IMADE MY WAYback home after stopping for over three hours——pajamas, Amos, and all——at the twenty-four-hour Starbucks at Arborland Mall. My head was still reeling from what I had observed at the crime scene, despite feeding my nervous energy with extravagant amounts of Toffee Nut lattes and espresso fudge brownies.
I’d put a few brownie crumbs inside Amos’s box, and when my first latte cooled down, I’d given him a few sips of that in the lid. He now seemed a little high-strung, too, throwing himself against the cardboard walls. Whether it was from the caffeine I’d shared with him, or my frayed nerves rubbing off, I wasn’t sure.
Jazz’s presence was as palpable as if he’d been sitting beside me. Thinking of him, probably already on his way to jail, I made the effort to stop at the 7-Eleven near my place to get a box of tampons before I went home. I’d made such a fuss about them; it was the least I could do.
After I’d gotten to my apartment building and parked my car, I scanned the lot for the blue police-issue Crown Victoria that Jazz drove. I hadn’t noticed it in my haste on the way out. Now I spotted the Crown Vic at the curb just beyond the front entrance of the building. I thought it odd that the police hadn’t impounded it yet.
The poor Crown Vic. It looked so forlorn underneath the streetlight. I remembered when he’d parked it there once before, on the Friday night he’d waited hours for me to come home. That night we’d kissed in the triangle of light, and I’d still had some hope that we could be together. I recalled Jazz’s words to me earlier this evening, as sharp and unexpected as a knife wound to the heart.I just wanted us to be together…Do you feel like you’re capable of doing something you never thought you’d do…?
My honest answer: Of course I’ve felt that way, but that doesn’t mean I’d do something wrong. Or somethingbeyond wrong.
I stepped out of my car, grabbed Amos and my iPod, and locked the door behind me, ever aware of Jazz’s insistence that I keep my doors locked at all times. I sighed and shook my head.
Now what am I supposed to do?
A nagging question kept tugging at my consciousness:How well do I know him?
The weight of the sadness that settled on me made me feel colder than I should have, even in the brisk December air. I shivered inside my coat, clutching Amos’s box and wanting nothing more than to hurry into my apartment, grab my Bible and my grandmother’s quilt, and get alone with God.
I dragged myself up the three flights of stairs, hanging my head and cursing each step like Jesus did the unfruitful fig tree. By the time I’d made it to the last step, Amos’s box was nearly grazing the ground. I hobbled on the high-heeled golden monstrosities I’d grown to hate.
My shoes didn’t like me, either. I tripped on the last step. Poor Amos slammed into one of the cardboard walls of his box. In a flash, I anticipated the two of us splattered on the hard ground, but a pair of hands caught me——not before I crashed my head into the chest that went with those familiar hands.
“Ow,” I said as Jazz righted me. I touched my forehead where it felt like the imprint of one of his shirt buttons had formed. He still hadn’t gotten a coat.
“You’ll break my ribs yet,” he said with what I hoped was mock seriousness. I peered up to see him shake his head at me. “You’re banned from wearing high heels, young lady——unless we’re in private, of course.” He gave me a wicked grin that belied the sobriety of the night’s events.
My heart Riverdanced again. “What are you doing here?”
He tried to pry Amos from my maternal grip. I resisted.
“I was here when you left, remember? That whole ‘put the baby’s cage together’ thing. Give me the box.”
“No. I thought you’d be——”
He couldn’t wrench Amos from my hand. “You thought I’d be in jail?”
My mouth went dry. “Actually, yes. I did.” I couldn’t tell whether my heart was beating so fast because he made me feel like a lovesick girl or because I was afraid of him.
“Let’s just say I got a heads-up. No thanks to you.” The set of his jaw and the terse edge to his voice let me know he wasn’t pleased with me. We kept the sugar-glider tug-of-war going until it exasperated Jazz and he let go. “What? Do you think I’ll hurt him, too?”
“Too?”
“I didn’t mean ‘too.’ I meant——Bell, you know what I meant.”
“No, Jazz, I don’t know what you meant. When did you come back?”
“I just got here. I was debating whether or not I should wait for you. I wasn’t even sure you’d come back tonight. Considering…”
An arctic blast of air, seemingly out of nowhere, sliced into us. Jazz rubbed his arms up and down the brown wool suit jacket——fabric that offered little protection against the harsh wind. “Are you going to let me in, or do you think I’ve been murdering women all night?” The brooding anger became evident in his sullen, menacing expression.
I shuddered. “That’s not funny.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
We stood there for a moment, neither of us saying a word. I wished I could see inside his head, not like a psychologist but like a prophet. I needed a godly kind of certainty to assuage the onslaught of images from the crime scene. I watched him. If I thought I had nervous energy, Jazz’s glowering agitation begged release——and soon. I didn’t want to be around when he found it. He scared me. I blurted out, “I didn’t call the police on you.”
“It doesn’t take much to figure out what happened, Bell. Your sister called, told you to get out of the apartment, andshe called the police. You should have told me what was going on.”
My hands clutched Amos’s box. It felt like my heart was beating in time to the jagged rhythm of the infamous shower scene inPsycho. Steady, girl, this is just Jazzy. I tried to keep my voice even. “It occurred to me that perhaps you already knew.” I echoed Carly’s question to me: “What was I supposed to do?”
“How ’bout trust me?”
“You showed up at my door out of nowhere with those scratches on your face. You’re the one who said you did something wrong, and a half hour later, I get a call that your wife——”
“My ex-wife.”
“Ex? She was half-naked.”
“She had clothes on when I left. Let’s talk about this inside.”
My heart had become a drum machine, and someone had turned up the speed. “What makes you think you’re going inside?”
“Bell, I have never hurt you, not even when you hitme. ”
I looked into his deep brown entreating eyes. They didn’t seem harsh. Still…“Why should I let you in?”
“Because you know me. I just want to talk to you.”
“Maybe I don’t know you at all.”
“You don’t believe that.”
I opened my coat, put Amos inside, hugged one arm to myself against the cold that had little to do with the weather. My heart was about to fly right out of my chest. Gooseflesh rippled up and down my arms. My knees shook in the silky pajamas. “How do you know what I believe? I haven’t seen you since the middle of November.”
“You broke up withme. ”
“How could I break up with you if I was never your girlfriend in the first place?”
“We had something special, and you know it, regardless of what we called it.” He rubbed his arms again. “I don’t want to talk out here. I’m freezing, and so are you. If you don’t want to let me in, I’ll leave, but I’ll tell you this: Kate was alive and kicking——literally——when I left.”
I leaned against my door, stalling for time, thinking about how much I’d enjoy an angelic visitation right now. “Why is it so important that you talk to me?”
“I want you to hear what happened from me. I may not get the chance to talk to you again.”
I wanted to ask why he didn’t think he’d get to talk to me again, but it occurred to me that none of the answers I imagined he would say were good. He could say he planned to run away or turn himself in and risk going to prison for the rest of his life.
He didn’t look like a murderer. He looked like the guy I’d fallen in love with. The one with Daddy Jack Brown’s toothy smile and Addie Lee’s artistic streak. Fatigue framed his eyes. His scratches must still hurt——mine did. Maybe he hadn’t eaten. He certainly couldn’t go home. His loft was now an active crime scene.
I had a WWJD moment. Whatwould Jesus do? Not in a rubber-bracelet, weird, Christian-subculture, Jesus-junk-wearing way, but in a breathing, incarnational, God-with-us way. Jesus had ascended to heaven; I’d have to be His presence here on earth. What wasI, the placeholder for Jesus, going to do?
I reached inside my coat pocket and pulled out my keys. Jesus told us to visit those in prison, but should I hang out with someone who hadn’t quite made it there yet? Someone who could be dangerous? My instincts told me to let him in, give him a cup of coffee and something to eat, but what if…
I looked into Jazz’s eyes.
Am I right? Lord, is that what You’d do?
Jesus was God, and He was a man——a strong, able-bodied carpenter. He could take Jazz. I considered my own frame, straining toward five-two, slightly overweight, and wearing heels——no match for a six-foot-tall cop in excellent physical condition.
Could I trust my fractured instincts? Would it be kind or suicidal to let him in?
God, don’t let me do something crazy.
Just then Jazz took my hand in his. He bowed his head and began to pray the Ninety-first Psalm: “He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust.’”
I squeezed his hand, closed my eyes, and interrupted him with my own paraphrased psalm fromThe Message: “That’s right——he rescues you from hidden traps, shields you from deadly hazards. His huge outstretched arms protect you——under them you’re perfectly safe; his arms fend off all harm.”
Jazz closed the space between us and rested his chin on the top of my head. I heard him take a deep breath. He wrapped his arms around me. “I would never hurt you, baby.”
God, don’t let my feelings…
I went back to the psalm, praying with all my might: “Yes, because God’s your refuge, the High God your very own home, Evil can’t get close to you, harm can’t get through the door.”
Jazz placed his index finger on my lips. He repeated the words “Harm can’t get through the door.” He gathered me into his arms. “You even pray in the words ofThe Message. ”
“How do you know it’sThe Message ?”
“Your enthusiasm for it persuaded me to buy a copy. The first thing I read was the Ninety-first Psalm.”
I smiled at him. “You pray in the New King James Version.”
“What can I say? I’m a modern kind of guy. Let’s go inside, baby, please.”
Had the Scripture spoken?“Harm can’t get through the door” ? Or did it count if you foolishly swung open the door and invited it in?
I love this man. I don’t know what to do.
In a still-small voice whispering inside, I heard the shepherd of my soul say,Let him in.
I should have comfortedhim, but Jazz settled Amos in his cage and went into the kitchen to makeme a cup of tea. He came out with the same tray I’d used earlier. My other favorite Addie Lee mug, the one he had used earlier, held a steaming brew of Lemon Zinger sweetened with Splenda that I’d requested. Not that I really wanted another drink of anything, but Jazz wanted to do something for me. “Jazz, how many mugs like the one I broke earlier do you have?”
“Just one. She made about forty for the gift shop at the Detroit Institute of Arts when they had some of her work exhibited a few years back. They’re almost impossible to get now.”
“Can I still have yours?”
“Of course. I want you to have it.”
He didn’t know it was broken? Or was he that good of a liar?
He set the tray on the coffee table and handed the mug to me. “Are you still cold?”
“Yes.”
“We should get you warmed up.”
“What do you have in mind?” That just flew out of my mouth——nervous humor defending me against the thought that Jazz, my Jazz, could be dangerous.
He grinned. “You don’t want me to answer that.” His fidgeting told me that he had his own case of nerves to contend with. He sat down next to me. Turned his knees and body toward me. “Can I get a blanket or something for you?”
I nodded.
Jazz gave my knee a little squeeze and went into my bedroom.
I called out to him, “Get the quilt that’s folded on the chair.”
Forget comfort food. I’d always found comfort in my great-grandmother’s arms, which I felt in the soft, worn fabric of the cloth of my family’s history. Ma Brown had pieced together a vibrant Star of Bethlehem, or North Star, out of odd bits of fabric from dresses, slacks, baby clothes, and beloved shirts. Each piece told a story. The star design itself, centered, in antique white fabric, had been a veritable map to help and freedom. The star points spread outward in bursts of color and texture, shooting from a center as multicolored as our family. It would be worth good money if I ever parted with it. Of course, it would have to be wrenched from my dead, bony fingers, I loved it so.
I waited for Jazz to bring it to me.
And waited.
“Jazz, what’s taking you so long?” Gooseflesh crept up my arms.Is there something in my room he could hurt me with?
I scanned the living room for something I could defend myself with if I needed to.
Jesus, did I make a mistake in letting him in?
“What are you doing in there? Making a new quilt for me?” Panic rose with my heart rate.
“I’m coming,” he said.
I didn’t have the patience to wait. I shot to my bedroom door as if a cannon had propelled me. Jazz lay sprawled out in my bed.
He sprang up when he saw me. “Sorry,” he said, his cheeks pinking.
“What are you doing?”
“I just wanted to lie down for a minute.” He stood, grabbed the quilt off the chair, and gently wrapped it around my shoulders, as if I were made of glass and he was about to pack me in a box.
Hmm…pack me in a box? Somebody get me out of this Alfred Hitchcock movie!
“Are youthat tired?” I asked, shaking the morbid me-in-a-box thought from my head.
He chuckled. “You don’t want to know.”
I didn’t respond. I was preoccupied with trying to figure out if I should offer him the hospitality of my bed for the night. Not with me in it, of course. The shrill scream in my conscience suggested I should not.
He gave me a quizzical glance. “Youdo want to know?”
He had gone back to my original question about him being tired. I thanked God he hadn’t read my mind. “Yes, please.”
“I’m way too keyed up to be tired. I laid on your bed…”
“Please don’t say ‘hoping you would join me.’”
He laughed and shook his head as if sharing a bed with me would be as absurd as him joining the Universal Soul Circus. “Uh. Actually, I hadn’t quite gone there, but…” A sly smile crept across his face.
“Don’t start no stuff, Jazz.”
“It won’t be none, baby, okay? I just remembered the time I picked your lock and came in here to watch the game. Your bed smelled like the vanilla and amber stuff you wear.”
“Anahita’s body butter.”
“I missed your scent.”
“Jazzy——”
“I just want to be honest with you tonight. I don’t know what the morning is going to bring.”
I didn’t know what to say. Whatwould tomorrow bring? For that matter, what would the night bring if the two of us stood in my bedroom feeling nostalgic, not to mention vulnerable. “Let’s go back into the living room and finish talking,” I said.
“You’re not nervous about being in a bedroom together, are you?”
“I’d rather talk in theliving room. ”
He licked his lips and grinned, probably another nervous gesture, but I found it deliciously sexy. “Do you think I’d try to seduce you at a time like this?”
I can tell this is going to be a challenge.
“I think that both of us are highly emotional. Shall we go now?”
He moved toward me, his hand touching the small of my back to guide me to the couch. He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I just missed you. That’s all.” Between his tender touch, his warm breath at my ear, and the hug Ma Brown’s quilt was giving me, I could have curled in to him and had a blissful nap.
He took a deep breath when we made it to the couch, and as I eased into the cushions, he offered, “Things got out of hand tonight.”
I guess they did, if he ended up killing a woman. A chill crept up my spine. “Tell me everything that happened.” I tried to sound as if I weren’t shocked and that whatever he said would be heard without judgment.
“I called Kate a few days ago and asked her if we could meet at a restaurant.”
No more thoughts of blissful sleep. Jazz plopped down beside me on the sofa. I tried to act like I didn’t care that he wanted to take hiswife to dinner and hadn’t thought to take me in a month. “Why?”
“To be honest, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and Rocky.”
“Me and Rocky?”
“I had all kinds of visions of your nuptials, and there I was in love purgatory.” He propped my feet on my coffee table and massaged them. Yum.
“That’s silly. Rocky and I are nothing more than friends,” I said, enjoying the attention he was giving my tootsies.
“Goodfriends. You know Rocky would marry you in a heartbeat if you gave him the chance.”
“But I didn’t. That’s why we’re only friends.”
“Bell, I started praying.”
Usually, I like it when people pray, but…“And then you called yourwife ?”
“She’s not…Shewas my ex-wife.”
I felt badly about what I’d implied in my jealousy; the poor young woman was on a slab in the morgue. “I’m sorry. Please go on.”
“It got harder and harder to believe it was so wrong for you and me to be together. I respected you, Bell, as much as I could. I only tried to kiss you once——and got busted by my mom——not that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy the kisses you gave me.” He smiled shyly. “I tried to treat you like a sister in Christ, but God knows my feelings for you were far from sisterly. I didn’t want to sin. I was scared.”
“Scared of God?”
“Scared of the train wreck that could happen if we didn’t do things right. Blame my mother. All that Church of God in Christ holiness teaching.”
“Can you fast-forward to the murder?”
“I didn’t murder anyone.”Blam! He erected a wall between us that was almost palpable.
I paused, chastising myself for the foolish accusation that had flown out of my mouth. I’d have to do some business with God about my impatience. I hoped I could mount the wall and get him talking again. “I’m sorry, Jazz. Why did you want to meet with Kate?”
He didn’t say anything. Now he avoided my eyes. A minute passed. I thought a bit of disclosure would help my cause. “I’m nervous. You have to admit it looks bad.”
He nodded but didn’t offer anything. We both sat back. I thought perhaps the conversation was over. My mind returned to the crime scene. I thought of the evidence I’d seen. I couldn’t shake the thought that nothing that I knew of him, other than the scratches on his face, pointed to him being a murderer.
“I want to believe you,” I said.
He looked at me. I prayed that it was hope I saw light his eyes. He exhaled, and words tumbled out of his mouth. “Bell, I know it’s stupid now, but I wanted to make sure she was okay. I’d made up my mind.”
“About what?”
“About moving on. I was done being tied to her.” He folded his arms across his chest.
“Tell me more about that.” Ack! Therapist-speak. I couldn’t control it sometimes.
“She knew my convictions. She knew I’d always feel bound to her, and she used it against me.” He looked into my eyes. His begged for understanding.
I nodded to let him know I was still with him.
“When we first divorced, she’d come to me when she was mad at Christine, her partner, and we’d end up——” He put his head down, waited a beat, and gazed back up at me. Whether to determine if I’d be disappointed or what, I didn’t know. “We’d end up in bed. I know it was wrong, but she could be very seductive.”
It hurt me, an irrational response. He hadn’t even known me at the time. I knew I shouldn’t be taking it personally. As a therapist, I’d known scores of divorced couples who’d done the same——some even after one or both of them had remarried. Still, it made my heart sink to think he’d done it, too.
He slowly unfolded his arms, literally opening up to me. “It was during the months right after the divorce. It wasn’t a good time for me, and it hasn’t happened in three years, no thanks to Kate.”
I nodded, afraid of what my heart would let fly out of my mouth if I spoke.
“Even after I stopped being with her intimately, she would come to me a few times a year and tell me she wanted to get back together. She said she was confused about her sexuality. Sometimes I think she only got together with Chris because I didn’t give her enough attention. I felt guilty about that, like I forced my wife to become a lesbian, but Bell, I didn’t want her back.” His left leg shook. I assumed he was letting out some of the thick tension trapped in his body. “She wasn’t the love of my life. I didn’t even like her most of the time.”
“Why did you marry her in the first place?”
“I told you, it was complicated. I’m ashamed to say she was supposed to be just a one-night stand.” At this he turned his head away. “I’m not proud of how I tried to use her.” He searched my eyes again, like he wanted my forgiveness. “I asked God to forgive me a long time ago, and I’ve suffered consequences you know nothing about, and I hope I never have to tell you. I’m not the man I was four years ago. I fooled around with her, and things happened that I didn’t anticipate.”
“What do you mean, Jazz? This is all vague to me. I thought you were going to be honest tonight——that whole thing about not knowing what tomorrow will bring.”
“I am being honest. I married her because under the circumstances, I felt like it was the right thing to do.”
I set down the mug of tea. “What were the circumstances? Are you saying you married her because you had sex with her?”
He shook his head and slouched into the couch, looking boyish and sullen. “It was time to slow my roll. I wasn’t an angel, and my lifestyle finally caught up with me.”
“Just because you thought it was time for you to settle down still doesn’t explain why you marriedher. You could have had your pick of women.”
“I’m afraid that’s a misperception. I can’t have my pick.”
“Sure you can. You’re gorgeous.”
“Then why’d you let me go?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to get into how letting him go was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. “Let’s get back to why you married Kate.”
“What difference does it make? It was only a month before she started cheating. With my female partner! And Christine wasn’t the only one.”
I thought of the crime scene screaming to me that a man she’d been involved with had killed her. “Could the other person she was seeing have been a man?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Could it have been a man?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that she went back and forth between men and women, but she lived with Christine for most of the years since I put her out, so I figured she was mostly a lesbian.” He stared at his hands. “Kate was hard to figure out. By our second month of marriage we were pretty much finished, and by the third, I was giving a lawyer a good portion of my income.” Despite expressing his desire to move on, he clearly still felt guilty. I hoped it was guilt about his failed marriage, as opposed to another kind of guilt.
I knew Jazz well enough to know he wasn’t going to tell me tonight why he had married Kate. There could be only a few options. I didn’t want to think of any of them.
I took a sip of my not so hot tea and set the mug back on the tray. I repeated, “Let’s fast-forward. You wanted to tell her you were moving on. What, exactly, did you mean by that?”
“I was coming back for you, Bell. I was obsessed with the thought that you would marry Rocky.”
“I told you, nothing is going on between me and Rocky.”
“He wants you.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I’m a man. I’ve seen how he looks at you. He told me to my face that he was still in love with you. To myface !”
“That doesn’t mean he and I are anything more than friends.” I stared into his eyes. “So, you invited her to your house?”
“I offered to take her to dinner. I wanted to meet her at a public place.”
“How did she end up in your loft?”
“She just showed up. We were supposed to meet tomorrow evening.”
“She showed up, and then what?”
His posture changed. He rounded his shoulders as if he carried a heavy load.
Of guilt?
“I told her I wished her well and that I was going to…”
I leaned back into the cushions, slightly away from him. “You were going to what?”
“I told her some things about you, and she went ballistic.”
Man, what do I have to do to coax information out of you?
“What did you tell her about me? Can you be a little more specific?”
He shook his head. “Always the therapist, huh?”
Why not? When I was Dr. Amanda Brown, I wasn’t vulnerable Bell. But even if my defenses weren’t up like the price of Italian shoes at my mother’s boutique, I still burned to know his intentions. “What about me?”
“Is that a bit of narcissism I detect?”
“Will you stop it? I want to know what happened.”
“I told her that I love you.”
My heart soared to the heavens, then plunged back to earth, beating wildly. I couldn’t decide if I was more excited or frightened, but for the moment I thought I’d better leave that comment alone. “What happened next, Jazz?”
“I just said I love you.”
“I heard you.”
Jazz’s body armor went back up. Arms across his chest. Long legs stretched out and predictably crossed at the ankles. He leaned toward the armrest of my sofa, effectively distancing himself from me. For a few moments neither of us spoke.
I knew two things: I’d have to break through his defenses, and he’d resist me if I did so as a psychologist. I’d totally have to use my feminine wiles. I had only one or two, and they were full of dust, but I’d use them to keep him talking.
I moved my legs over so that my knees touched his thigh. He tried not to respond, but the tiny beginnings of a smile at the corners of his mouth betrayed him. I upped the ante and rested my palm on his knee.
God help us both.
His gaze flicked over me. “Kate tried the old seduction ritual.” He removed my hand to let me know he was on to me.
I could feel my “Kate” jealousy rising inside me, but I couldn’t stop it. “She got to you?”
“Just because she’s good at it doesn’t mean I wanted her.You get to me, Bell, without even trying, but when you do try, like you just did when you touched my knee…”
My stomach did a somersault. I grabbed my mug and took a heaping gulp of tea, then practically broke the mug slamming it too hard onto the tray. More attitude slipped out of my mouth: “Is that when she lit the candles and did a little striptease for you?”
Jazz shook his head, probably annoyed with me. “She tried a little verbal persuasion. When I didn’t go for it, she started cursing and screaming. She lunged at me and got my face.”
I didn’t want to hear any more, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop him.
He clenched and unclenched his fist at the memory. “It stunned me, ’cause she got a whole lotta Jazz underneath her fingernails. She came after me again. As a reflex, I grabbed her.” He fidgeted, shaking one ankle, but he looked right at me and kept talking. Whatever lurked below the surface in him was about to shake itself free. “She kept trying to fight me, and I got more and more ticked off.”
I expected an explosion, but his nervous energy stalled like the eye of a storm. A solemn look shadowed his face.
Here it comes.
“I pushed her away from me——hard——and she fell on the ground.”
I held my breath and scanned his hands. No scratches. I thought about Kate’s defensive wounds. She wouldn’t have done that kind of damage to her fingernails by just scratching his face. She had clawed at whoever killed her.Why doesn’t he have scratches on his hands?
Jazz gritted his teeth. “I have never hurt a woman in my life, but…”
He’s going to say he choked her. I was wrong. I got him all wrong, and he’s about to confess.
My blood turned to ice water. “But what?”
Again he stared at his hands——hands with no scratches. He clenched his fists. His face turned stony.
My voice turned to a whisper. “What did you do wrong?”
I closed my eyes and waited for what felt like judgment to fall.