Bed of Lies (9 page)

Paulette almost choked on her apple juice. She painfully swallowed the bit that clogged her throat. “Uh . . . he called me?”

“Yes, he called you
several
times. Three times that day, to be exact.” The detective dropped his notepad and stared at her. His wrinkled face drew tight. “Do you want to revise what you told me earlier? Is there anything else to your relationship with Mr. Whitney besides him being a trainer at your gym?”

“Stop the conversation now,” the voice in her head cautioned again. “Tell him to leave. Pick up the phone and call your brother Evan. Tell him everything and ask him to recommend a lawyer for you.”

But she couldn't do that. Evan knew about Marques, but he didn't know about Marques's murder or that she suspected Antonio might be involved. She didn't want to drag her brother into this mess.

I'll be honest with the detective
, she thought, tired of lying, tired of the mountain of secrets.
I've got nothing to hide from him! I didn't do anything wrong! I'll just tell him the truth.

She lowered her glass back to the table and loudly cleared her throat. “Okay . . . he . . . he was more than a trainer. Marques was an . . . an ex-boyfriend of mine. We knew each other when we were teenagers. We met up again at the gym and got . . . reacquainted.”

“Reacquainted?”

She nodded.

“So you rekindled the friendship, then?”

Paulette forced a smile. “I guess you could say that. Yes.”

“Had you been to his apartment?”

“His apartment? Umm, let me think.” She pretended to look up at the ceiling and contemplate that one.

Paulette had been at Marques's dingy apartment more times than she cared to remember and each time she left in tears, tormented by what she and Marques had done in his bedroom. But the detective didn't need to know that little detail.

“Uh, yeah,” she said. “I had been there a few times.”

“Were you there on November twenty-fourth? The night of the murder?”

“No!” She emphatically shook her head. “No, he called me and we talked briefly, but that's about it. I was home the entire night.”

The detective nodded, scribbling in his notepad again. “Well, that answers all my questions. I've taken up enough of your time, Mrs. Williams. I should be on my way.”

She inwardly breathed a sigh of relief as she watched him rise from the sofa. She immediately followed suit. “Let me walk you to the door, Detective.”

See, that wasn't so bad
, she told herself as she watched him stride across the living room's hardwood floor and back into the tiled foyer.
I was worried for no reason!

The detective reached for the brass door handle, then paused. He suddenly turned to gaze at her again, tilting his bald head. “Mrs. Williams, why didn't you tell me the truth when I first asked you about your relationship with Mr. Whitney?”

“Well”—she gazed down at her hands and began to twist her wedding ring around and around on her finger—“I'm a married woman, Detective Nola. I didn't tell my husband that I'd become friends with Marques again. It would have been too . . . awkward. He's my ex. Remember?” She looked up at the detective. “I'm sorry I wasn't more upfront about it, but you . . . you understand, right?”

He squinted again, not looking the least bit understanding. “Do you know when your husband will arrive home today, Mrs. Williams?”

She blinked. “M-my h-husband?” A wave of heat shot over her body. She started to shake a little. “Why do you want to know that?”

“I'd like to talk to him. You said you were home the night of November twenty-fourth, but I need someone to verify your whereabouts. He would be the best man to do that, am I right?”

Her pulse started to race. Someone to verify her whereabouts?
Oh God
, she thought, now panicked. She had been home the entire night—but Antonio hadn't. He had been gone for hours, including during the time frame when Marques had been murdered.

“I don't know when he'll be home, to be honest. He works long hours lately. He's . . . he's trying to get promoted at his engineering firm,” she said weakly.

“If that's the case, I'll leave this with you,” the detective said, handing her a business card. “Tell him to give me a call ASAP.”

“Yes. Of course!” she cried with a grin. She took the card from him. “I'll let Tony know as soon as he gets home.”

Though the truth was, she'd rip the card into a million little pieces, dump them in the trash can, and hoped never to see the detective again.

Paulette watched as the detective opened her front door. “You enjoy the rest of your day, Mrs. Williams.”

“You, too,” she piped before shutting the door behind him. Paulette drew back the curtain and watched the detective as he walked back to an unmarked Ford Taurus. She watched him until he climbed inside his car and pulled out of her driveway.

When the Taurus disappeared, she lowered her hand to her stomach and walked across the living room. She gazed at her sandwich, then turned away, no longer hungry.

Chapter 9

Dante

“O
h God! Oh God! Oh
Goooood!”
she said in a guttural growl.

Dante smirked.
God has nothing to do with this, honey,
he thought as he gazed down at the woman in front of him who was naked, sweaty, and on all fours. Her back muscles trembled, making the tramp stamp of butterfly wings at the base of her back look as if it was about to take off in flight. Her long black locks (it was a weave—he had seen the tracks) whipped from side to side as she thrashed like she was reenacting a scene from
The Exorcist
. But if this chick was quivering and speaking in tongues, it was all Dante's doing; it had jack shit to do with any celestial or demonic being.

He pounded into her again and again, ordering her to scream his name, feeling himself draw closer to climax. The headboard thumped against the wall at a rhythmic pace. The framed photos of her mother and daughter clacked against the plaster like a chorus of clapping hands.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she shouted, balling the bed sheets into her fists. She then bit down hard on the cotton pillow beside her head, gnawing it like some rabid dog.

After a few more pumps, Dante came with a euphoric rush. He pulled out of her, then fell back against the bed, releasing a contented sigh.

She slowly pushed herself upward. “Why'd you stop?” she shouted, shoving her weave out of her face. “I was almost there, dammit!”

“Yeah, well, I'm done and I'm tired,” he said between huffs of breaths.

She grabbed the pillow she had been biting and thumped him over the head with it. “You selfish son of a bitch,” she spat, making him chuckle.

“Don't worry. I'll break you off later.”

She crawled across the bed and landed on his chest, knocking the air out of him. She sucked her teeth. “Yeah, right.”

He chuckled again before slapping her ass and closing his eyes.

Dante's relationship with the Uptons was working out splendidly. Not only did he stand to make a couple mil from his cut of the lawsuit Mavis Upton was filing against his brother Terrence, he also was having a wild, freaky time with Mavis's daughter, Renee. He and Renee now met up at least twice a week to have sex—some of the best sex that he had had in quite a while, he had to admit. Renee definitely was no shrinking violet in the bedroom. That woman could get downright kinky when she wanted to.

“So, did you think about that thing I told you about last week?” Renee asked while trailing her long nails over his muscled torso. She then gave a saucy lick to the corner of his mouth.

Dante cracked open one eye to stare up at her. “What thing?”

She slapped his chest playfully and smiled. “You know . . . that Groupon deal to Barbados!”

Dante closed his eye again, pretending like he hadn't heard her.

“Well?”
she persisted a few seconds later, shoving his chest harder this time. “Wouldn't it be a bomb-ass trip for us to go on? I've never been there before, and my girl Kemayaunda said it's hella nice! We should go, baby!”

Dante wasn't sure whether he wanted to take travel advice from a woman named Kemayaunda, but he kept that thought to himself. He turned on his side, opened his eyes, and bestowed Renee with an indulgent smile.

“Look, why don't we talk about it after your mom's lawsuit is done?” he answered diplomatically.

“But that could take forever,
babeeee!
The Groupon deal is only good until the end of May!”

She was whining. Dante hated it when women whined. Those manipulative bitches really knew how to play on a man's sympathies. Luckily, he wasn't very sympathetic.

“I get that, honey.” He rubbed her shoulder soothingly. “But your mom doesn't know what's going on between us. I don't think it's a good idea that she does until the case is over.”

“But why we keeping it a secret, anyway?” She narrowed her eyes and eased away from him. “You ashamed or something?”

Dante was momentarily tempted to give her an honest answer: The reason he wanted to wait until after the case was done was because he planned to dump her as soon as the judge ruled in their favor, or, if he was lucky, as soon as Terrence made an offer to settle out of court. Yes, the sex with Renee was good, but there was no way in hell he would pursue something permanent with this chick. She was so low-class it was almost pathetic. She talked about dinner at the Olive Garden like it was fine dining. He had to constantly fight the urge to correct her grammar. And she dressed like a Las Vegas hooker. He could only imagine taking her out to one of the cocktail parties his law firm regularly held. They would laugh him out of the room!

Besides, he had turned down women who were a lot more deserving of his time and attention than Renee. Hell, he had broken off things with Evan's wife, Charisse! She was the personification of class, old money, and power with the pedigree she had, even if she was also a sloppy drunk. Unfortunately, Charisse, like Renee, had tried to make their “relationship” into a lot more than what it was. Eventually, he had to let Charisse know she was sadly mistaken. Eventually, he would do the same with Renee—but not tonight.

“Of course, I'm not ashamed of you, honey.” He raised his head and kissed her. “It just would make things too complicated if your mother knew we were together. We don't want her to get cold feet, now, do we? There's millions of dollars at stake here.”

Renee rolled her eyes. “She's already getting cold feet! She asks me all the time when you plan to tell that boy she ain't really suing him. I told her I don't know. I think she's starting to think about tellin' him herself.”

Dante perked up at that news. He raised himself to his elbows to gaze at her. “Your mother wouldn't really do that, would she?”

“I don't know.” Renee shrugged. “Maybe.”

Dante's brows lowered. He frowned. That old bitch wouldn't ruin his plans, would she?

“Look, the next time your mother talks to you about this, tell her—”

Their conversation was cut off by the sound of a door opening, then slamming shut.

“Mommy!” a little voice called out.

“Renee, you home?” Dante heard Mavis say. “We're back from the store. I got Tasha most of those school supplies she needed. I couldn't get all of it. That stuff is awfully expensive.”

“Shit,” Dante said before shoving Renee off of him and leaping to his feet.

Renee scrambled off the bed, too. She dropped to the floor in search of the shirt and jeans she had discarded earlier.

“I thought you said they wouldn't be back for hours,” he snarled in an angry whisper as he pulled on his boxer-briefs then reached for his shirt, which was crumpled near her nightstand.

“That's what she told me!” Renee whispered back with widened eyes.

“Renee?
Renee, you in here?” Mavis called again.

All the while, the duo frantically dressed, tossing one another their clothes wherever they found them.

“Renee,” Mavis asked as she pushed open the bedroom door, “are you asleep? You feeling o—” She paused when she realized Dante was in the bedroom with her daughter. She raised her brows in surprise. “Mr. Turner, what . . . what are you doing here?”

Dante pasted on a smile and buttoned the last jacket button on his single-breasted suit, covering his pants zipper, which he hadn't had the chance to close before Mavis had stepped into the bedroom.

“I was just stopping by to pay my favorite client a visit,” he said, stepping forward and giving her a hug. “So, how are you doing, Mavis?”

“F-f-fine,” she said uneasily as she shifted her gaze between him and Renee. “I just . . . I just wasn't expecting to see you here today. You came to Renee's place to see me?”

“I thought I might find you here. Renee was nice enough to give me a tour of her apartment while I waited. Weren't you, Renee? And what a
lovely
place it is,” he lied, gazing at the bedroom's popcorn-covered, water-stained ceiling, the dirty shag carpet, and the particleboard furniture. “So minimalist.” He turned and ran his hand appreciatively over Renee's dresser. “Where did you say you got this beautiful piece of furniture, Renee?”

Renee's mouth twisted and she scratched her head. “Uh . . . Rent-A-Center, I think.”

“Interesting.” Dante wrapped an arm around Mavis's shoulders and eased her out of the bedroom into the living room. “Look, Mavis, I came here to talk to you today because I wanted to update you on your lawsuit.”

Mavis's granddaughter, Tasha, looked up when they entered the room. She sat in the adjacent kitchenette at a small table with a coloring book open in front of her and half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich poised near her mouth. She glanced at Dante with mild interest, then returned her attention to her coloring book. She bit into her sandwich.

Dante surmised that she was probably used to finding random men coming out of her mother's bedroom.

“Well, I'm . . . I'm glad to hear you wanna talk about that, Mr. Turner,” Mavis said, gazing up at him and shifting her purse on her arm. “I was just meaning to ask you about that. See, I thought you told me that we were just going to file a case but not really do anything with it. We just wanted to scare him off. Shouldn't we tell—”

“Yes, that is exactly what I wanted to discuss.” He walked toward the plaid sofa dotted with mystery stains and sat down before motioning Mavis to take the seat beside him. “We can't withdraw the lawsuit quite yet.”

She frowned and sat down. “B-but why not?”

Renee flopped in the loveseat facing them and reached for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the coffee table.

“Well, he still could file a civil suit against you, Mavis.”

“But wouldn't he have done it by now?” Mavis asked. “It don't seem like that boy is really interested in—”

“And besides,” Dante continued, talking over her, “we have to hold out for arbitration. We have to wait for his lawyer to approach us with an offer.”

Mavis's frown deepened. “An . . . an offer? An offer for what?”

“An offer to pay you back the income you lost while you were in the hospital. An offer that will help you buy another,
nicer
car since the one you had was totaled. You're only asking for what's due to you.”

She slowly shook her head. “But I thought . . . I thought I wasn't really asking him for money.”

“And you aren't!” Dante assured. His smile widened. “You're not asking for money, Mavis . . . not
real
money, anyway. This would be a drop in the bucket compared to how much Terrence Murdoch has in his bank accounts.”

“But I still don't know if I caused that accident! I wouldn't feel right asking him for—”

“But think about how useful that money could be for you, Mavis. How you could help make your life better . . . how it could help your family.” He glanced at Renee, who was reclining on the sofa, smoking and looking bored. He raised his brows, beseeching her silently to stop sitting there like a slug and offer him some help.

She immediately sat upright and tugged her cigarette out of her mouth. “Yeah, Mama, just think about how you could help me and . . . and
Tasha
with that money. You said yourself you couldn't afford all her school supplies. Wouldn't have to worry about that no more!”

Mavis glanced over her shoulder at her granddaughter. She watched as Tasha grabbed a red crayon and continued to draw.

“Tasha
does
need a new book bag,” Mavis mumbled. “There's a hole in the one she has now. And new shoes . . . those tennis shoes she wears are getting too small and—”

“See!” Dante said. “With the money you're awarded, you could get Tasha a new book bag, shoes, and anything else she needs.”

Mavis seemed to contemplate Dante's words. Finally, she said, “But we won't ask him for
a lot
of money, though, right?”

“We wouldn't think of it!” Dante widened his eyes in mock innocence. “We'll only ask for what you're rightfully due. Only what will help your family.”

She looked down at her wrinkled hands, which were now in her lap. “All right. All right, but please don't ask for too much.”

Dante grinned. “Of course not!”