28

Lonzo and Monica arrived at the funeral home where the preparation for the interment of Randi’s body had been done. They stood just inside the doors.

There were three chapels attached to the building. It was extremely well kept. They stood on plush beige carpeting in which their feet were sinking amid scores of pieces of antique furniture.

“Looks like a profitable business,” Lonzo remarked.

“It sure does,” Monica readily agreed.

Just then the very stylish Lawrence Washington, the city’s oldest funeral director, joined them. He walked with a cane, but the man had a certain vitality that permeated his presence. He smiled at them. “Now, how can I help you two young people today?”

Monica flashed her badge. “I’m Monica Rhodes, Harlem Homicide Division.” She pointed to Lonzo. “This is my partner, Alonzo Morgan.”

He nodded at her official tone. “Lawrence Washington. What can I help you with?”

Monica took the lead. “Did you direct the services for Randi Burlingame?”

“I did.”

“We need to see the guest list,” Monica said.

The funeral director waved his hand at her. “ ’Fraid not. Only the family can see it.”

“I can secure a court order. It’s your call.”

Lawrence Washington hesitated. He shook his head sadly. “Such a shame. Closed casket on a sixteen-year-old boy. Those boys are Tracie’s world. The girl dreams, lives, and breathes for their success. Now one of ’em’s dead.”

Lonzo stepped in. “Did you know the family personally?”

“For some time now,” Lawrence told him. “Tracie owns a hair salon called Tracie’s Place. She’s also got a slew of braiding salons. She does most of the hair for my clients here. Beautiful work her people produce with lots of pride.”

He smiled at his memory and rambled on as though to himself. Monica and Lonzo didn’t interrupt. They watched him closely.

“Long time ago, when she was just starting out, she used to bring her sons here with her while she worked. She started out with what little money her mama left her. Tracie was raised in the projects.

“I used to have to chase that Rashod all the time for spilling sunflower seeds all over my rugs and coffins. Sometimes he’d climb into the new coffins thinking they was a great place to hide, getting those darn seeds all over the velvet and velour cushions. Lord help me,” Lawrence Washington reminisced.

Lonzo and Monica exchanged swift glances. They couldn’t believe their ears. Lonzo had been intent on finding out why Andre Burlingame had been photographing the funeral services; instead, Lawrence Washington had just handed them a vital link.

Lonzo had been fishing. However, Lawrence Washington had just handed them real bait, bait that was leading straight to Randi Burlingame’s murderer.

Lonzo was having a hard time containing his excitement, but he knew from experience that it was better to let the old man continue talking. He risked another glance at Monica. That glance told him she was just as excited, only more contained.

Lawrence continued, “That’s ’bout all he did. Outside of sketch and play with that silver locket Tracie bought him. The other three boys were fine. Dre with his camera, and—”

“What?” Monica brutally cut him off. She no longer cared about Andre Burlingame and his camera, just as she knew Lonzo didn’t. This man had just identified two key aspects of their case in the space of a few sentences.

She knew in her gut that they’d just hit pay dirt with Lawrence Washington’s recollection of the sunflower seeds and the silver locket.

Composing herself before she spoke again after having so abruptly cut him off, she said more softly, “What silver locket? Can you describe it?”

“Course I can. It was designed in the shape of a heart. Boy had more than anybody I know. Ever’ time one broke, Tracie would replace it with another one for him.”

Monica fumbled in her pocket and extracted the plastic bag with the locket.

“That’s it. I’d know it anywhere. Ain’t too many people in Harlem walking around with none like it. Rashod’s had one or another since he was a kid. He loves that thing just because his mama gave it to him.

“When he was little, he told me it was just like carrying his mama’s heart around on a string.” For the first time he smiled in thinking about Rashod.

Then Lawrence Washington cleared his throat, thinking maybe he should clarify how he knew so much about the Burlingame family. “I been sort a like a father to Tracie over the years, you know.”

Oh, yeah, Lonzo thought he knew, all right.

That was hood-speak for “he used to be laying down with Tracie’s mama, so that was how he stepped into the surrogate-daddy role.” Lonzo and Monica traded looks. Wonders never ceased.

A satisfied smile was making its way across Monica’s face. She didn’t really give a damn who Tracie’s mama had slept with, but she did give a damn about wrapping Tracie Burlingame up in her own little games.

Monica had known she was playing them.

“Thank you, Mr. Washington, for your time.” Monica extended her hand. “You’ve been a great help to us.”

“Well, I just hope all this was a help to Tracie,” Lawrence Washington said as some of his senility started to show through the surface. “She sure done had enough loss, losing her baby boy and all.”

“Yes,” Monica said, anxious to get away. “And again, thank you.”

Just before they stepped through the foyer, Lawrence said, “Oh? Will you still be needing to see the guest list?”

“No. There’s no need for it now,” Monica told him.

He shook his head. “Good. Cuz I really don’t be liking to deal with no house of the court and the likes. I run a nice, quiet business.”

He smiled at the irony of his own words. “And I’d just as soon keep it that way.”

“I’m sure you would. Good day, Mr. Washington.”

Out on the street, Monica turned to Lonzo. “I’m gonna secure a warrant for Tracie’s house. I’ll call you, and we’ll set up a time to meet there. Let’s pay her a little visit tonight.

“Alexandra will make sure we get the warrant, because the mayor of New York is breathing fire down her neck. If there was a conflict brewing between Tracie’s sons, then you can believe she knew about it. She’s been trying to suppress that information. Tracie’s a woman who keeps her finger on the pulse of things, only this time she’s got it on a hot button.”

“And that button is about to explode,” Lonzo whispered.

It was not going to be a pretty sight to see.