Murder with Macaroni and Cheese (16 page)

CHAPTER 31

“W
hy don't you run home and change clothes before you meet him?” Wavonne asks. It's three o'clock. The last lunch customers have just left, and we're starting our midday closure. Gregory called this morning and asked if I'd give him my opinion on a property he's looking at, and I'm about to leave to meet him. “Khakis and a knit shirt ain't exactly date clothes.”

“Forgive me, Wavonne, but I can't very well run a restaurant in stilettos and a miniskirt. Besides, there's no point. I told you. I'm not sure what Gregory is up to—why he was flirting with me at the reunion and kissed me the other night when he'd been having an affair with Raynell up until the night she died. Maybe he's just playing me for some free advice about the local restaurant scene. I don't think he's really interested in me.”

“Halia, you say that like a brotha can't be interested in two women at the same time. That ain't true. If Raynell was doin' the freaky deeky with him and Michael . . . and, God forbid, maybe her actual
husband,
too, then surely Gregory could be interested in you even if he had somethin' brewin' with Raynell. And let me assure you, you got the leg up over Raynell in this situation—considerin' you still have a pulse.”

“Whatever. I'm not really interested in getting involved with someone who was fooling around with a married woman anyway.”

“Oh blah blah whatevah. Who says you have to get
involved
with him anyway. For once in your life just have some fun, Halia. Ride the wave.”

“Did you
just
meet me? I'm not exactly a ‘ride the wave' type of person. The only reason I'm meeting him at all is to ask him some questions and nose around a bit . . . see if he might have had a hand in Raynell ending up in a pool of blood on her bathroom floor.” I pull my keys from my purse and sling it over my shoulder. “I've got to get going. I should be back before we reopen at five.”

“Fine. Go lookin' like that. Oh well . . . who knows . . . maybe Gregory's into the ‘high school gym teacher' look. Stranger stuff has happened.”

I ignore Wavonne's final comments before heading for the door. Evening rush hour is already starting, so traffic is heavy as I drive over to the Boulevard at the Capital Centre, an expansive shopping complex in Largo. It was built on the site that once housed the Capital Centre, an arena that, before it was torn down about fifteen years ago, was home to the Washington Bullets (now the Wizards), the Washington Capitols, and hosted all the big name concerts that came to the D.C. metro area back in the day. I think half of my high school went to see Lionel Richie there back in the eighties.

The Boulevard started off with a bang when it opened in 2003 and brought some much needed retail outlets and restaurants to the area. Unfortunately, it all quickly went downhill thanks to several of its major tenants going out of business (anyone remember Circuit City, Linens 'n Things, Borders?), rowdy teens causing mayhem . . . and . . . well . . . three men being gunned down at the Uno Chicago Grill back in 2008 didn't exactly help an already damaged image.

Gregory mentioned via text that he wanted my opinion on a location he was scouting by the Magic Johnson theater, so I find a space on the east end of the parking lot and head toward a vacant storefront a few doors down from the theater.

“Hey there,” Gregory says when I find him standing outside the property. When he leans in and gives me a hug I feel the firm contours of his chest. Suddenly, I wish I had taken Wavonne's advice and spruced myself up a bit before meeting him.

“Hi.”
Do I really look like a high school gym teacher?
“Sorry, I'm a mess. It was a busy day. But I guess I don't need to tell you about life running a restaurant. How many do you run now? Seven?”

“Twelve. Six in Florida, three in Georgia, one in South Carolina, and two in North Carolina. And hopefully my first location in Maryland very soon.” The proud smile on his face and jovial demeanor seem out of place for a man who just lost his mistress. Come to think of it, he didn't seem terribly bothered or distracted by Raynell's death when we had our date earlier in the week, either.

“Impressive. I can barely keep up with one restaurant.”

“From what I hear, you are keeping up just fine.” Gregory opens the door to the vacant space and gestures for me to follow him.

I look around me at the concrete floors and unpainted drywall. “It's a good-sized space.”

“Yes. I've already got the floor plan mapped out, found a local contractor, and I've been doing some research on the shopping center.”

“Research on the shopping center? So you're aware it has a precarious history?”

Gregory smiles. “Yes, but the landlord has really started to turn things around and is eager to attract new tenants.”

“That's nice to hear. I noticed when I drove in that a lot of the empty retail spaces have been filled.”

“They've lured several new shops and restaurants and really improved security. I think now is a good time to get in. The owners are offering a rent abatement while I do the build out and will even chip in on some of the construction costs.”

“That's great. I didn't get any such concessions when I opened Sweet Tea so many years ago. But, at the time, I didn't really know to ask for them. Live and learn.”

“That's for sure. I learn so many new things with every restaurant I open. For instance, I really appreciate the big lots here. I made the mistake of opening a location just outside Atlanta with only street parking. I think the lack of convenient parking is the reason sales at that location have been soft.”

“Yes. Easily accessible parking was a must when I opened Sweet Tea . . . and lots of street lights for safety . . . that was important, too. There's good lighting in the lot here—that's definitely a plus.”

“I also love that this space is right next to the movie theater. I can really take advantage of people going to and from the movies with an appetite.”

I turn around and give the space another look. “If the price is right, and the square footage meets your needs, maybe you really did find a great site for the next South Beach Burgers. Shall I plan to be the first in line for a Miami Deluxe in a few months?”

“How do you know about the Miami Deluxe?”

“A third pound of Certified Angus Beef on a brioche bun with Muenster cheese, avocado, crispy onion rings, and Russian dressing,” I say. “I gave your Web site a quick look before I came. It's very nicely done.”

“Thanks. I have a great designer. If you have any advice about the Web site . . . or about anything really, I'd love to hear it.”

“I'm sure you've got general restaurant management down to a science at this point, but I bet I can give you pointers on all the local regs you'll need to deal with—the permits and licenses, the signage restrictions, the building codes . . . all that jazz. I would have loved for someone with my current experience to walk me through all those hoops when I got Sweet Tea up and running. So many ridiculous rules and fees—it almost made me wonder if the county wanted any new businesses to open at all.”

“I hear you. I think it's all designed to make lawyers money. I have to hire a local attorney for each area that I expand into.”

“And their services are expensive. At least it sounds like you're getting a good deal on this place.”

“I think I am. Raynell . . . well, Christy mostly, showed me several properties and this one really seemed to be the best of the bunch.”

“Speaking of Raynell . . .” I'm assuming this is the best opportunity I'll have to move the conversation toward the topic of her demise. “Are you holding up okay following her passing?”

Gregory looks at me as if I've just asked him an odd question. “Sure. I'm fine. It's very sad for her family and friends, though.”

“Sad for her family and friends? No one else?”

“What do you mean?”

“It's not sad for you?”

“Of course it's sad for me, but we were not exactly close. I guess we had been working together for several weeks scouting restaurant locations, but it was really just a business arrangement.”

I narrow my eyebrows at Gregory. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days? A
business arrangement?
”

“What are you getting at, Halia?” He's trying not to show it, but I can sense that my questions have unearthed some anxiety.

I don't say anything for a moment or two, but when it's clear that he is not going to come clean I speak. “Alvetta told me about your affair with Raynell.”

Gregory's jaw drops. “How did Alvetta know?”

“Those two told each other everything. They've been a pair of cackling hens for almost thirty years.”

Gregory stares at me, clearly embarrassed that I know about his indiscretion. Then he looks down at the ground and then back at me again. “There wasn't anything between us.”

“Oh?”

“Really. I didn't feel anything for Raynell . . .” He seems to stumble for words. “The whole thing with her was just . . . just complicated. I didn't even like her. You, Halia . . .
you,
I like.”

“Apparently, you liked her enough to show up on her doorstep after the reunion Saturday night.”

I see that familiar jaw drop again, and with it, Gregory knows he's already shown his guilt. There is no point in denying that he was there.

“Yes. I know you were at her house the night she died.”

“Okay . . . you've got me . . . I was there, but I didn't even see her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Terrence was out of town, so we made plans to get together after the party, but by the time I got there, she must have been out cold. She didn't answer the door. And, honestly, I was relieved.” Gregory steps closer to me. “We . . . you and me had spent such a nice evening together. You were on my mind. Not Raynell.”

“Then why the late-night rendezvous with her?”

“Like I said, it was complicated. I had my reasons, but none of them involved any affection for Raynell Rollins.”

“I think you'd better share those reasons with me, Gregory. Not everyone is convinced that Raynell's death was an accident. And, honestly, you being seen late at night at her house hours before she's found dead might sound very suspicious to some people.”

Gregory cocks his head at me and laughs nervously. “You don't seriously think I had something to do with Raynell's death?”

I actually take a moment to really ponder the thought before responding. “You know, I guess I don't. At least I don't think the Gregory I knew in high school was a killer. But unless you can shed some light on what was going on with you and Raynell, I'm going to have to tell the police about your whereabouts the night she died.”

Gregory takes a long slow breath and lets it out. “I'm not sure where to begin.”

“I suspect it all started sometime in the eighties.”

Gregory laughs nervously again. “You would suspect right.” He pauses and then looks me in the eye. “That woman . . . Raynell . . . she really hurt me. Yeah, it was more than twenty years ago, but some scars never heal.”

“That woman . . . Raynell . . . hurt a lot of people.”

“Maybe so, but she led me to believe she cared about me. You remember me in high school—I was skinny and gawky . . . and shy. When Raynell took an interest in me I started to feel like I was
somebody
. I trusted her and even agreed to keep our relationship quiet. From the outside I'm sure it seems like I should have known she was only using me for help with her studies, but . . . I don't know . . . sometimes we believe what we want to believe. It nearly killed me when she dumped me after I took the freaking SATs for her. She had been so nice to me, and I thought we really had a good time together. But when she turned on me, boy did she
turn
on me. The last words I remember her saying to me before we reconnected this year . . . the last words I remember the girl I was in love with saying to me were: ‘If you tell anyone about us, I'll make your life a living hell.' ”

“And anyone who knew Raynell was well aware that she could and would make that happen.”

“I was dumbstruck by her behavior . . . and man, was I hurt, but I was smart enough not to cross her. She could be as mean as a rattlesnake, and I knew better than to end up on the other end of a strike attack.”

It's been decades, but as Gregory talks about her, I can see the pain in his eyes that Raynell inflicted on him. It makes me sad for him.

“So life went on. I slowly got over it I guess . . . and let it go. At least, I thought I had, but then . . .”

“Then what?”

“Facebook. That's what.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was late to the Facebook party, but when my team started putting together a Facebook page for South Beach Burgers I decided to go ahead and put up a personal page as well. I had barely had a profile up there for a day when friend requests from old classmates started coming in like crazy. I just accepted them without much thought. Then one day, I clicked on that little “you have a friend request” icon, and a photo of Raynell popped up. I tell you, my heart sank to the floor all over again just from seeing her face. I accepted her request and, stupid me, thought she might actually send me an apology for how she behaved in high school.”

“I take it she didn't do that?”

“Of course not, but she did e-mail me . . . multiple times. She told me how ‘fine' I looked now, and how she wished she wasn't married so she could get ‘all up in that.' From there her e-mails got even more suggestive. I'll admit I enjoyed the attention I was receiving from her, but getting back in touch with her also showed me that she hadn't changed. She would e-mail with hateful gossip about classmates, and I'd see condescending comments she'd write on other people's posts. Chatting with her via Facebook and seeing how she was still the same old Raynell stirred something in me. That feeling of inadequacy began to rear its head all over again. I'd dealt with her using me and then dumping me once I'd served my purpose so many years ago. I think I let
that
go. But the fact that she threatened to ruin me if I told anyone about our relationship was too much to ever let go. It made me feel like I was such a nothing—less than a nothing—that I was so awful Raynell didn't want anyone to know we'd had a relationship.”