When Rain Falls

by Tyora M. Moody

  Darnell had the feeling Mr. Harris tracked Pamela’s every move and knew her more intimately than he was letting on. Hard to believe one of his top lawyers attended an event and he didn’t speak to her. On the wall, Darnell recognized a younger version of Mitch and Pamela, standing together. Mitch’s eyes beamed like those of a proud papa. Or was that something else? Why did this man have these types of photos in his office? Did he give this much attention to his other employees? “You didn’t happen to notice if she attended the opening with someone? Or when she left?”

  “I believe she came alone. I’m afraid I didn’t see her leave.”

  “Do you know if she was involved with anyone?” He observed Mitch shift in his black leather chair and then rub his hand across his graying temple.

  “You mean, did she have a boyfriend?”

  “Yes. I’m not sure how close you two were, but did she mention anything about her love life?”

  “Well ... I hadn’t heard of anyone. Pamela mostly stayed married to her work.”

  Darnell was getting tired. This wasn’t going the way he wanted. Last night’s homicide suggested a crime of passion had taken place in Pamela’s garage. He needed to know if the man in Pamela’s life was responsible. “Mr. Harris, did you have an intimate relationship with Pamela Coleman?”

  Up until now the older man had seemed relatively calm. Mitch slammed his hand onto the desk. “What? Where are you getting this information?”

  “It has been reported that Pamela was involved with an older gentleman for some time. I’m asking, would that man be you, sir?”

  “You can leave.” Mitch Harris stood up, causing papers to flutter around his desk. “I thought this was a police investigation. I certainly hope you are looking at the facts, Detective, not some grief-stricken friend looking to place blame.”

  Funny. He hadn’t mentioned that he’d talked to Candace at all. “Sir, it’s a yes or no question.”

  “I’m a happily married man, Detective. I have been for thirty years.”

  Darnell stood. He had what he needed for now. “Thank you for your time. Sorry for the loss to your firm. We will want to search Pamela’s office and her computer.”

  “Our client information is confidential, Detective.”

  “This is a murder investigation. This was one of your own. I will be back with a subpoena. Have a good day, sir.” Darnell saluted before closing the door.

  It was a stupid gesture, but the man wouldn’t answer a simple yes or no question, guilt plastered all over his pompous face. Darnell flashed a smile at Hillary on the way out, noting the secretary’s stern look had been replaced with one of dismay. It was all good now.

  Chapter Eleven

  Like books suddenly without bookends, Candace felt as though she would topple over at any moment. The questions were killing her. Was there something she could have done? Should she have been more vigilant and nosed her way into Pamela’s business? Now she would never know.

  She couldn’t take much more of the media. Picked up nationally by the Associated Press, the death of a high-profile defense attorney replayed on several television networks. Some had the nerve to dig deep into Pamela’s family, contemplating if her father, Judge Coleman, had created enemies who wanted to get back at him by killing his daughter. Former lawyers who were now wannabe television celebrities went on and on.

  The suspect, as far as she was concerned, stood not more than twenty feet from where she sat, on the other side of the grave. She could barely contain herself, observing Mitch Harris with his wife, looking like the couple they weren’t. For a brief moment, Yvonne Harris caught her staring. The woman looked puzzled, and then something like pity passed over her face.

  Candace tried to focus on Reverend Jonathan Freeman as he spoke. “As we lay Sister Pamela in her final resting place, we know her spirit ...”

  Her thoughts strayed again. Why, God? First, Frank. Now Pamela. On her right side, her son, Daniel, sniffled. She glanced over at him. His shoulders quivered. At last, his determination to remain strong for his mother was lost in the finality of the scene before them. Candace felt guilty about her children having to experience these tragedies. For the past few days, she had longed for comfort but had found none for herself. Only questions. No answers.

  She put her arms around the back of Daniel’s chair, careful not to touch him, knowing he was embarrassed by his tears. That’s what mothers do. They comfort their children. In some small way, she found peace in comforting her son, no longer her baby boy, well, at least not physically.

  Reverend Freeman’s voice droned. “This is not good-bye.”

  Candace watched the minister wipe his forehead with a handkerchief, and then she stared past him at the hundreds of headstones surrounding them. The sun should’ve been shining; instead smoky gray clouds swirled across the bland bluish sky.

  She glanced around, making eye contact with Frank’s old partner, Brunson. The craggy old man stood on the outside of the tent. He passed her a subtle smile. She missed ole Brunson. His brusque sense of humor didn’t make people feel warm and fuzzy, but he did manage to lighten up dark situations. A dull pain started to vibrate behind her temples. It was hard not to think of Frank.

  Brunson’s new partner stood next to him. Detective Jackson looked more like a GQ model than a cop, dressed in a sharp black suit. Candace wondered if the detectives were paying their respects or were here for the suspect. She wanted to question the detective about his conversation with Mitch. The investigation had taken a backseat for her as she tried her best to support Desiree, who withdrew day by day. Even Judge Coleman had lost all his boisterousness.

  She blinked and then gazed at the handsome detective again. Pamela would have really liked him. He would’ve matched her friend’s height right on.

  A man’s face appeared in her line of vision, over Detective Jackson’s left shoulder. He seemed to be staring back at her. There was something familiar about his face, but she couldn’t place him. She remained transfixed on his face, trying to recall where she had seen him before. Without warning, the man’s mouth curved into a rather crooked smile.

  A surge of dread ran through her body. Who was he? she asked herself.

  The detective moved, blocking her view of the man. Now she found herself staring at the detective. As her heart rate slowed, she was grateful for the change of scenery. Detective Jackson had a striking face, owing to his angular jawline, the goatee, and his eyes. From where she sat, she could tell he had lashes most women spent a fortune on mascara trying to create.

  Candace slid her eyes back to Reverend Freeman. She had to catch herself. For some reason she wanted to compare the detective to her Frank.

  Was this the beginning of her losing her mind?

  Frank. Pamela. Her world had shifted in a direction where she no longer had two people she held dear to her heart. It was cruel and unfair.

  Reverend Freeman’s baritone voice broke through her thoughts again. She tried to focus her tear-brimmed eyes on the man’s solemn face. “The Coleman family would like to extend a heartfelt thank-you to all who have gathered here today, during their time of bereavement. We want to leave these last few moments for family and close friends. Please join the family at the Victory Gospel Community Center.”

  No sooner than Reverend Freeman concluded the funeral than, like ants at a picnic, folks dispersed from under the Freeman Funeral Home tent. A slight wind gust sent the temperature dropping. It was a sweet relief from the unusual afternoon stickiness. It was October, but the humidity continued to cling.

  As the crowd dispersed, only Judge Coleman, Mrs. Coleman, Candace, and her children remained around the casket. Out of the corner of her eye, Candace caught a movement. There was the same man watching her. He stood on the outskirts of the cemetery, near the cars. Another wind gust caused the tent’s edges to flap. Candace observed the darkening sky. She looked back where the strange man stood. No sign of him.

  This was too much for her. Willing herself t
o rise from the folding chair, she noted that the stiffness in her legs did not match her thirty-nine years. She walked over to the beautiful mahogany casket. Pamela’s parents had chosen to keep the casket closed during the funeral service. It was probably a good idea, but Candace felt unsure her friend was in there. Denial still wanted to raise its ugly head. Barely a whisper, she moved her lips. “Girl, I will see you later.” She touched the casket, feeling its smoothness under her small hand. Candace gulped down a sob that begged to escape. Behind her, someone lightly touched her shoulders.

  She peered over her shoulder. Relief set in as she saw Daniel. Any traces of tears from moments before were gone and replaced with urgent concern. Only fourteen, he’d become the man of the house with an astonishing maturity beyond his years. Candace disliked the forced grown-up role, but was grateful for the lack of rebellion she expected at his age. She needed Daniel to be stable now more than ever.

  Bending slightly, Daniel whispered in her ear, “You okay, Mom?”

  With a weak smile, she nodded her head as her son put his arm around her shoulder. To her dismay, puberty had arrived almost overnight. She couldn’t believe her baby boy now stood a few inches taller than her. Of course, it was bound to happen. Both her children had inherited Frank’s height.

  Rachel stood patiently a few feet away. Not saying a word, Candace searched her daughter’s eyes, understanding her grief matched her own. Both of her children loved Pamela. Not having children of her own, Pamela had adored and spoiled both of the Johnson children, and especially her goddaughter. She was the closest thing to an aunt they had known, with Candace being an only child and Frank having only one brother, who enjoyed bachelorhood too much.

  Candace looked one last time over her shoulder. Judge Coleman and his wife stood at the graveside. The judge appeared to be holding Desiree up. The woman’s peachy complexion appeared pasty. Candace was grateful the Colemans had insisted that she and the children ride in a limousine.

  Near the coffin, a tall, bony man cranked up the crane to lower Pamela into her final resting place, while a shorter, pudgy man stood on the other side. She had a sense of familiarity with the pudgier man. Two years ago she’d stood at another graveside. It seemed the last time she saw him, he wore the same shirt. The faded Johnson C. Smith University sweatshirt was wrapped snuggly around his protruding gut. His deep-set eyes nonchalantly reflected years of placing caskets in their final resting place. The man and his partner worked swiftly as the rain started to fall, increasing in intensity with each second.

  “Mom, let’s go. We’re going to get drenched.” Rachel held an umbrella above their heads.

  Candace huddled under the umbrella. The rain pounded the umbrella, splashing off headstones as they sprinted across the muddy cemetery.

  “Nana!”

  A familiar voice from the past ripped through Candace as they reached the open limousine door. She turned to watch a woman approach. Candace swallowed hard, thinking this was a cruel joke, as an image of her mother, older and bustier, drew closer.

  Panic spread through her body, until she realized the face was not her mother’s, but belonged to one who held a close resemblance, Aunt Maggie. Why was she here after all these years?

  Candace held on to the car door, not sure what to do.

  Aunt Maggie stopped, her crow’s-feet prominent and gray hair peeking out from under the large brimmed hat.

  Her aunt spoke softly. “Nana, I’m sorry.”

  She couldn’t do this. Not now. Her children were in the limo. She shook her head at her aunt, mouthing the word no. Candace entered the limo and held her hands to her mouth, trying to catch her breath. It was no use. The bottled sob in her throat didn’t want to be held back anymore. So she wouldn’t choke, Candace let the howl escape from her throat. What did she do to deserve this fate? Why did God continue to release his wrath on her?

  Chapter Twelve

  The windshield wipers swished the large droplets away as they fell, allowing Darnell to observe Candace and her children climb into the limousine. An older woman appeared from around the back of the vehicle. Whoever she was, Candace appeared distraught as she shared words with the woman. Darnell could see her shaking her head. It was almost like she was in terror.

  Darnell turned to his partner. “Did you see that? I wonder what that’s about.”

  Brunson stared at him. It wouldn’t be the first time Darnell sensed the old man’s desire to put him six feet under.

  “What’s got your knickers in a knot now, Jackson?” Brunson asked.

  “That woman. It was almost like Candace was scared of her or something.” He didn’t know much about Candace other than what he’d seen up close the past few days. She seemed a bit impulsive, crashing into Mitch Harris’s office the other day. Did she think she was going to rip a confession out of the man? Although it would have been nice.

  “I don’t know what you saw, but the woman’s grieving. If your friend has just been killed, you have a right to look terrified.”

  Darnell raised his eyebrow. “How close were they? She couldn’t tell us for sure if Pamela was seeing anyone. Even if she fooled around with Mitch Harris, we don’t have enough motive for him to kill her.”

  Brunson shrugged his shoulders. “Look, we’re probably going to end up looking at every Tom, John, and Juan who Coleman defended. She had quite a few unscrupulous characters on her client list. People paid her the big bucks to keep them out of jail. Remember that. This ain’t going to be a cut-and-dried case.”

  “Not if folks are holding out information.”

  Brunson lifted one bushy eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Darnell sighed. “Look, I get the impression that Candace could be difficult. She’s already butting her head into places that should be left up to the police.”

  “I guess she has a right to.” Brunson turned his attention to looking through the windshield.

  “A right?” Darnell shook his head. “Man, no one has the right to go off on some half-cocked thoughts and accuse someone of murder with no proof.”

  Brunson ignored Darnell.

  Was his partner holding back something? Darnell knew how much Brunson cared about his former partner and his family. So, maybe his partner would be willing to turn a blind eye, but he wasn’t. Not that he was trying to jump to conclusions, but he smelled something else brewing in Candace Johnson.

  Desperation.

  If he’d gone in there to arrest Mitch Harris, Candace would’ve remained right there, exuberant, no doubt. Of course, when a person lost a loved one, reactions included anger and a deep desire for justice.

  At the funeral he’d watched Candace as she observed people. Either she’d learned a lot from her husband or she really wanted to nail somebody. They had the same objectives. He had a murder to solve, but he couldn’t afford any mistakes.

  Especially after today.

  Pamela Coleman had officially been placed to rest. He wouldn’t be experiencing rest for a while.

  Up ahead, Judge Coleman and Mitch Harris escorted Desiree to the limo. That must be Yvonne Harris, Darnell guessed, walking close behind, holding a large umbrella. All three concentrated on keeping the grief-stricken Desiree upright. Worn out, Pamela’s mother paused in front of the limousine as though she wanted to turn back around. Judge Coleman bent down to talk to his wife. Finally, he coaxed her into the vehicle.

  Darnell exhaled as he watched everyone climb into the limo. The last thing he wanted to deal with today was questions from the judge. He needed more history about the Colemans and their obvious friendship with the Harrises. It really wasn’t uncommon for a victim to be killed by someone he or she knew. Plus, there were no signs of forced entry in the home. Since Pamela had been struck from the back, someone must have had access to the garage.

  He turned to Brunson. “Let’s head back to the church to see if we can talk to a few people.”

  Brunson eyed him warily. “Any particular reason why? We got plenty of trai
ls back at the desk.”

  Darnell knew Brunson wasn’t that comfortable talking about religion or church. Not that he tried to get into anything theological with the man. Just the cringes and guffaws pretty much signaled how his partner felt about Christians or any organized religion.

  He pacified him with, “If anything suspicious was going on, believe me, church folk will talk. Someone might have a rumor or a possible clue we can use.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It’d been too long. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, it warmed her heart to see Aunt Maggie. No one had called her Nana in years. People wouldn’t know about that part of her life, anyway. She rubbed her forehead, which now throbbed from her emotional outburst a moment ago.

  On the other hand, Candace dreaded being in the presence of the strict religious woman who raised her after her mother’s death. No pants. No makeup. No secular music. No dancing. Aunt Maggie did everything she could to ensure her niece didn’t fall into sin like her young sister. Without fail, on a daily basis Aunt Maggie reminded Candace of her mother’s demise at the hands of some man.

  Not now. The past needed to stay buried. Whatever her aunt’s reason for showing back up in her life, today of all days, Candace refused to be beaten over the head with her aunt’s so-called spiritual rhetoric. Not that she didn’t love the Lord.

  In fact, one of the defining moments of Candace’s childhood came with a walk down the aisle. God moved in her, and she wanted Jesus to be her friend. That Sunday, Mama wept. First time she really saw her cry. On the other side of Mama, Aunt Maggie beamed. Maggie was just as pretty as Mama when she smiled.

  Candace leaned her head against the window, embracing her memories and the coolness against her throbbing temple. Across from her in the limousine, she sensed Daniel’s watchful stare.

  “Mom, how long will it be?”

  Candace lifted her head. “What do you mean?”

  Daniel adjusted his glasses. His deep brown eyes appeared wide and misty. For the first time, Candace noticed how the rectangular frames matured his face. “You know, before they find out who ...”