Murder with Macaroni and Cheese (12 page)

“If the cops are gone I might be able to help with the house being locked thing.”

“How so?”

“You won't get mad?”

I take a deep breath. “No, Wavonne, I won't get mad.”

“Well . . . I kinda helped myself to this on the way out.” She reaches into the side pocket of her purse.

“Wavonne!” I say as she pulls out a gaudy Michael Kors keychain.

CHAPTER 23

“Y
ou took her keys?!”

“You said you wouldn't get mad.”

I close my eyes for a second and take a deep breath. “Why . . .
why
did you take her keys, Wavonne?”

“I thought . . . I thought maybe I could go back at some point . . . I mean, she's got no use for all those fancy shoes and handbags.”

“You were going to break into her house and steal her shoes and purses?!”

“I don't know if I would have actually done it, Halia. I guess I just wanted the option. And, we've had this discussion before. She's
dead
. It ain't stealin' if she's dead. She's got no use for any of that stuff.”

“Unbelievable!”

“She just had such nice things, Halia. I'm so
over
cheap stuff—dresses that rip when I bend over. I'm tired of Gussini and Plato's Closet and Ross Dress for Freakin' Less . . . and being the only black girl shoppin' at Latina Fashion.”

“Then I suggest you save up some money so you can
buy,
rather than
steal,
some nice clothes.”

“I wasn't goin to take any
clothes
. . . I couldn't fit all
this
into those outfits made for her short weeble-wobble body. But what's the harm in helping myself to a pair of Ferragamo shoes . . . or maybe a Michael Kors bag?”

“I
know
. . . let's just show up with a moving van and help ourselves to the whole lot . . . the shoes, the purses, the belts, her jewelry . . . hell, let's take the furniture . . . maybe the food from the kitchen, too. She's dead. What does she need with any of it?”

“All right, all right . . . pump your brakes, Halia. I was just talkin' about an item or two, and I probably wasn't goin' to do it anyway.”

“Just give me those.” I grab the keys from Wavonne.

“What are you goin' to do with them?”

“I don't know.” I hesitate for a moment. “I guess we should take them back . . . put them back where you found them. And if we take a moment to look around while we're there, then so be it. Michael said Terrence wouldn't be back anytime soon, so if we're going to do it, we better do it now.”

We step out of the elevator, and I call Laura at Sweet Tea to see how things are going and let her know that Wavonne and I will be further delayed. Laura assures me that she has things under control, so Wavonne and I return to my van and head back over to Raynell's.

“Here.” I hand Wavonne the keychain and continue to drive while digging through my purse with one hand for a Wet-Nap and a tissue. I eventually find both and hand them to Wavonne. “Hold them with the tissue and wipe them down to get any fingerprints off of them.”

I'm hoping that, just maybe, the police are still there when we reach the house, so we can walk in without having to use the key, make up some excuse as to why we came back, and discreetly place the keys back on the console. Maybe we can just say we came back to tell them that we have seen Alvetta and Michael and wanted to let them know that Terrence was en route to inform Raynell's parents of her death.

Regrettably, we see no sign of the police when we arrive.

“What are you goin' to do?” Wavonne asks as we sit in the van in front of Raynell's house.

“I don't know. I thought the cops might still be here. I can't believe the place isn't even sealed off with police tape or something. Looking at the house, you wouldn't know anything out of the ordinary had just happened there.”

“So we go home? Back to the restaurant?”

I grasp the steering wheel tightly while I think for a moment. “I'd really like to get in there for just a few minutes to look around. Detective Hutchins seemed to have all but determined that Raynell's death was an accident. If the police were convinced that there was nothing dubious about her death, they may not have conducted a thorough search.”

“So we're goin' in?”

I take my hands off the wheel and clasp them together tightly while I consider our options. Then I look around through the van windows and see if anyone is watching us. There is no one in sight. “Yes. I suppose we are.”

“Fun!” Wavonne says.

I step on the gas pedal. “Let's park away from the house, so no one will see the van in case someone comes while we're still in there.”

We drive a few blocks down from Raynell's house and park the van.

I've got a few boxes of latex gloves leftover from the catering job last night, so I grab one and pull out two pairs. “Put these on. We don't need to be leaving fingerprints.”

We slip on the gloves, exit the van, and scurry up the sidewalk back to the Rollinses' home.

I take a last look around to make sure no one is watching. “Go ahead,” I say to Wavonne. She slips a key into the dead bolt, and we hurriedly let ourselves in.

“Let's check upstairs first.”

Wavonne shoves Raynell's keys in her pocket, and we climb the curved staircase to the second floor and walk down the hall to the master bedroom.

“You need to return those keys when we come back downstairs,” I say as we reach the top of the steps. “Now, you stay out of that closet!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“It's all cleaned up,” I say when we reach the doorway to the bathroom. “As if nothing ever happened.”

“Sista-girl had no shortage of beauty supplies.” Wavonne steps ahead of me into the bathroom and begins thumbing though Raynell's collection of creams and balms. “You'd think girlfriend would've looked a little less like a hedgehog with all these potions.”

“Don't you stuff any of those cosmetics in your pocket!”

We continue to poke around the bathroom for a few minutes. Then we comb through the bedroom, looking through the dresser drawers and under the bed. We don't come across anything particularly suspicious, so we take a quick look in the guest bedrooms and bathrooms. I'm not sure what we are looking for, but whatever it is, we don't seem to be finding it upstairs.

“Let's check downstairs.”

We descend the stairs and start our search of the lower level in a messy office off the foyer. The wraparound desk is piled high with mail and papers and various promotional materials for Raynell's real estate business. I'm about to start rifling through all the papers when we hear a knock at the front door.

“Shhh,” I say to Wavonne. “Just stay here.”

There's another knock and, when we still don't respond, whoever is at the door decides to let him- or herself in. We hear the doorknob turn, and then the sound of feet walking across the foyer and up the stairs.

“Let's get out of here while whoever just barged in is upstairs,” I whisper to Wavonne.

I put a finger to my lips and tiptoe out of the office. Wavonne follows, and we both step lightly toward the front door. We're about halfway across the foyer when Wavonne stubs her toe on a chair along the wall. It makes a screeching sound as it scoots an inch or so across the floor. We immediately hear footsteps scurrying in the hall upstairs. Instinctively, I grab Wavonne's hand and lead her toward a side door. I quickly open it, and we dash into the garage.

“In here.” I open the door of Raynell's SUV.

Wavonne follows my lead, and we climb into the Escalade and squat down out of sight.

“Who you think it is?”

“I don't know.” I lift my head just enough to peer out through the side window. “But they're coming in here, whoever they are,” I say as I see the knob on the door into the garage turn.

“What!?!” Wavonne says. “Suppose whoever it is killed Raynell?” She reaches up and pushes the garage opener, and then presses the ignition button.

Thanks to Raynell's key fob still being in Wavonne's pocket, the Escalade comes to life, and I watch as Wavonne uses the rear view cam to back the vehicle out of the driveway.

“What are you doing!?”

“Whoever it is pokin' around this house may have offed Raynell. They ain't killing us, too.”

When we reach the end of the driveway and pull out onto the street, Wavonne sits upright in the seat and puts the car in drive. Just before she steps on the gas, I peek out through the window and see a woman hastily stick her head through the side door leading into the garage. It was very quick, but from the end of the driveway there's no mistaking who it is.

What is Kimberly Butler doing nosing around Raynell's house the very day Raynell was found dead?
I think to myself as Wavonne stomps on the accelerator, and we hightail it out of Raynell's neighborhood toward the main road.

CHAPTER 24

“H
ave you lost your mind?!” I yell at Wavonne as she turns Raynell's Escalade onto the main road.

“Were we supposed to stay there and end up worm food like Raynell?”

I inhale deeply and try to collect myself. “I don't know” is the best response I can come up with.

I turn and look out the back window to make sure no one is following us. “It's bad enough we let ourselves into Raynell's house, but now we've taken her car. A judge may label such things ‘breaking and entering' and ‘grand theft auto.' ”

“We had a key to the house, and we're only
borrowin'
the car. What choice did we have, Halia? God knows who was in the house and what weapon they had on them,” Wavonne shoots back. “Who do you think it was?”

“I
know
who it was. I saw her stick her head out the door to get a peek at us.”

“Who?”

“Kimberly Butler.”

“Really? What do you think she was up to?”

“I don't know, but it's very suspicious.”

“Sure is. Ain't no reason she should be snoopin' around a dead woman's house.” Wavonne adjusts herself into a more comfortable position in the driver's seat. “Damn, this thing handles like a dream . . . rides so smooth. We need to ditch that raggedy-ass van of yours and get one of these babies, Halia.”

“The car we need to ditch, Wavonne, is this one.”

“Aw, let me drive it a bit longer. I ain't never driven a Cadde-lac before. I feel like one of those hookers on the
Real Housewives of Atlanta
. I wish it was winter so I could try out these heated seats.” Wavonne looks at all the buttons on the control panel. “Oh hell, let's turn them on anyway . . . heat up my bootie.”

As soon as Wavonne flicks the seat warmer switch the Escalade starts to sputter.

“What did you do?!”

“Nothin'. I just turned the tushie warmer on. What's all that noise?”

The sputter turns into more of a clanking sound. Then there's a loud bang before the SUV loses power and abruptly cuts off.

Wavonne looks at the dashboard. “You got to be freakin kiddin' me! It's outta gas!”

Wavonne pulls the coasting vehicle over to the shoulder.

I lean over and see that the gas gauge is, in fact, on empty.

“Get out!” I holler. “Let's get out now before someone offers to help us.”

“Where do you think we are?” Wavonne asks. “Freakin' Disneyland or somethin'? What's makes you think any one of these fools whizzin' by is gonna stop and help us . . . unless I get out and show some cleavage.”

“Just get out before someone sees us, and we're charged with stealing Raynell's car.”

Wavonne and I hurriedly exit the Escalade and begin walking along the side of the road. I take a quick look back, and I'm glad to be reminded that the windows are heavily tinted, so while we saw Kimberly, she didn't see us.

“Hurry up,” I say to Wavonne. “Let's go to that shopping center up ahead. We'll blend in with the customers there and call Momma to come get us.”

* * *

“What are the two of you up to?” Momma asks as we get in her car.

“Nothing, Momma. We met up with Nicole to go shopping, and she had an emergency and had to leave. She didn't have time to take us back to the van.”

“You, who hates to shop and has barely ever left the restaurant during the brunch rush, randomly decided to go shopping on a Sunday afternoon?” Momma looks up through the windshield at the signs on the façade of the “well past its prime” shopping center. “And at which one of these
destination
stores did you and Nicole specifically get together to go shopping? The Walgreens? The YMCA? The Afghan kebab place?”

“We were just makin' a pit stop, Aunt Celia,” Wavonne calls from the backseat. “We were on our way to Pentagon City.”

Momma turns and looks at Wavonne and then at me. She holds her gaze on me just long enough to let me know she doesn't believe that story, either. “I'll ask again. What are you girls up to?”

“Honestly, Momma, it's just better if you don't know,” I say, hoping she will let it go.

“Make a left.” I direct Momma out of the parking lot. “The van's in Raynell's . . . I mean Nicole's neighborhood. It's about a mile up the road.”

“You girls have me worried. Now, tell me what's going on.”

I really don't want to get into Raynell's death with Momma, and I certainly don't want to tell her that Wavonne and I had to abandon an Escalade we just stole out of her garage, so I do the one thing that I know will refocus her attention and distract her from wanting to know why Wavonne and I need a ride back to my van.

“Was that my phone?” I ask and pull it from my purse. “Another text from Gregory,” I lie.

“Gregory?!” Momma turns toward me with excited eyes. “What did he say?”

“He's just wondering when's a good time for us to get together.”

“Did you say ‘about twenty years ago?' ” Wavonne calls from the backseat.

Momma laughs.

“No. I need to look at the schedule at Sweet Tea and confirm I can sneak away tomorrow night.”

“Well, for Christ's sake, get back to him soon. You said he's only in town for a little while.”

“Yes, Momma,” I say. “Make a left up there.”

Mom turns into Raynell's neighborhood, and I direct her to the van.

“Thanks, Momma.”

Wavonne and I quickly step out of the car before she has a chance to ask anymore questions about our misadventures.

“Why don't you drive?” I say to Wavonne. “I want to look through the mail I grabbed from Raynell's office.”

We hop in the van, and on the way to Sweet Tea I start sorting through the stack of envelopes.

“What do you think you're gonna find in there?” Wavonne asks.

“Who knows? Maybe a phone bill that notes some incriminating conversations or something like that.”

“Like late-night phone calls between Raynell and Gregory?” Wavonne takes her eyes off the road for a moment and looks at me. “Are you tryin' to find a motive for Raynell's murder or just tryin' to figure out if Raynell had a thing goin' with your new man?”

“Gregory is hardly my new man.”

I continue to riffle through Raynell's papers—there's an electric bill, a Bed Bath & Beyond coupon, some credit card promotions, another Bed Bath & Beyond coupon, some political advertisement, another Bed Bath & Beyond coupon, some grocery store circulars . . . junk mail, junk mail, junk mail. There doesn't appear to be anything in the pile that's going to yield any clues until I come across a plain white envelope. It's not sealed, so I open it easily and pull out a handwritten note.

“Get this.” I start reading aloud. “ ‘Hey, good-lookin'. Anxiously awaiting our next encounter when I get to wrap my arms around you and kiss your sweet lips.' It's signed
M
.”

“Ooh . . . Raynell's husband's name don't begin with no
M,
” Wavonne says. “That bougie ho was gettin' some bump and grind on the side.”

“Sure seems like it.”

“It's not signed
G
. So at least you know it ain't Gregory.”

“I guess.”

As we pull into the parking lot in front of Sweet Tea, I take a closer look at the note and read it again. “Something about it is familiar to me,” I say to Wavonne as I continue to study it.

“The note? What?”

“I'm not sure . . . it's like I've seen it before.”

“Where?”

I look at the ceiling and think for a moment. “You know, I'm not sure.” I fold up the paper and put it back in the envelope. “But I intend to find out.”

 

1½ sticks salted butter (¾ cup)
⅓ stick butter flavored vegetable shortening (⅓ cup)
½ cup water
3 cups all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons sugar
Pinch of baking powder

 

¾ cup sliced carrots
1 cup diced red potatoes (skin on)
⅓ cup butter
1 garlic clove, minced
⅓ cup finely chopped scallions
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoons pepper
teaspoon ground Cayenne/red pepper
⅓ cup flour
1¾ cups chicken stock
⅔ cup whole milk
3 cups torn, cooked chicken
¾ cup frozen peas

 

Eight Servings