dressed in the finest black suit I’d ever laid eyes on; too young, it appeared to me, to have such silver hair, an inch of which was left uncovered by his charcoal fedora. Even from a distance he looked like a heavy smoker, with skin the texture and color of tough, sun-baked leather. I had never seen any man exhibit such confidence—one who stood like he was in charge of the world.
I finally reached the top step and realized just how imposing he was, standing about six-five, a good three inches taller than I. His pensive eyes locked in on me and he extended a hand.
“Sidney Temple?” he asked, with a whispery-dry voice.
&nbs
p; “Yes.”
“James Gladforth of the Bureau of Investigation.”
We shook hands as I tried to digest what I’d just heard. What kind of trouble was I in? Was there anything I might have done in the past to warrant my being investigated? I thought of Jimmy King, Vida Cole, Junior Smith—all childhood friends who, God knows, had broken their share of laws. But I had never been involved in any of it. The resolute certainty of my clean ways gave me calm as I adjusted my tassel and responded.
“Good to meet you, sir.”
“Congratulations on your big day,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“You all are fortunate the ceremony is this morning. Looks to be gettin’ hotter by the minute.” He looked up, squinting and surveying the clear sky.
I just stood there nodding my head in agreement.
He took off his hat, pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “You can relax,” he said, “you’re not in any trouble.” He put the handkerchief back in his pocket and replaced his hat. He stared at me, studying my face, perhaps trying to decide if my appearance matched that of the person he’d imagined.
He took out a tin from his jacket, opened it, and removed a cigarette. Patting his suit, searching for something, he finally removed a box of matches from his left pants pocket. He struck one of the sticks, lit the cigarette, and smoked quietly for a few seconds.
Proud parents and possibly siblings walked past en route to the ceremony. One young man, dressed in his pristine Army uniform, sat in a wheelchair pushed by a woman in a navy blue dress. He had very pale skin, red hair, and was missing his right leg. Mr. Gladforth looked directly at them as they approached.
Hot Flash Page 24