CHAPTER 8
Travis fumbled with the house keys. I held my breath, waiting for the shock of my house turned upside down. Instead, the faint smell of Clorox Clean Up and Pledge hit me before the familiar smell of home filtered through. A stack of mail on the couch end table was the only blemish in an otherwise spotless setting. Dulcey and Travis steered me to the couch, one on either side of me, and made me sit. Resistance was not an option. I sat back and eyed the spiderweb in the corner above my head.
Travis settled me on the couch. He put a pillow under my head and covered me with the navy afghan Nareece had crocheted for a Christmas gift one year, four, maybe five years ago. Times does get away.
I tried to relax and closed my eyes against the vision of Calvin still unconscious in the hospital. In all my years on the force, gunshot wounds, broken bones, cuts, nothing ever touched me. The cliché, “I always thought I’d die on the job,” came to mind. I never imagined it might be on a date.
A week after I arrived home, Nareece was still missing. Calvin was still in a coma, though in stable condition. And I was still stumbling around, too well to stay in bed and too unsteady to go outside. Periodically my brain dislodged, floated around, and knocked against my temple, making me hurl.
John had graduated from irritated with Nareece for putting him and the twins through another disappearing act to hysterical with thoughts of her dead in a ditch, a driveway, or a Dumpster. Her cell phone went right to voice mail.
Nareece had disappeared on several occasions before, causing John and me needless worry. For the first few incidents, I drove to Boston on search-and-rescue missions. She returned home fine, just after I arrived, unwilling to discuss her whereabouts. I returned to Philly both times angry that I’d made the trip. Now I hesitated to call homicide detective Gerard Bates of the Boston Police Department, but I’d promised John I would. I held some concern, too, since this was Reece’s longest escapade ever. And there was the letter to consider.
Detective Bates and I had gone through the Philadelphia police academy together. We stayed friends through the years since his wife, Vicky, was a high school girlfriend of mine. I solicited his help the first time Nareece disappeared. Thing was, I didn’t share with him Nareece’s real identity. He thought she was just a good friend. Nobody knew Nareece’s true identity but me and her, Dulcey, and Cap. That was the whole premise behind protective custody, even if it was not official—and that was also me rationalizing my actions.
“Muriel Mabley, I’ll be daggone,” he said. “How are you doing, Ms. Mabley? You’re still Ms., I presume.”
“Hey, Bates. Life is good,” I answered. “Time passes too fast, and yes, I’m still Ms.”
“Nineteen years, forty-one days, twenty-six hours, and, let’s see, thirty minutes and twenty seconds to be exact, since I’ve been graced with your mesmerizing beauty.”
“You’re pathetic, Bates. How are Vicky and the family?”
“Vicky left. She couldn’t handle the job. The boys are young men.”
“Time does get away.”
“How about you and yours? Travis, right?”
“Travis is a young man now, too, first year in college. I’m still working forensics, firearms. Right now I’m recovering from a car accident.”
“On or off the job?”
“Off.”
“Damn. You’re supposed to get hurt on the job so you can take a sweet retirement, and get out while you’re still breathing.” We laughed.
“Tell me, why am I being blessed with your call?” he asked.
I hesitated. I decided Bates should remain outside the loop of people knowing Nareece’s true identity—for now.
“I need another favor, Bates. My girlfriend disappeared again. This time it’s been more than a week. She’s never been gone this long. Her husband, you remember John, he filed a missing person’s report and I hoped you could check into it a bit, see what’s getting done, if anything, and maybe do some digging.”
“No need to be hoping, I got you.” He asked several questions to reconfirm Nareece’s information. “I’ll call when something surfaces,” he said.
“Thanks, Bates. As soon as I get on my feet good, I’ll be up that way. I’ll stop in.”
The doorbell rang as I hung up. I hobbled across the room and barely got the door open when Laughton ducked inside as though hiding from somebody. I had not seen or heard from him since I’d returned home from the hospital. Cap called, Parker called, even Cap’s assistant, Connie, had called to check on me, but not Laughton.
“How you doin’?” he asked. “About time you got dressed and hit the streets, don’t you think?” He chuckled.
I rolled my eyes and moved past him to resume my position on the couch. A silent prayer kept a guard over my mouth.
He stopped halfway across the floor and stood there like he was waiting for directions.
“Got a beer?”
“Don’t I always keep a beer here for you?”
He went into the kitchen and returned with a Heineken, working the opener. The bottle top popped off to the floor. He stumbled forward, kicking the cap out of reach, lunged for it and missed, then grabbed the cap and flipped it onto the coffee table.
“Been sippin’ something already, huh?”
He took a swig of beer, swished the suds around in his mouth, and finished with an “Ah.” I suppressed a laugh. Laughton took another swig, then sat on the coffee table facing me, knee-distance away.
“Look, M. I don’t think your accident was an accident,” he said abruptly, ignoring my question about drinking.
“What do you mean? Why would you say that?”
“Trust me on this.”
“Now I have a problem, Laughton. You’ve been dodging me, working on things by yourself, holding back information—and that was all before my accident. Besides, the car came from Calvin’s side. If someone wanted to hurt me, they would have struck my side or head-on.” He did not respond. “Maybe someone was trying to kill Calvin,” I thought out loud.
“Nothing is the way you think. What’s happening behind the scenes is stuff you don’t know about, that you don’t need to get involved in.”
“I don’t need to know? I’m your partner, for chrissakes. You’re telling me the accident was not an accident at all, but that someone tried to kill me or Calvin or both of us, and I don’t need to be involved?”
“I want you to watch your back until I figure this out.” He took another long swig of beer and set the bottle on the coffee table, then moved to the couch, next to me. “Calvin’s still in a coma. Go to Boston like you planned. I promise when you get back, things will be straight.” He raised his hand and moved a strand of hair from my face to behind my ear.
I couldn’t believe a tingle surged through me.
“Hm, hm, hm. You are a beautiful woman.”
A moment of silence, Laughton’s arms around me, his hand on my leg, old ass embers trying to burn my butt. My leg twitched. This was not happening. No way.
I broke his hold, cleared my throat, and said, “What’s happening in the Taylor case?” I regained my upright composure, grabbed the closest thing to me, his bottle of beer, and drank. The beer went down wrong and came up through my nose, choking me. Laughton bolted to the kitchen and returned with a towel. Repositioned and wiping spilled beer from my lap, I continued, “I mean, Cap confirmed Marcy Taylor was murdered. He also said Wade’s execution pointed to a drug deal gone bad. Any leads there?”
“Not yet. The gun found at the scene didn’t kill him.”
Travis and Kenyetta came in as Laughton finished his sentence. He jumped up and hunkered over to Travis like a sumo wrestler going for the kill. I braced myself as Kenyetta bounded over to me like a puppy excited to see her master. This time she gracefully swooped down on me and kissed my cheek. I had no idea why the child thought she had to kiss me every time she came in the house.
“What’s going on with you, young man?” Laughton said, jabbing Travis in his gut. Travis countered with an uppercut to Laughton’s jaw.
“Doin’ good, Unc,” Travis said.
Unc, short for “uncle,” was what Travis had always called Laughton.
Laughton grabbed Travis’s head and pushed down to connect it with his uplifted knee.
“Gettin’ ready to bounce, headin’ to the Big Apple for the weekend.” Travis grabbed Laughton around the knees and lifted him off the ground.
“Damn, boy.” Travis set him down and Laughton swatted his head. Laughter filled the room. “I guess you’re grown enough to make the Big Apple.”
Travis came to the couch and kissed me, cuing Kenyetta to make a move downstairs.
“Better keep this lovely young lady close,” Laughton said, then crouched and made a move toward Kenyetta. She giggled and slid in behind Travis, who pulled her to his side and blocked Laughton’s access.
“Not to worry, babe. I won’t let this dirty ol’ man near you,” he said and punched Laughton in the shoulder. Laughton followed Travis and Kenyetta to the basement stairs and closed the door after them.
“Muriel,” Laughton said, returning to the living room.
Muriel. Laughton hadn’t called me Muriel since the day we met. M and M; M; Partner; Knuckles (don’t ask) . . . but never Muriel. I tensed and started to get up from the couch. Laughton blocked my effort. He stood over me, arms crossed. I settled back down.
“As long as we’ve been partners, we’ve shared everything, or so I thought,” he said.
I felt like he was my husband about to leave me for someone or something else.
“But, Muriel, I need to work this out and I need to do it alone.”
“I can’t make you tell me what’s going on. I can’t make you let me help. What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do?”
He uncrossed his arms and stretched them out toward me in a helpless gesture. “Stay home. Take some time off,” Laughton pleaded, still standing over me. He switched to a hard tone. “The captain gave you clearance for a few weeks of sick time. Take it,” he said, then he stormed to the door and out of the house.
Like I said before, I have never been married, never even been in a more serious relationship than with Laughton and now three months into things with Calvin, so I wasn’t real clear about how a breakup could crush you. I imagine Laughton’s leaving was as close as I wanted to get. I suppose Laughton was my husband in every way except sexually. That connection had ended almost from the sweet beginning.
I would have left the force to be with Laughton. But he said he didn’t want the backlash of being blamed if I ever regretted leaving the force or if our passions ever cooled.
Now my body burned and sweat poured from every pore.
The house was quiet and dark when the phone woke me. I searched for it with one arm, not wanting to move from my position of facedown on the couch. The ringing stopped before I found the phone between the cushions of the couch. I checked the caller ID. The number was unfamiliar. It rang again. The same number showed.
“Muriel Mabley.”
No answer.
“Hello, who’s calling, please?”
No answer.
I could hear rustling on the other end, like cellophane being crinkled. I sat up at attention.
“Nareece?”
The rustling noise gave way to soft, steady breathing.
“Nareece, if this is you, please answer me.”
Silence.
“Tell me you’re all right. Think about the girls, and John.”
More rustling.
“Please, Reece. Talk to me.” The line disconnected. A few minutes later, the phone rang again.
“Enough of this. Reece, answer me.”
“Reece called? Is she okay?” Dulcey screeched through the phone.
I sank back down into the couch. “I was about to go through the phone. There would have been no way, no how, no place for that girl to escape my reach.” I told Dulcey about the phone call and Laughton’s visit. “Dulcey, I need to go to Boston. I’m losing my ever-lovin’ mind between Nareece and Laughton and Calvin. . . and these damn hot flashes.” I jumped up and pulled off my robe, as sweat dripped from the tip of my nose. I paced the length of the living room, struggling against losing control and wanting to hit something or someone.
Dulcey jabbered away, “Breathe, girl, deep breaths. Go with the flow, M. Take deep breaths.”
I threw the phone. It hit the wall and landed on the couch in several pieces—the phone, battery, and battery cover. Just as quick as my body had fired up, the cool registered and a chill caught me. I put my robe back on, retrieved the phone, put the pieces back together, then called Dulcey back.
“Are you there?” I said when the ringing stopped but there was no “hello.”
“And you’ve only just begun, girl. I’m saying you need to learn how to flow with them flashes and feel the power in them,” she said. “I’ll make you a recording so you can push Replay whenever you’re needin’—”
“Dulcey, shut up. Please. Just shut up.”
“Listen to me, M. When you think you’re going to lose your mind and the temperature can’t go any higher and you want to just melt and be done, get pissed, girl. Punch something, scream. You’ll cool right down and your sense, what little you have”—she cackled, then continued—“will come right back, better than before you lost it.”
“Yeah, except the hotter I get, the more out of control I feel, and Lord only knows what might happen.”