A Good Excuse To Be Bad (18 page)

 

T
here was a stench in Dekalb County jail's visitation hall that added aggravation to an already disturbing situation. It smelled like dirty peaches, urine, and souring trash, an odor that cataloged the pity I felt in my gut. I looked around the room and saw the smell scowling on the faces of those waiting in line with me. Then I asked myself, Why would my sister want to be here if she didn't have to?

Before I could see Ava, I had to prove I was worthy to be in this godforsaken place. It was worse than getting in the VIP lounge at Night Candy. See, just like a nightclub or a country club, in order to receive a visitor's pass to visit a jail inmate, your name had to be on a visitation list. The catch was the inmate had to add you to the list, which meant that the person had to want to see you. I'm not sure if Ava wanted to see me, although she did have me listed.

Yet by the time I had fought for a parking spot and found a locker for my purse that actually locked, I expected to be on that list. Call it rites of passage, my psyche playing tricks on me, or just plain old peer pressure, but I didn't want to be turned away at the visitation check-in station.

Besides, whether I wanted to admit it or not, there was something evocative about being so close to danger. In my years as an investigative journalist, my best work was comprised spending much time here recruiting new informants, many of whom spent more time here than in their homes. So I wasn't surprised when a few folks standing near me waved and smiled. I had probably done a favor for them at some point in my past. I had done so many I had forgotten.

As I watched a young blonde step out of line and come toward me, I hoped she could do a favor for me.

“Paige.” I remembered her name the moment she hugged me. She smelt of cheerios and milk, like she did when she was eleven years old. “What are you doing here, girl?”

She stepped back and gave me a bittersweet smile. “Jack's in trouble again.”

Jack was her big brother, an old informant who helped me on an exposé about the emergence of meth labs in Gwinnett County country club communities. He was once a good boy who led the young adult ministry at a popular church. He fell in love with mixing rock salt and cold medicine. I had hoped that his last rehab stint got him back to his old self. I guessed it hadn't.

“I'm sorry. Meth is hard to beat. I'll keep praying.”

She shook her head. “Naw, meth wasn't his problem this time. He killed someone.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, not even surprised or fearful.

“Oh . . .” My heart ached. He would never get off those drugs in prison.

“Still going to church?” I asked.

She bobbled. “Yes, ma'am. Got Jack set up with one of them prison ministries that have a legal defense fund. He said he didn't kill the guy.”

“Well, let's hope so. What prison ministry is assisting him?”

“Your brother-in-law's church. Greater Atlanta Faith.”

“You're kidding me.”

“Nope, that church thinks that my brother can get out. Never would have thought about them if it hadn't been for you and what you said the last time I saw you.”

The last time I was a member of Big Faith, Bella was growing inside me. I cringed. It wasn't that the church was bad. The church was great, what church wouldn't be? I had to move away. Unfortunately for Jack, Ava, and a boatload of members I never spoke to again. I had forgotten them. I had forgotten Paige.

“Remind me. What did I say?”

“You said that I needed to be a kid and let God handle my brother. So I did. I'm attending college in the fall. The University of Georgia. Pre-law.” She smiled as she talked.

I touched her hand. “I don't know what to say.”

She took my hand and held it. “Say nothing. I came over here to thank you, Ms. Crawford. You saved my life, and if there is anything I can do for you, I will.” She handed me her business card. “I'm a paralegal now. I could be of help.”

“Thanks, Paige. I might have a job for you. Give me a few hours to get in touch.”

The older man behind me tapped my shoulder. “They're calling you.”

I took Paige's card and walked back toward the registration desk. My shoulders slumped. I was scared all over again. I presented my identification to a visitation officer. She gave me a number and made me wait in a new line with another, but smaller group of people. We waited until she called our number; then another prison officer directed us to an elevator and a booth number. To my dismay and amazement, the elevator stank, too. I had assumed the lobby smelled because of all the babies and whatever, but in the elevator toward the visitation booths . . . Should I be afraid?

I received that answer as soon as the elevators opened. The visitation room was the size of two phone booths. Inside it was a mounted table and a chair. There was a black phone mounted to a steel base on the right wall. In front of me was a huge window that at first made me think I was looking at a mirror until I saw something behind it. I looked over the table, squinted through the window's glare, and gasped. I saw Ava's temporary home, a two-story, loft-like concrete and steel compound. The bottom row was a plastic lounge, much like the waiting room. The top floor contained caged rooms the size of a clothes closet. Their doors looked like freezer drawers. My throat tightened. Below, I saw more cells, more officers, and more inmates. But where was Ava?

I checked my watch. I had only fifteen minutes with her and seven of them had already passed. I bit my lip. I was aggravated and anxious now. What in the world was she doing?

Ava stepped into the room two minutes later. She wore an orange jumpsuit that complemented her complexion. I made a mental note of the color for myself.

She sat down and reached for the phone. I wanted to berate her for showing up so late, but a rush of mercy swept over me. Her life was bad enough. I wanted to make her feel better.

I smiled at her. “You have some nerve looking like an Aruba sunset up in here.”

She brushed her hair down with her hand and chuckled. “Even in here I refuse to be undone.” Her voice held a sadness that touched me.

I placed my free hand on the window. “I love you.” It was the first thing my heart needed to say to her.

“I love you, too.” She sniffled. “How are my children ?”

“They asked for you and Devon. I told them that you were away, which is kind of true, but to a child, it's a boldfaced lie. I was hoping and praying that you were getting out yesterday, so you could tell them yourself. When do you see the judge?”

She pursed her lips. Tears fell fast down her face. She stood up. “Tell my children I love them.”

“Wait!” I jumped up and patted the window. I yelled, “Where are you going?”

I forgot she couldn't hear me without the phones. I picked up my phone and motioned for her to sit back down. “Please, don't go.”

She shook her head and refused to sit down.

“Where are you going? We haven't talked about your case, Devon's funeral, anything.”

“Why should I talk about something that's not in my control?”

“Okay, then why don't we talk about things that are in your control, like how are you feeling?”

“I'm holding on to what I believe in. God will show his face to me, soon. I know it . . . I miss my children; I miss him so bad.” Her hands trembled as she held on to the phone.

“I know.” I wanted to remove the Plexiglass that separated us and hold her. “Did anyone in there tell you when will be your first appearance before the court?”

She shook her head. Her tears trickled onto the steel counter. I whimpered against my will.

“There's such a backlog here. All I've been told is that it may take a day, a week, a few weeks.” She wiped her eyes. “I'll be fine.”

I wiped my eyes. “We're not going to let you stay in here no longer than today. Trust me on that.”

“Don't ruin yourself trying.”

“Don't you want to get out?”

She looked at me. Her eyes were calmer than I'd ever seen. “I can't control those things, so I can't tell you the answer. The only thing that I can control is my mind and my children's safety. I sent them to you because that's what you do best, protect our family. All that other stuff, leave it to God, Angel . . . Leave it to God.”

I leaned toward the glass. “Why are you protecting Devon?”

“He's dead. What kind of protection could I give him now?”

“Protecting his precious image from being tarnished.”

“Angel, you don't know what you're talking about. I'm not going to be a party to scandalizing my husband, especially not for my sake. Isn't that my duty as his wife?”

“Your duty should be to your children. They need you now. They have no clue their father's dead. I don't know what to say to them, and neither does Mama. And if I don't bring you back today, she's going to kill me. I need you to want to get out of here. You don't have to be in jail to honor Devon. You need to be out here to help me find the real murderer. You need to be out here to save your church, because they haven't been out here to see about you. Have they? They're meeting, Ava, about you right now. They met about you last night. What do you want me to do?”

Her body trembled now. She closed her eyes. Her mouth parted. She sighed. Then she opened her eyes again. “You want to get me out of here, then listen. I cannot appear before the judge until I receive a docket number. I don't have one yet. I'm in a holding cell. It's an overcrowding thing.”

I exhaled. “Not good.”

“Willis has encouraged me to make a plea.” Her eyes wandered off. “I think I'll do that and make all this go away. I'm sure my drama is putting a toll on the church and you.”

“No, you won't!”

Ava wouldn't look at me. “I've allowed your friend Justus, to come and pray with me. I'm not ready to see my—”

“Your armor bearers?”

She turned back to me. Her eyes blazed red. “No, my children.” She cleared her throat. “So you have to tell them. Tell them the truth about me and their father. The sooner the better.”

“No, uh-huh . . .” I yelled. “Are you crazy? Are they giving you a sedative in here? I will never let that happen. I'm calling Willis as soon as I get out of here. You are not making any pleas.”

“I requested the pills, Angel. I did it, okay. So stop searching for someone to blame. Blame it all on me. “

My heart skipped. I saw my sister, but I didn't know her. I didn't know her at all. I tried to relax my breathing, calm my nerves, something. I wanted Granny's sage voice to return, but nothing. I had nothing, no prompt to guide my next move.
God, where are you?

“Should I blame Devon's extramarital affair on you, too, or your armor bearer?” I blurted.

“Whatever will give you peace, Angel. But I do have one point of advice for you.”

I sighed. “What is it?”

“You need to go to Halle's for a new hairdo. That plain Jane look doesn't impress your minister boyfriend. Tell her I sent you. I love you and I have to rest now.” She put the receiver down, blew me a kiss, and disappeared behind more glass.

I wanted to crawl under the phone booth and cry, but instead, I sat in that visitor's booth stunned. I couldn't move. I couldn't think.

See, I knew Ava, just like I knew the smell of a good lie. The booth stunk. Her trembling hands stunk. She must have forgotten that I'd known her longer than anyone on this planet. I knew what a mad, jilted, love-crazed Ava looked like. Me. Avalyn didn't have that look when we found her hovering over Devon's body two nights ago, and she didn't have it just now. But she was pissing me off by insulting my intelligence. Oh, I was going to find this Rachel chick. Oh, I was going to find out why my case file was important to Salvador. And oh, I would get her raggedy, pill-popping behind out of that stinky, stank place.

I sat there huffing and puffing and planning until the guard buzzed me to leave the floor. I knew just where to start. Elvis.

 

I
stepped outside the jail, took a long, slow cleansing breath, and checked my watch. Elvis would be expecting us around 12:30. I reached for my phone to text Justus and let him know I was ready to go.

I definitely needed to get his take on Ava before I met with Elvis. Most importantly, I needed someone to speak some peace to me. I was furious. Lord knew I was capable of hurting the next person who tried to give me the runaround.

So when I looked up to see Detective Dixon chatting with Justus a few paces in front of me, I was fit to be tied. She'd better watch out. I smelled a catfight coming on.

They stood near the staff parking area. She had one hand on his elbow and the other on her chest. Her blouse was half open, exposing her inappropriately placed detective's badge that hung on a gold chain. How tacky. She had looked classier in my home. She laughed and tossed her long brown hair back. I wish I was close enough to yank a track out. A few hours inside the joint had me talking like a cast member from a television series set in a prison.

I called Justus's name when I was within earshot of them. He squinted and then waved at me. She leaned forward until she saw me, then straightened her back and her blouse. What was she doing before I got here? Giving him a peep show?

“Angel, guess whom I ran into,” Justus said to me as I approached.

“Detective Dixon, who would have thought I would find you here?” I extended my hand to hers and gave her my don't-start-with-me squint. I was still simmering from my visit with Ava. It wouldn't take much for my attitude to jump to flaming blue hot right about now.

She rubbed her hand on her skirt, then shook my hand. “I'm fine, Ms. Crawford. How's your family?”

Dixon had some nerve. I tried to squeeze her bony hand raw. “Don't ask me a question you know the answer to. What do you really want to know, as if I would tell you?”

I paused. Roger Willis had said the same thing to me the morning I met him at the jail. It didn't dawn on me until now. Why didn't us polite, southern girls ask the questions we wanted to know? Perhaps it was the same reasons Ava had yet to answer any of mine. Sometimes we don't want to hear the truth, because we wanted to confirm whatever fantasy we needed to stay sane in this broken paradise. But other times we were just shooting the bull like Dixon was trying to do with me right now, so I had to set her straight.

Justus coughed, then wrinkled his brows at me. “Did you receive my text? Are you ready to go?”

I shook my head. “In a minute.” I kept my attention on Dixon.

“Did you receive the file y'all requested?” I asked her.

She grinned. “Yes, thank you.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I believe so.”

“Good. Is there anything else you need?”

“No.” She shook her head and looked to Justus. “Besides, Pastor Morgan has given me more than I need.”

“I'm sure he has,” I said. “How about the location of Devon's mistress? Did he give that to you, too?”

“Out of respect for my partner's friendship with you, and not to embarrass you in front of this great man standing here, I'll pretend I didn't hear you telling me how to run our investigation.” She frowned. “You're treading on dangerous ground, Ms. Crawford. If you keep this up, you'll give us another motive why your sister wanted to kill her husband.”

She walked toward Justus and stopped too close to his face in my book. “If you have any more pertinent information for me, J”—she handed her business card to him, then smiled—“please, call me.”

I took the card out of his hand, then handed her mine. “If you want to speak to Ava's family or him, you speak to me.”

She chuckled and walked away. I knew I should have snatched a hair track.

Justus tapped my shoulder. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing.” I watched Dixon until she disappeared around the corner.

“Angel, I asked you a question. What's up with you?”

“Justus, don't go there. Okay?”

“I don't know why I asked.” He threw his hands up and chuckled. “So you ready for lunch?”

“Nope.” My mouth was so tight I knew I had rubbed all my lip gloss off. “I'm not hungry anymore. Maybe we should take a rain check on the lunch at Elvis's?”

“You're not going to see him?”

“Yes, I am, but you're not. You have unfinished business with Detective Dixon.”

“Are you jealous? Is that why don't want me to go with you?”

“Yep,” I said. I didn't care. “Which is stupid because there is nothing going on between us, but the gall of that woman. I don't like her. Yeah, that's what it is. I don't like her and you know I don't like her, Yet, you make nice with her and give her that smile and now she's jocking you when she needs to be finding my brother-in-law's killer. “

“But there is something between us, Angel. Why won't you admit it?” He caught my purse with his hand and pulled me closer to him.

I clutched my purse in defense. “Because I shouldn't.”

“Why would you say that?” He didn't let go of my purse until his arm was wrapped around my waist.

“Justus, every Thursday at the Ladies' Communion, you want to know what I pray about?”

He bowed. “Sure.”

“I ask God to stop making me want a man's touch. I'm tired of wanting to be kissed. It's a time waster and gets me in trouble, ergo my slippery relationship with you. You're my pastor and now my friend . . . I need to stay clear about those boundaries.” I wiggled out of his grasp. “I'm doing the best thing for the both of us, you know?”

He noticed the passersby staring at us. “Maybe we should talk about this in the car?”

Justus took my hand in his and ushered me out of the crowd.

“Wait. I wasn't done.”

“In the car now,” he said. “Don't say another word until then.”

I obliged.

Once inside, Justus locked the door, then turned to me in his seat. He sat in my driver's seat again. I made a note to myself that the next time we go anywhere else together, he would drive his own car.

“Justus, now is not the time for this. Can we table this discussion for later? Let's say . . . after I find Devon's killer?”

He cupped his hands together, then placed them in his lap. “I would think that a woman prays to be kissed and more.”

“Not if she doesn't trust her judgment.”

“That's another issue, which has nothing to do with wanting to have an intimate relationship with a man. Now, I'm not a woman, obviously, but wasn't she created to feel kissable?”

“I don't know. Maybe . . .” I huffed. “It's all a mystery, but at times like this I wish I didn't want to be kissed.”

“Why now?”

“Because I'm not married, and the prospects are pretty slim for black women, so what's the point? Why wish for something with such bad odds?”

“Marriage isn't something to gamble on,” he said.

“Nor is it to wish upon a prayer about. It's not fair. It's too much pressure to be married.”

“I'm not married and I don't feel any pressure.”

“But you don't wish for it either. You know why?”

He shook his head. “I'm sure you'll tell me.”

“Because you're a brilliant, successful, gorgeous, single, God-fearing man. . . . A catch. You can choose whomever you want. But me, I feel like the last person to be picked in middle school P.E. I don't want to feel like that all my life. I definitely don't need to feel like that about you, not right now, especially not now.”

“I think I understand what you mean a little.” He lowered his head; his smile had vanished. “I hope I don't sound out of line, but after all of this is over, I want to take you somewhere that will change your mind about you and me.”

“Can I see an old friend about Rachel first?”

“Who?”

“Devon's alleged mistress. Her name is Rachel.”

“You can't be serious.” He huffed and turned to the face the steering wheel.

“I wouldn't bring it up if I wasn't.”

“Before you do that, you need to talk to Elvis to confirm. This could just be one of those generic rumors about philandering pastors. It's an old trap to keep you off the right path. Don't fall for it.”

“But it's a lead.”

“Does that mean you have to follow every bad thing you hear?”

“If I'm worth my salt, yes, it does.”

“Seems like you're losing your salt if this is your way.”

“I get what you're saying, Justus, but I don't think you understand how things work here.”

“Hold up. Don't treat me like that. I understand. I just don't agree with the tactics.”

“So is that why you're here, to keep my crooked straight?”

“No, I want to help you find Devon's killer. That also means I want to make sure your soul isn't compromised in the process.”

“That's very thoughtful, but I don't need a protector for my soul. Right now I need a clue and I have one, but I will take your counsel and talk to Elvis first. How 'bout that?”

“Good, and don't think I didn't notice that you changed the subject about us,” Justus said. “This conversation isn't over.”

“I'm sure you will bring it up again.” I gulped.

Truthfully, I was afraid to go any further in this conversation than we already had. If we weren't racing the clock to clear Ava's name, I'd have to deal with my feelings for him. That scared me more than running out of time to find Devon's killer.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, I observed Justus. My sitting so close to him made things harder. I wanted to touch his smooth arms. His physical beauty was beyond my comprehension, and my attraction to him was almost unbearable. But his passion to find the goodness in people and his relentless quest to shepherd my soul made me dizzy. I was seated and spiraling, falling hard for the man. I couldn't concentrate on Ava like this. I couldn't focus on what mattered for wanting to make him pull over, so I could kiss him hard. Maybe I should reconsider keeping Justus on as my sidekick. I closed my eyes to keep from crying about it.

After my conversation with Elvis last night, I remembered his family's restaurant was a stone's throw away from our alma mater, Agnes Scott College. When passing by the west façade of Winship Hall, I immediately remembered some of the crazy things Ava and I got ourselves into. She met Devon there.

He attended Georgia Tech back then and came to one of our Kappa Alpha Psi Sweetheart parties in the student center. As a matter of fact, he danced the first dance with me. When I left the dance floor to add more sherbet to the punchbowl, he searched for me, but found Ava. They've been dancing together ever since. Thank God, because he couldn't dance worth a good split.

By the looks of the all the trash strung across the campus quad, I could tell that a fierce bash went on there last night. I chuckled.

I made the left onto College Avenue, and I wished I could go back fifteen years just for a minute, when life was real breezy and new and Devon wasn't dead.

The Biscuit Depot was located a few minutes from the jail and right across the railroad tracks from Agnes Scott. It was the easiest place to spot, because it was once an old Southern Railway caboose and painted granny apple green for good measure. When I was in college, it was called Eddy's Attic Tavern; then it became a few other restaurants. The restaurant look suited it well.

When we pulled into the parking lot, I had to step out and look around. Downtown Decatur had poshed up since Ava and I lived here, thanks to urban sprawl and community displacement. Most of the dilapidated buildings, dope boys, and poorer Decaturites had been run out of this section of town. Now trendy lofts, boutiques, and restaurants nestled themselves between azaleas, dogwoods, and every pretty blooming plant in Georgia. It even smelled good in the air now.

Justus stepped out the car and extended his arms to the sky with a big bowed stretch heavenward. I turned away from watching him. Again physically frustrated.

I looked around and the parking lot was empty.

“Do you have the time?” I asked Justus.

“We're not late, but it looks like the restaurant is closed,” he said.

“Can't be.” I walked up to the door. A pink note was attached to the restaurant:
Closed to public due to bereavement. Catered customers only.