Hot Flash (14 page)

“Travis good?”

“Travis is high, in case you didn't notice.” Dulcey signaled for me to keep my voice down. I spoke louder. “I'm going to go upside the boy's head if he doesn't straighten up.”

“Oh Lord. Boy been straight as an arrow for nineteen years, give him a little room, Muriel. He'll be fine. He's practically on his own now at college, and believe you me, he doesn't want to disappoint Mama M.”

“I guess I never thought he'd get into drugs. I'm a cop, for chrissakes.”

“All the more reason you need to lighten up and talk to him. And he's not into drugs, he's just smoking a little weed. What's the harm? Boy's grown now, out on his own.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, you sound just like him. Sure, he's out on his own nine months out of the year when he's at school, and all the way on my dime.”

“Best way. I'm sure there's a lot you don't know. Ain't nobody as good as that boy makes out to be. It's because he's a cop's son that he got sense enough to keep his stuff under wraps. Give him a little space, girl. He's all right. He's no worse than his mother or his auntie was at his age, I'm sure.”

“I know that's right, and that's exactly what worries me.”

A moment of silence fell after Dulcey's words, each of us in our own heads. We looked at each other and busted out laughing while Dulcey refilled our glasses.

My laughter turned to anxiety again.

“Dulcey, what am I going to do? I can't stay in the department without Laughton. He quit, don't you know. Forty-nine and I have to start over, and Laughton, who is he anyway? Not the man I've known and worked with for seventeen years, and where the hell is he? What the hell is going on with him? What the hell's going on with Travis? What the hell's going on with Nareece? What the hell's going on, period?”

“Slow down, girl. Take a breath. What do you mean, Laughton quit?”

“Just what I said, he quit. And Travis, and his high self, trying to put something over on me. He knows better. And the twins. John's mother talking like I'm supposed to understand a word she said. And Nareece and John, where the hell are they, and what the hell are they into that they can abandon their own children? What am I going to do with two little girls playing detective and shooting up the place? They're babies, Dulcey. I can't believe Nareece would leave them, like she doesn't care. Like you said, always only thinking about her.”

“Ahhh. At last, the truth spews from your lips.” She sipped more wine. “Look, girl, you got a lot on your plate to deal with, and deal with fast. And you don't have a choice. You have to take care of those babies. They can stay with me until this is all put to rest.”

“You're right. I do need to take care of them. I'm the only auntie.”

“And your life ain't dependin' on Laughton, so scratch that thought right now.”

By the fourth glass of wine, we were stumbling up the stairs to my bedroom, glasses and wine in hand. I pulled out some silk pajamas for Dulcey.

“Girl, give me some old T-shirt or something. I can't sleep in these, won't fit anyway.”

“I don't own any old T-shirts. I spend enough time in man clothes with that damn uniform,” I said, pulling out a nightgown for me. “They'll fit, I bought them for you. Now, put them on.”

The fifth glass of wine sealed the night for both of us.

C
HAPTER
12

N
o Dulcey when I woke the next morning in a pool of sweat, my nightgown slicked to my body. I rolled over, my head dancing with the unpleasant aftereffects of overindulgence. A pink Post-it on her pillow had “
I got your back!
” scribbled out with a smiley face at the bottom.

I reached for my cell phone on the nightstand and checked the time. Nine o'clock, and no kiss good-bye from Travis. I jumped up, staggered forward, and fell back on the bed, my head still unwilling, my body unbalanced.

“Travis.” No answer.

This time I got up slowly and shuffled to his bedroom door. I called again louder. No answer. Agitated, I did something I never do, knocked and went in without waiting for his invite. His bed was made and everything in its place, but no Travis. He was avoiding me, no doubt. Getting through the day without a good-bye kiss would be difficult, especially having had harsh words as our last. It was our rule to never leave the house without kissing each other good-bye. My mom had made the rule, and I had not kissed her when I left the house the night she and Dad died. Instead, we had argued about Nareece. I quickly shook off the memory and went for the shower, hoping to minimize the pain that skirted the edges of my temple.

I emerged with a clearer head but an unforgiving body and slipped into jeans, a sweatshirt, and boots, and limped across the hall to my office. First on the agenda was retrieving the twins. Just thinking about driving to Boston again made my head ache worse. So I decided to fly. I flicked on the computer, then grabbed the bottle of Excedrin from the shelf above. I swallowed two, then a third.

John's mother, Ama, was clearly overwhelmed with the twins. She had kept them many times before without incident, so I gathered this time the twins were anxious about their parents and unleashing that anxiety on her. I also figured Nareece wouldn't be happy with the idea of the twins staying with me. Too many times we had planned a summer or winter vacation stay, only for Nareece to cancel at the last minute with a clear message that the girls didn't need any more of my unsavory ideas about crime fighting lodged in their pretty little heads. How I wished she was here to protest now.

“Where are you?” I said out loud.

I went to the JetBlue website and made reservations for Saturday; they could survive two more days. When I opened the top drawer for notepaper to write down the confirmation number, the Mabley case folder sat on top of everything.

I took out paper and a pencil and closed the drawer, then pulled it open again and took the folder out. I still didn't know why Laughton had the folder or how he'd even known it existed. I flipped it open and began reading from where I'd left off earlier.

Nareece was alleged to have been involved in local drug activity with named members of the Boone family.

My head spun. I had closed my eyes all these years, in complete denial.

I continued reading.

The last sentence on the fifth page caught my attention. It read:
The victim said one man smelled like a “funky dead person” that made her throw up while he was raping her. When the man finished, he pulled out a knife . . .
I stopped reading.

I called Nareece's cell and left another message, then called John and did the same. Laughton's phone still registered disconnected. A call to Cap got me another number for Laughton. One ring and it went to voice mail. While I was leaving a message, Laughton called.

“What's up?” For a moment he sounded like the old Laughton, taunting me.

“You quit?”

“M, I can't explain now. I told you, I need some time.”

“You sound like a recording. Time for what? You're not making any sense.” I struggled to keep my voice at a reasonable octave. When he didn't respond, I thought he had hung up. In a softer tone I pleaded a little, “Laughton? Laughton, where are you? Let's meet and talk. I'm going to get the twins, but let's talk first.”

“Just get Rose and Helen, Muriel, and keep them with you until this is over. I'll call you.” Then he hung up.

I quickly redialed and got voice mail. I redialed again with the same result, which agitated my fury. My hands were trembling when I set my cell on the desk and fell back in the chair. Laughton sounded almost vicious. Not like he wanted to brutalize someone, but more like he was fighting for his life or someone else's and losing. Fear.

What I did know about Laughton was that he would not give empty warnings. I needed to go to Boston and get the twins. I called Dulcey. She didn't answer, which made me freak out a little. That was when Travis came home and went to his room without a word—no kiss, no “Hi, Moms.” I banged on his door. When he didn't open it fast enough, I rushed in. He was sitting on the bed, bent over, his head resting in his hands. He looked up with tear-filled eyes. My anger immediately dissipated, as I swooped in with motherly concern.

“What happened? Are you all right?” I wrapped my arms around him. “Are you hurt?” I pulled back to check him out.

“I broke up with Kenyetta.”

I stopped short. “Okay. So, what's the problem?
You
broke up with her.”

“She messed around on me, with one of my boys.”

“You know that for a fact?” He didn't answer. “Well, do you?”

“I didn't see with my own eyes, no. But everyone in my crew—”

“How many times have I told you, don't fall into those holes, believing what other folks put on you?”

“A thousand.”

“Good, you understand. Now, let me fill you in on something else. I don't go for you coming home high and having parties, serving liquor. I will slap you silly, boy. I don't give a damn how grown you think you are.”

“Yeah, I got you.”

“You got me?” I rose up, about to explode.

He slumped on the bed. “I mean, I'm sorry. I'll clean up my act. I'm just trying to fit in.”

I tucked in my feathers and settled back down.

“I understand, but being somebody you're not isn't the way.”

He straightened up and turned to me. “So, what's up with you, Moms? I hear what's happening even when you think I don't.”

I might have been caught off guard, except it was good we were talking about things that really mattered between us. Maybe this was the time. Then again, maybe not.

I started in with, “I'm worried about your aunt and uncle.” He groaned. I gave him my
Don't go there
look and continued. “I made reservations to fly up on Saturday. John's mother can't handle the twins, and your aunt and uncle have gone off the reservation. The flight costs a small fortune, so I'm going to rent a car to get back.” I decided not to fill him in on any details or tell him about Laughton's warning, my real reason for going sooner. What I told him was that Nareece and John were in some kind of mess they'd chosen not to share and had left the girls at John's mother's house, where they were very unhappy and calling every day for me to come get them. So, I would go to the house and get some more clothes for them, swing around and pick them up at John's mother's house, and bring them home.

Travis hugged me and said, “No problem. Cancel the flight. I'll ride up with you, save some bucks.”

I called Dulcey to ride with us, too.

I spent most of the next two days at the hospital with Calvin. That is, after I made several calls to Laughton that went unanswered, and several calls to Nareece that went unanswered. The sleepless nights had me sleeping away most of my visits, while Calvin watched television.

“Tell me why you're driving up to Boston again?” Calvin asked during one of my awake moments.

“My sister and her husband have taken off, to put it mildly. Their kids' grandmother is having a hard time caring for them, so I'm going to get them and let them stay with me for a while.”

“Where have their parents taken off to?”

“That is the question of the decade.”

“You may need some muscle with you,” Calvin joked lightly.

“And who might you be referring to?”

“Seriously, Muriel, be careful. I'm not sure about any of this and I don't even know what any of this is, really, but it sounds like more than you're saying. I feel so friggin' helpless, laid up in this damn hospital.”

“I'll be fine. Travis and Dulcey are traveling with me for the company. We'll slip in to the house, get some things, and slip out, no problem. My detective friend in Boston said no one has even been seen at the house in weeks, so I'm not concerned. We should be home Sunday with plenty of time to break you out on Tuesday.”

“Not to worry, I got family.”

When we picked up Dulcey Friday evening, she shuffled to the car, makeup running, hairdo lopsided, shirt stained, and wearing dilapidated espadrilles. Girl was tapped. From the window I could see customers three deep in the waiting area. Dulcey had reduced her workload, taking customers by appointment only, since the shop had grown to ten chairs and a full spa that offered services from marine seaweed body wraps to ultrasonic facials, and she'd hired a manager. Still, she worked day and night, far more than she'd planned.

She didn't even protest about me driving. Two hours into the six-hour ride, Dulcey's chatter stopped and she and Travis both fell asleep.

I had visions of Nareece on the bed, naked and bloodied, Mom at the stove stirring and pleading with me to talk to Nareece. A horn startled me and made the road a priority again before more visions moved in, this time of a more nostalgic nature: Dad on the phone, police at the door, Travis in the nursery, Nareece waving good-bye, Laughton, Calvin.

“Welcome to Massachusetts,” Dulcey read out loud, rescuing me from my thoughts. “Dang, girl, seems like we just left.”

Travis stirred but stayed asleep, stretched across the backseat. It was four in the morning, so we planned to stop at Nareece's house and rest up before going for the twins. I also needed to gather more clothes for them.

“Have you tried Reecey's cell lately?” Dulcey asked.

“At least one hundred times a day.” I turned to make sure Travis was still sleeping. “Bates hasn't had any developments, either. It's like she and John have disappeared off the face of the earth. The only saving grace is that she's called so I know she's alive.” My stomach rumbled, but not from hunger.

When we arrived, I drove into the driveway up to the front door. The house was dark. I surmised it was supposed to be dark since John and Nareece were not home. I reached back and shook Travis's leg to wake him. “C'mon, baby, we're going to stay here for a few hours.”

“Looks like a scene from a horror movie, girl. I'm shaking, especially after last time,” Dulcey said, straining her neck to view the whole house.

“Don't worry, Auntie, I'll protect you,” Travis said, sitting up and pounding his chest with both fists. “Man of steel, right here.” He opened the car door and leaned out. “Stay behind me,” he demanded in his macho-man tone, scratchy from sleep. We chuckled just a little.

“Travis, wait a minute,” I said, scrambling to get out and keep him from going to the door alone. Dulcey jumped out, ran around to the driver's side, and fell in step behind me, all up on my back and carrying on.

“Both of you just stop,” I said, shaking her loose and straightening up. I walked up to the front door, inserted the key, and pushed. Immediately a rank smell took my breath and caused a yelp to escape my lips. “Please, God,” I whispered, rushing in and flicking the light switch to the right of the door. Travis followed on my heels, but the smell forced him back outside, where he puked. I tugged on my ankle holster and tossed the .22 to Dulcey. She pulled her outer blouse up to cover her nose and moved toward the living room while I started up the stairs. I hit the doorway of the master bedroom and immediately caught sight of John, sprawled out on the floor at the end of the bed. I gagged and worked through the tears that glazed my eyes. I stepped over his body and went to check the bathroom and closets, moved back into the hall to the twins' room, the two guest rooms, and two more bathrooms, whipping back shower curtains—point, rush, clear, point, rush, clear.

“Clear!” Dulcey yelled up.

I holstered my weapon, ran to the bathroom, and puked.

Dulcey and Travis were up the stairs and in the bedroom doorway before I could stop them. The sight forced both of them back, almost causing them to topple down the stairs.

In the bedroom, a dark maroon stain outlined John's upper body. His face was turned toward me, bloodied and bloated from decomposition. He was barefoot and shirtless. There were dark ligature marks around his neck, wrists, and ankles. I bent over his body and noticed a tube of ChapStick wedged between his thigh and the floor. I figured fists had pounded his face and driven into his blackened chest and stomach; a stranglehold cut off his breath. I could only pray that John had kept his secret to the end.