Someone Bad and Something Blue (12 page)

 

“H
ello,” Maxim said with a smile. “May I speak with your mom?”

Bella peeked around the porch pillar. “Mommy, you told me not to talk to strangers!”

“Good girl.” I chuckled. I turned to Justus. “She must have awakened and heard us out here. Where is Whitney?”

“Probably asleep.” Justus laughed, too.

He hopped off the swing and then held his hand out to help me up. We walked toward both Bella and Maxim together.

“I'll take her inside if you want,” he whispered.

I couldn't respond for watching Maxim. He looked at Bella with so much intent it bothered me.

“Morning, baby.” I leaned down and kissed Bella's cheek.

She squeezed my neck and hugged me tight.

“Good morning, Isabella.” Justus hugged her and whispered something that made her smile wider. “Are you still in your PJs?”

“Yes, it's Pajama Day at school,” she said.

“I wish I could wear PJs to work.” Justus extended his hand to Maxim. “I'm Justus, the pastor at Sugar Hill and a friend of the family.”

“Nice to meet you,” West said. “Sorry about breaking your date last night.”

My mouth dropped
. No he didn't.

Bella tugged my jeans and gestured with her hands for me to lean down to listen to her. “Is this Aunt Whitney's new boyfriend? She said he was tall.”

Whitney has a boyfriend?
That would explain the late nights out.

“No, honey. This is Marshal West. He's my teacher and very, very important. He wouldn't be at our home this early unless it was absolutely necessary.”

I looked up at Maxim.

His eyes were on Bella. “Your mom is exactly right, Miss Ma'am. Oh, do you mind if I call you that, because you definitely look like a Miss Ma'am?”

She giggled and nodded. “I like that.”

“Good, Miss Ma'am. I just need your mom for a tiny minute.”

“That's okay. I have to get ready for school.” Bella smiled. “Why don't you join us for breakfast? Brother Morgan just told me that he's cooking his famous pancakes. You will like them so much. They have ears.”

“Thank you kindly for the offer, Miss Ma'am, but I can't stay long. Unlike you I didn't listen to my mom last night, and I stayed up way past my bedtime, playing hide-and-seek with friends. You know how that goes.”

Maxim looked at me in a way that worried me. It made me shudder.

I stood behind Bella with my hands on her shoulders. Justus stood behind me with his hands on my shoulders. We looked like the portrait of an American family except to the neighbors. They knew the truth. My eyes scanned the streets for any dropped jaws.

“Justus . . .” I nudged him. “Can you take Bella now?”

“I got you,” he said.

Bella waved good-bye to us; Maxim waved back. He still had that fuzzy look in his eye.

The screen door shut behind them and I had Maxim follow me back toward the swing. I didn't sit down on it, since my gut told me that what he had to say wouldn't be comfortable.

“Did I leave something in your truck?” I asked.

“No.” He took off his hat and looked at me. The sun rose behind his head. “Remember when I gave you a free pass for today?”

I nodded, then sighed. He was here to take back the day pass. “Oh, it's fine. I shouldn't get any special treatment for hanging out with you last night. Matter of fact, I need to be there at all times. I think I'm the worst in the class. After I drop Bella off at school I'll be there.”

“Wow. Unc said you were long winded, but wow . . .” He scratched his head. “Angel, you're not going to class. You're coming with me.”

I frowned. “Coming with you? What?”

“Your boy Sean wants to talk, and he wants you there when he does it. But he doesn't want to do it at his typical spots.”

“Okay. Where does he want to meet then?”

“Your stomping ground, BT Trusted Bail Bonds.”

I plopped onto the swing. “You can have your extra credit back. I don't want it.”

 

 

 

When we entered Tiger's office I remembered that his weekly Safety & FTA Pickup meeting began thirty minutes ago. Tiger stood at the whiteboard charting a hunt that he and the Big Bad Boys were working on without me. I wanted to slide into a chair, pull out my notepad, and take notes, but I couldn't. Maybe Tiger would change his mind about my suspension when he heard what I'd done for the U.S. Department of Justice.

Maxim stepped in front of me. “For the record you could do better than this,” he whispered to me.

Tiger stopped talking. I peeked over Maxim's shoulder, to see him staring at us.

My neck felt hot. I touched it lightly. “Who says I want to do better?”

“Angel Soft, is that you?” Tiger asked.

“Your high score in my uncle's class tells me so,” Maxim whispered, then spun around on his cowboy heel.

Tiger walked toward us. The Big Bad Boys peeked at us from the War Room.

I whispered, “Does Tiger know I'm coming along?”

Maxim shook his head and smiled. “Of course not.”

Oh, boy
. My heart raced.
I'm in trouble now
.

When Tiger reached us Maxim stuck out his hand. “Mr. Jones, I believe a friend of yours is waiting for us here.”

Tiger looked at Maxim's extended hand, then at me. He frowned. “Us?”

“Yes, us, meaning me and the private investigator the marshal's office just contracted, thanks to you. Angel made it clear that if she wasn't taking a holiday from your great work she wouldn't be able to help us.” He looked back at me and winked.

I gasped. Private investigator? Contractor? Hmm. I liked that.

Tiger folded his arms over his chest. “Is that a fact?”

“Yes, it is. You were interviewed on Fox 5
Good Day Atlanta
morning TV show a few months back singing this woman's praises. There was a quote that stuck out. Let me remember . . .” He placed his index finger under his chin. I had to do my best not to laugh at him. “I remember now. You stated that ‘a brilliant woman is the best element of surprise.' ”

Tiger smiled. “I did say that.”

“Yes, you did.” Maxim nodded, then patted him on the back. “Anyway, we convinced her to play a little hooky from her vacation today for the greater common good. You understand.”

Tiger nodded. “Ain't nothin' common 'bout my Angel Soft.”

“Yes, sir, nothing common at all,” Maxim said. “We don't want to take up any more of your time. Has Sean Graham arrived?”

“He's here in Mama's kitchen. Angel knows where it is.”

Maxim's phone buzzed. “Let me step out and take this,” he said, then walked back outside.

I searched for him through the front window, to make sure he wasn't leaving me to deal with Tiger and Sean on my own.

Tiger tapped my shoulder. “Are you gonna tell me what's going on, Angel Soft?”

“Sean didn't tell you?”

“You and I both know that Sean only tells us what he needs us to know.”

I decided to use one of my cognitive interview-taking skill techniques that I'd learned yesterday. They were designed to help the interview subject recall certain information. I had glossed over these tips before in undergrad, but they were nothing like this.

“What did he tell you?” I asked.

“Sean calls me up and asks to use the back room for a few hours for a meeting. He shows up with a lawyer. You show up with a marshal. I thought I told you to lay low.”

“This is my way of laying low. What lawyer?”

He gave me the side eye. “Come on, Angel.”

“Don't blame me. Blame Sean. Better yet, blame your boy Riddick for bailing Rosary DiChristina out of jail just to spite me.”

“So is that why you're hanging with the Black Maverick? Didn't I tell you I would take care of Riddick in my own way? Can you let a man lead for once?”

My jaw dropped. I stepped back. “Pump the breaks. Hit reverse. Now say that again and guard your mouth this time in case I kick your teeth out of it.”

He threw his hands up. “Hold on, Angel. I didn't mean it like that and you know it.”

“Who's the lawyer?”

“Roger Willis. Who else? Angel, you know we always swim in shallow ponds. So don't start trippin'.”

“Trippin' . . .” I rubbed my neck.

Now my neck was on fire, more than likely because of lack of sleep and stress. Although Roger Willis had represented Ava during that ordeal regarding Devon's murder, he wasn't my favorite attorney. In fact, he had tried to convince her to accept the charges against her. Again, I don't like him. In my opinion, dealing with Roger Willis meant the shit had hit the fan. I wondered what crap Sean had gotten himself into.

 

S
ean Graham and Roger Willis sat in two of three chairs around Mama's pie-baking table. It was an old, white wooden table that stuck out from the stainless steel fixtures and furnishings in the refurbished professional kitchen. Sean and Roger looked just as out of place as the table. Sean smiled shyly at me; Roger nodded. Roger's long neck made him look like a turkey when he bobbed his head. I waved back at them.

There were two other men in the room. They stood near Roger. I had never met them before, but I could smell law enforcement in the air. I assumed they were either more marshals, or ATF, or GBI. My body tingled with excitement over the not knowing.

Maxim walked to where the two sat. “Let's skip the salutations and get down to it.”

“I like the sound of that,” Roger said.

I didn't. I wanted to know all the people in the room.

Maxim pulled a notepad and pen from inside his right jacket pocket, but didn't sit down. “Have a seat, Angel.”

I sat in the chair beside where he stood, feeling a little confused. Maxim turned on his emotions like a kitchen sink faucet, hot and cold in an instant. He was cold now.

“Mr. Willis, I assume your client has had a change of heart about our offer to have him as a participant informant,” Maxim said.

A participant informant was someone who was a go between or middle man for a criminal ring. In this case Sean had decided to cooperate with Maxim or risk being arrested for the illegal sale of alcohol.

“Yes, he has, marshal, and I'll be speaking for him from here on out,” Roger said.

“So will you be telling me why Sean asked me to come here?” I asked.

Roger raised a brow at me. “Oh, that's simple. We need you to pretend to be Rosary.”

I gasped. “Say what?”

“Since your sister tried to okey-doke me and failed, and you've been doing so well in class, I deduced that you must be the twin who has the talent in deception. That's an important prerequisite to being a good private investigator,” Maxim said.

I folded my arms over my chest. “You deduced? Are you sipping on bad gnac?”

He grinned, but ignored me. “Sean has been giving up the location of a nip joint that houses the largest supplier of white lightning in this area.”

Sean raised his hand. “Actually, it's a blue-light-type thingy and there's nothing nippy about it. These people have lots of money. Ghetto, perhaps, but a nice spot for good people who have a passion for aged whiskey.”

“Sounds like white code for black folk hosting rent parties with cheap liquor.”

Sean smirked. “It didn't come from my mouth; those were Rosie's words, mind you.”

“So hold on . . . how do you know that these ‘aged whiskey connoisseurs' are selling illegal shine, if you're so innocent?”

“That's what I discovered after I bailed your friend out of jail and then she run off to God knows where.”

“And before you paid me to bring her back. You do know that being a pompous prick and dumb as dirt don't mix, Sean. How much of this have you involved Elaine in?”

“She doesn't know anything about this. This is my private enterprise. My mistake only.”

I frowned. “But you told me when you gave me the money that she knew about Rosary.”

“Darling, you didn't hear me correctly. I said that Elaine said if I wanted to get your attention I was going to have to do something big, ergo the $25,000.”

“You son-of—” I marched toward him and swung.

Maxim caught my arm. “Angel, I can't afford to arrest you, so calm down.”

I huffed. “I'm taking you down, Sean. I don't care what deal Roger has made with the Feds. When this is over you're mine.”

“Get in line.” Sean straightened his jacket.

“Fool, I'm breaking the line,” I shouted.

Maxim grabbed me in his arms and looked to Roger. “Willis, what happened to you speaking for your client? Muzzle that mutt.”

“Calm down or I won't let you go,” Maxim said to me. There was a glint of joy in his eye as he held me.

I didn't care, because I was so mad I could spit. I had to take a few breaths to calm down.

“Get on with it, Maxim,” I said between breaths.

He released his hold of me, but his eyes hadn't let me go. “Angel, the owners of the nip joint will host a party tomorrow. Details are sent via text and in order to enter you have to bring your phone with the text showing.”

“My phone?” I asked.

“No, we have Sean's phone. The phone is to ensure that the text recipient hasn't shared the information with someone like us, and to identify the person on the guest list,” one of the guys in the corner said. “Very intelligent system.”

I looked at him, but he still hadn't looked at me. His eyes were on Sean. I assumed he was standing in Sean's whooping line, too.

“Sean received the text early this morning and is cooperating with your team to clear him from any wrongdoing,” Roger said.

“And what about Rosary? If Sean got a text, did she get a text?”

“She had to, because they're expecting Rosary to buy ten gallons of distill at the party for Flappers, but she's MIA,” Maxim said.

“We thought about having a female undercover ATF agent join us, but none of our teammates look the part,” the mystery guy spoke again. This time he looked at me and smiled.

“Same for Dekalb County,” the other said. “You do have a look about you, Angel.”

Now I knew who they were. What their names were was another mystery.

I threw my hands up. “Hold up. You do realize Rosary and I look nothing alike. We're not even the same race.”

“Regardless of race, you and she share the same coloring and the place will be blue lit. Besides, once they see those pretty brown eyes it won't matter,” Maxim said.

The room grew immediately quiet.

He looked up and frowned. “What?”

No one said anything. I was still too in shock to respond
.
I have pretty brown eyes, but look like a white woman. I didn't know what to do with that information.

I cleared my throat. “And why, exactly, is Rosary buying the hooch and not Sean?”

Everyone turned to Sean.

“I assume you want the mutt to speak now. Very well . . .” Sean rolled his eyes. “Rosary was our distill procurement specialist at Flappers.”

“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “You hired a habitual DUI, alcoholic, whose family is mountain moonshiners, to purchase spirits for Flappers? Please tell me you're not the one who knocked her off the wagon, Sean.”

“For the record I hired Ms. DiChristina to procure legit artisan liqueur distill. She came highly recommended and I believe—just like you do—in giving people second chances,” he said. “You cannot blame me if she couldn't control her environment.”

“Sean, there is no such thing as legit corn likker or whatever you want to call it to make it sound pretty. You hired Rosary to buy shine. That's what she did and that's why she's missing. Roger, please school your boy.” I turned to Maxim. “Are we going to look for her?”

“The deputy marshal in South Georgia is on the lookout for her. We'll find her.”

“Good.” I sighed. “She has a young daughter who needs her here, clean and sober.”

“Duly noted,” Maxim said, then cleared his throat. “Now, you're to meet the host before the party begins. His name is Luxe. From what we've learned Luxe's throwing a party for some baller's twenty-fifth birthday. So there will probably be some jailbait there trying to get in.”

“We need to make sure that alcohol doesn't get into the wrong hands,” the ATF guy said.

“Like teens? What kind of party is this?” I looked around. “There's a big difference.”

“Birthday party, baller party. Teen, blue light. Same difference,” Maxim said.

I laughed. He said that like it was true. However, there was a big difference when teens were involved. Teenage house parties were more dangerous than a strip joint off Metropolitan Road. In the past few months three kids had been shot and one gutted at these parties. Maxim must have lost the last bit of his mind if he thought I was batting my pretty browns up in there.

I pursed my lips. “Um, Maxim . . . not for nothing, but were you joking when you told Tiger that y'all were contracting me for this?”

“No, I wasn't joking. You'll be compensated as a private investigator.”

“How much is this compensation, by the way?”

He frowned. “The going rate. Why? What's the problem?”

“My rates just went up.” I snapped my fingers. “Way up.”

He huffed. “Do explain.”

“I'll have to spend all of tomorrow morning at Halle-Do-Ya Salon & Spa to wash the thirties and the twenties off my face, then I need a quick Yoga class to limber up. And the clothes. I have to dress baller chic to go up in there. And I need a smaller stun gun. My old one is cracked.”

“You're there to buy, not become a baller's baby mama or tase anyone,” Maxim growled. “Anyway, those young girls look just as dried-up nowadays, so . . .”

“Are you calling me dried-up now?” I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and found the calculator feature. “Let's add an extra $250 for a microderm abrasion peel. Shall we?”

“Angel, stop. You know you look dang good. You look younger than your own twin. Wear that dress you wore to Flappers the other night. It was hot.”

I stopped play-calculating. “You were there?”

He nodded. “We were there.”

“Get a room,” someone mumbled.

I blushed. “I think someone can help with the wardrobe, if you can help with the gun, because I'm gonna need that for real.”