Hot Flash (15 page)

C
HAPTER
13

“S
o far we've got nothing on this killing. No one in the neighborhood saw or heard a thing. This guy is squeaky clean.”

“John. His name is John,” I said. I was sitting on the couch. Bates loomed over me.

“Muriel,” he said, “I'm sorry about your friend's husband. But what happened to the trust, to the loyalty, to helping each other out on the up and up?”

He went to John's desk and got the desk chair, half-dragging and half-carrying the ugly monstrosity over to me and straddled it, then rested his arms crisscrossed on the chair back. I could smell his breath, minty from the gum he snapped every few chews.

The sweats attacked, but I did not flinch.

“You need to tell me what the deal is, Muriel.” His voice was low and gurgly.

A moment passed and he leaned back a bit.

“Look, I don't mean to be an asshole. I'm not an insensitive guy. But you got me running around with my dick in my hands and spraying cold water on me with a fucking fire hose. What happened to you stroke mine and I'll stroke yours?”

“Nice talk, Bates. No need to be such a pig.”

He sighed with an air of disgust.

I turned to face Dulcey and Travis. Dulcey locked eyes with me and nodded. She sat next to Travis at the dining room table with her arm around his shoulders. Travis sat with his back straight, his attention taken by an officer standing over him writing something on a notepad.

“I'm in the dark, too,” I said.

His heavy breathing subsided. “Well then, at least tell me what you've got.”

“I came to get some clothes for the girls because they are going to spend some time with me. The house was dark. I used my key. I came in and found John.”

“Where are the girls?”

“They're staying at John's mother's house in Newton.”

“And your girlfriend?” He glimpsed the picture of Nareece he held. “Or is she your sister?” He tapped the picture against his free hand.

I relented. “Okay, Bates, she's my sister. And I don't know where she is.”

“You certainly don't look alike.”

“Different fathers,” I snarled.

An officer beckoned him to the side. I watched as the officer spoke to him in a low tone. Bates's unruly bush hair contradicted the neatly trimmed full beard. His mustache curled over his top lip and showed gray speckles. He wore a crisp, long-sleeved white shirt open at the collar with a loosened black and red tie, embroidered initials on the cuffs. A shoulder holster hugged his left side and held a standard-issue 9 mm Glock. He looked ten years younger than his fifty, easy, I thought.

“Where were we?” Bates resumed his position straddling the chair. “Why the masquerade?”

“It's just remnants from an old story, nothing to do with any of this. Or at least I don't think it does. My sister was attacked twenty years ago and left for dead. Her attackers were never caught, so I moved her to Boston, gave her a new identity. Nobody knows who she is . . . was.” Suddenly I was unsure I believed what I was saying. Bates read my thoughts.

“You don't sound convinced that this has nothing to do with that old business. You're going to get someone else hurt if you're not careful.” He got up, pushing the chair sideways and gestured toward the living room, where Dulcey and Travis sat. “If that's all you have, get your son, your friend, and your nieces and go home. Back to Philly. This is way out of your jurisdiction, and if you ask me, I'd say you're too close.”

I pounced like a lioness gone wild. “You can't shut me out, Bates!”

His bloodshot eyes laid into me like fireballs, but I held his stare.

“She's my sister.” He kept his stance and did not react. I crumbled and pleaded, “I need to be in on this, please, Bates.”

He walked away for a few steps and came back. “Stay in touch.”

Another officer approached him and reported preliminary findings. No forced entry. No fingerprints in the bedroom, but maybe some on a tube of ChapStick found near the body. A lot of fingerprints throughout the house—might find one that doesn't belong. Been dead at least five days. Cause of death, most likely internal bleeding, more after autopsy. Neighbor did not see anyone enter or exit in the last week except for the victim last Saturday and the ladies who came in tonight. Neighbor said a dark-colored SUV came and left a few days ago, no plate number or vehicle type.

I whipped around to give Bates my back. The sound of my breathing filled my head like I was deep-sea diving. Jesse Boone?

Traffic was light on Route 128 as we approached the Massachusetts Turnpike to get to the Crown Plaza Hotel that hung over the highway. It was three o'clock in the afternoon when we arrived. Travis took a seat in the lobby and had fallen asleep by the time the clerk gave us the room keys. I woke him and guided him to his room, where he fell into bed fully clothed. I pulled the covers over him and went to an adjourning room.

My phone rang as I closed the connecting door. I didn't recognize the number, so I figured it was Bates calling with more information or a new development.

“Muriel Mabley.”

A long silence filled in before Nareece said, “It's me.” My heart raced.

“Reece, are you all right?” She did not answer.

Dulcey quickly moved from the table to the bed and sat close enough to share the receiver with me.

“Where are you?”

“Somewhere they can't find me, for now anyway.”

“Reece, what's going on? Who's ‘they'?”

“I went to the house and the police were there. I went home to meet John.” More silence. “John's dead, isn't he?”

“Yes.”

“M, I'm so sorry. I never thought anyone would get hurt. I never thought anyone would care after all these years. It's been so long, and I guess I thought it was over with. I wish I was never even born.”

“Reecey, is this about the letter? Did you open it? Tell me where you are so I can come get you.”

“The girls, oh Muriel, my babies.” She cried, “Oh God, if something happens to them, I'll kill myself. I won't want to live. I don't want to live without John, without my babies.”

“Reece, tell me where you are. We'll figure this out together, like we always do.”

“They killed John, and they want to kill me. They said they would if I didn't give them what they wanted. That's what the letter said. If they find out where the girls are, they'll hurt them, too.”

“Who killed John? Who was the letter from?”

“Muriel, you can't let them find the girls.”

“Nareece, calm down. I'll take care of the girls.”

Dulcey moved back to the table and scribbled something on a notepad and showed me.

“Reecey, Rose and Helen deserve better. They've already lost their father, they need you. They need you to take care of them, Reece. Now, tell me where you are so I can help you.”

“They don't need me. I'm no good for them. They would be much better off with you, M. Like Travis. Muriel, I should never have taken it.”

“Taken what, Reece?”

No response.

“Look, Reecey, whatever it is, we'll fix it.”

“I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of me. It's all so stupid. Now John's gone, and for what? It's all for nothing, M, absolutely nothing. I should've died that night. You should've let me die.”

“Well, you didn't die. You got married and you had two children, two beautiful little girls who love you. They want
you
, Reecey. Do you understand that? They want to grow up with their mother.”

“Dulcey with you?”

“Yes.”

“Can I talk to her?”

Dulcey took the phone.

“Hey, baby. You listen to Muriel and tell us where you are.”

“I just want you to know that I love you.”

“I love you, too, and I want you to be all right.”

“I gotta go. I'll call back.”

“Reecey, don't hang up.” But she did.

“You know where she is.” It was a statement, not a question from Dulcey.

“Yeah.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to go get her, but . . .” I started and Dulcey finished my sentence.

“First we're going to get the twins.”

“We'll go early and try to beat the police if they haven't already notified Ama. You take the girls and Travis back to Philly. I'll rent a car and get Nareece.”

“Sounds like a plan, though I should be with you.”

“You're the only one I can depend on, Dulcey. The only one I trust. You have to take care of the kids.”

C
HAPTER
14

T
he next morning we were on the road by seven o'clock, on the way to John's mother's house.

As I drove down Curve Street in Newton, an ambulance parked in front of Ama's house pulled away from the curb, followed by a police car.

The one-way street was lined on both sides with older colonials, capes, and ranch homes of various sizes and colors squashed together for a neighborly effect. His mother's house was a gray colonial with red shutters and shared a common need for paint with the other houses. A young woman and the twins ran from the porch to the street, as the vehicles were driven away.

The twins jumped up and down, crying, screaming, and waving. Their heads full of braids bounced in every direction, making them look spastic. As we got closer, I recognized the young woman as John's baby sister, Debbie. She struggled to catch the twins' flailing arms and avoid having her face slapped in the doing. She had barely gained control of them when they caught sight of our car and ran into the street to greet us.

One twin ran around to my window. The only way to tell the two apart was a tiny scar Rose had under her left eye, a battle scar from defending Helen against a playground bully in preschool. Helen was at the window. I told her to back away until I parked. I pulled into the driveway and could barely open the car door and get out for their crowding and jockeying for position.

Rose won forward space. “They took Ba to the hospital, but she's gonna git better,” she said.

Debbie caught my eye, making shapes with her mouth to communicate they did not know about their father. The twins bounced up and down in front of me, trying to wrap their arms around my neck. They were almost as big as me, so there was no picking them up. Instead they wrapped their arms around me, one on either side, and we two-stepped our way to the porch and up the stairs.

The wide porch, encased by windows, led into a darkened hallway. To the right was the living room. Farther down on the left, a stairway went halfway up and turned the corner to the second floor. The hallway emptied into a small kitchen with counters on three sides and a round table set in the middle, leaving little room to move between the sink and stove. The twins released me once we were in the kitchen, and I plopped down in a kitchen chair, spent and sweaty. Dulcey gained Debbie's permission through sign language of sorts, then opened and closed cabinet doors until she found glasses and brought me a glass of cold water.

“Auntie, are you sick?” they said in unison, which on a good day worked on my sanity and sometimes made me want to put the little darlings out of their misery—in unison. This was anything but a good day.

Travis gained their attention. “We finally meet. You guys are a lot smaller than I thought.”

“You're Travis?” they said in unison, scrunching up their noses while backing away to get a better stance for sizing him up. They had only met Travis through phone conversations.

“Yeah, I'm Travis. And Auntie's fine, so let's go outside.” He ushered them toward the back door off the kitchen to the backyard. I got up and followed them.

“We're going to be detectives,” Rose squealed, commandeering Travis's arm and taking the lead to the outdoors.

“Yeah, we're going to be detectives, like Auntie,” Helen echoed.

“So you wanna catch bad guys?” Travis said, letting Rose lead him to a swing set in the far corner of the yard.

Rose said, “Yep. We're gonna be the baddest detectives in Philly.”

“In Philly? You're going to move to Philly?”

I closed the door and watched from the window. Each twin got on a swing, and Travis pushed them. Their giggles filled my ears. They fit with Travis as though they had always been together.

“Ma said you, you, you were co . . . coming,” Debbie said, gasping for air and snorting through tears. I went back to the table and sat down. Debbie was a tiny young woman—five feet, ninety-five pounds on a heavy day. At eight, the twins matched her stature. I met her once ten years ago at John and Reece's wedding. Now she was twenty-one, and studied economics at Suffolk University in Boston.

Dulcey gave her a tissue and she honked like a 1920s car horn.

“Ma collapsed when the police called and told her about John. I think she had a heart attack. If Jerry hadn't been here . . .” She whimpered and blew snot again, mostly missing the tissue. Dulcey passed her more. “He'll call from the hospital.” She hung her head and twisted her fingers. “I couldn't bring myself to tell them about John. They're already upset because they haven't seen their parents in weeks.” She looked up at me and reached across the table. “You will tell them?”

“Yes. Not now, though. They won't be doing anything with John's body until after an autopsy.”

Debbie's face puckered.

I reached across the table and covered her hands with mine. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . .” I squeezed her hands and let silence finish my sentence.

After a short pause, I said, “Debbie, your mother called me a few days ago really upset. She said she was concerned because of the twins' behavior, but I think other matters were pressing. I didn't understand most of what she said because she spoke in Vietnamese. Do you have any idea what was going on?”

“Mom said she got a phone call from somebody who threatened to hurt the girls if she did not tell them where John and Nareece were. I told her to call the police. She wouldn't. That's the only other thing I can think of that made her upset.” She hesitated, then continued, “Sometimes Rose and Helen are hard to handle.”

“Did she know where John and Nareece were?”

“No, I don't think so. She hadn't heard a word from them since they dropped off the girls, except when you and John called that day.”

“Do you know if she has received any more threatening calls?”

“I don't think so. She didn't say anything about any others.” She reached in the pocket of her sweater and pulled out a letter-sized manila envelope. “I almost forgot. I found this stuck under the door this morning.” She handed me the envelope.

The envelope contained photos of John and Nareece holding hands and walking along the Charles River in Cambridge near Harvard Square. Other photos included the twins playing in their backyard in Milton, and John and Nareece getting out of their Lexus here, with the twins. The last picture showed John, sprawled out on the bedroom floor. I put the pictures back in the envelope and handed them to Dulcey, who had been quiet. Unusual for her.

“I didn't show them to Ma, only Jerry,” Debbie said. “Then the police called and she collapsed. Jerry said not to show them to anyone, especially not the police.” She gave me a wide-eyed look, like she'd just realized I was the police. As quick as the look came, it disappeared and Debbie's tears flowed again. “Who . . . who . . . who would want to hurt John anyway? And what about Nareece? What if . . .” Her chest heaved as she wound up for another round of sputtering. “Wha . . . wha . . . what if they find her and then come . . . come after the twins?”

“I'm going to find Nareece.” I got up and headed toward the door to call the twins in. “Right now we're going to get the girls ready to go.”

The twins took turns sitting in the clutches of Dulcey's thighs getting their hair rebraided. While Dulcey worked on Helen's hair, I went upstairs and helped Rose pack their belongings, including a laptop and briefcase filled with papers. Rose said the briefcase was the Twofer Detective Agency's portable office.

I put the last pair of blue jeans in one suitcase and snapped the top closed, then focused on the second.

“Auntie, bad men want to hurt Mom and Dad,” Rose said as though she'd misbehaved. I sat on the bed and gathered her in my arms. She continued, “We heard them talking the day before they brought us here. Daddy said they had to go away for a little while.”

“Did he say why?”

“No, but Mommy was crying. She said she made them get in trouble. A time before two scary men came to the house, and Mommy made us go to our room and close the door.”

“Did you recognize the men?”

“No.” She moved away and put more clothes in her bag. “Ba's worried, that's why she got sick.”

“I think you're right. But I'm going to be with your mom soon, and we'll straighten everything out. You'll be home again in no time. And so will your grandmother.” I got up and helped her snap the second suitcase closed. We rolled both to the stairwell. Rose went in front and backed down the stairs holding the ends of each while I steadied the tops. Halfway down Travis hoisted both bags in one swoop and brought them downstairs.

An hour later, we began our good-byes. Debbie gathered Rose and Helen in her arms and spoke to them in Vietnamese. They responded in kind. I was surprised at their ease in speaking and understanding Vietnamese. They gave her a picture of a flower they had drawn and asked Debbie to give it to Ba. Debbie and the twins bawled. Dulcey stepped in and maneuvered the twins to the car.

Ten minutes into the drive, the twins settled. Travis sat up front with Dulcey. I sat in the back between the twins. “Listen, girls. Auntie's going to get your mother, and you're going to Philly with Travis and Auntie Dulcey.”

“But, Auntie, what if something happens to you? What if the bad guys hurt you?”

Travis turned around, the twins' words echoing the ones he used to say to me all the time: “What if the bad guys hurt you and then you don't come home again?” little boy face full of worry. Now he smiled and nodded.

“Nothing is going to happen to me. I'm going to get your mom and bring her home, and I want you two to be good and pay attention to Travis and Auntie Dulcey.”

Dulcey dropped me at an Enterprise Car Rental about a mile from the hotel where we stayed, on Washington Street in the center of Allston, an abutting town to Newton. Travis got out of the car and hugged me hard. “Bad guys better chill.” He chuckled, then got serious. “Be careful, find Auntie, catch whoever killed Uncle, and come home,” he said. “I should be going with you.” I ran my hand through his hair.
Boy always needs a haircut
, I thought. But I kept my mouth shut about it.

“Done, done, and done,” I said, kissing his cheek and opening the car door for him. It was two o'clock, so I figured they would make Philly shortly after dark. My heart ached watching the twins, teary-eyed and looking worn, peer out the back window. I waved to them until the car turned the corner to the entrance of the Massachusetts Turnpike heading west.

I secured the only available car at the Enterprise Car Rental, a flaming red Kia Soul. The only saving grace, it had Sirius Radio. On second thought, there was no saving grace.

When I got back to the hotel room, I called Calvin. He had left a message on the hotel room phone and on my cell.

“Lady, you need to be checking in.”

I think it was the way he posed it. Calvin's words sliced through a thin layer of tolerance I had for people who imposed their will on me. You might say I had been single too long. I should say Calvin and I had not been together long enough.

“Thanks for your concern.”

“Oh, that's how it is, huh? You sounding all formal like, ‘Hey, brother, don't put yo'self out for me.'” He fell silent, an uncomfortable silence, which usually signaled to me I'd made a mistake and it was time to cut this man loose. But somewhere in the back of my mind, a little voice said,
This one's worth it
. Or maybe it was the sexual fantasies that Calvin had reignited. A tingle surged through my body.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, Calvin. There's just a lot going on.”

“I'm always here if you want to talk, or if you need to talk.” His voice washed over me like silk.

“We got here last night and found my brother-in-law, John, dead. Murdered, in their house. My sister is still missing, and her mother-in-law had a heart attack after hearing about John's death. My nieces don't know their father is dead yet, and I don't have a clue what the hell is going on.”

“You ain't told me nothin' yet. What else you got?”

His play at a country-gangsta accent caused a laugh to escape my lips. It allowed me the second I needed to reel in my emotions.

“You know I can be there in a minute,” he said.

His tone indicated he was talking serious support and not throwing out some flirtatious suggestion for a sexual encounter.

“You need to finish healing.”

“I'm well enough. Protecting your back will do wonders for my health.”

“Tomorrow I'm going to find Nareece and bring her home to Philly. I'll call you after that if things get difficult. A friend in the Boston PD is keeping me posted about John's death. I'm on my way to his station now.”