Authors: Tyora M. Moody
When Rain Falls (12 page)
“Have a seat, Detective.” She sauntered behind a bar area. “Would you like anything to drink?”
He shook his head. “No, thanks.”
“Okay, suit yourself.” He waited until she poured her concoction. She sat down on the couch and crossed her legs. Either the woman was overly confident or just ready to get this over with. Darnell pulled a chair out from under a rolltop desk and sat across from her.
“Detective, I'm not sure how I can help. You know, Ms. Coleman worked for my husband. I barely knew her.”
“Well, I thought you might have been aware of her relationship with your husband.”
Her eyes, like dark coals, glittered.
Anger issues. Maybe.
He reached inside his coat and pulled out a few photos. Might as well see how far he could push the truth out now. “Did you hire someone to take these photos?”
He reached inside his coat and pulled out a few photos. Might as well see how far he could push the truth out now. “Did you hire someone to take these photos?”
She glanced down at the photos. “What are you doing with those?”
“Someone hand delivered them to me this morning at the station.”
“What? Why, that rotten man! I hope ...”
“Man? I didn't say anything about gender. Who are you talking about?”
She sucked her teeth. “Some lowlife I hired. Look, I've always known my husband's feelings about Pamela. She was too young for him when he first fell in love with her.” Yvonne stood from the couch and paced the room. “Judge Coleman was my husband's mentor. Back then, Mitch clerked under Coleman. I believe that's when he first met Pamela, barely out of high school.”
Darnell interjected, “So, she went off to college and . . .”
“Mitch met me. He liked me from the start or, I should say, my money.” Yvonne placed her hands on her hips; the sneer returned to her lips. She wasn't one to tick off. Her fury emanated heat-seeking missiles in his direction. Which got Darnell's wheels turning in his mind.
“I saw the handwriting on the wall years ago. Pamela grew up, went off to law school, and Mitch couldn't wait to hire her. Never saw his eyes light up for any junior partner like that ever. Don't get me wrong. She was good at what she did. I'll give her that.”
Tired of Yvonne's pacing, Darnell stood. “Mrs. Harris, you seem to know more about Pamela's life story than you first admitted. You sure you two never talked . . . you know ... woman to woman?”
She stared at him from across the room and then slowly responded. “We had an understanding. I think.”
Yeah, right.
Darnell cleared his throat. “Did you see or talk to her during the gallery opening?”
Darnell cleared his throat. “Did you see or talk to her during the gallery opening?”
Yvonne crossed her arms. “Why would I have anything to say to her?”
“Mrs. Harris, the main reason why I came over here is I want to know what you said to upset Pamela Coleman the night she was murdered. We got both of you on tape. You exchanged words. And, I might add, someone got a little slaphappy.”
Yvonne narrowed her eyes. “Did you come into my home to accuse me of something, Detective?”
“Did you leave the gallery to follow her?”
Yvonne uncrossed her arms. “What? No.”
“Did Mitch go after her?”
“Young man, have you lost your mind?” Yvonne moved toward him and pointed at his chest. “You've got some nerve coming in here, accusing people.”
“Mrs. Harris, did you or your husband leave the gallery at any time?”
“That's enough!” a voice thundered from the doorway behind them.
Yvonne's eyes grew wide. She stepped away from Darnell.
Darnell straightened his shoulders.
Just great!
Just great!
“What's going on here?” Mitch Harris stormed across the room and stepped in front of Yvonne. “Don't you know I will have your badge for harassing my wife? Get out!”
“Sir, I'm conducting a police investigation.”
Mitch stepped closer, his face way too close for comfort. “I will sue you and the city for harassment.”
Darnell exploded. “Your employee and mistress is dead. Do you even care?” Both men faced off, breathing hard. The captain would hear about this exchange the minute he left the Harrises' home. “I'll let myself out.” Darnell trudged out of the room where one of two people was a possible suspect. If not, both of them. The guilt smelled so thick in the room, if he'd stayed a second more, he would've gagged for sure.
Chapter Twenty-two
Chocoholic. Now, that was one trait she'd picked up from Mama that she gladly indulged. Candace pulled out a drawer stocked full of chocolate. Whether paired with nuts, peanut butter, or caramel, she had it. She wasted no time ripping off the candy wrapper. The milky cocoa texture didn't fix it, but it soothed her soul. For now.
Mama was a complex woman with plenty of vices, including a taste for alcohol. She drove her older sister, Maggie, crazy and vice versa. Aunt Maggie's Bible quoting and harsh rules had seemed a bit much to a young Candace. After Mama's death, Maggie was determined her niece wouldn't fall into the same fate.
Holy ground in Maggie Washington's household. No pants. No makeup. No curls. Forget television. And definitely no devil's music. And church. It was almost like a second home.
She stared off into space, licking the creamy residue from her fingers. Candace had grown up a plain Jane, stifled under her aunt's one zillion rules. It was no wonder she had become friends with Pamela. She was so different, confident, even back in seventh grade.
Just being around the tall, leggy teen had transported her away from the maddening sorrow in her life.
Candace stilled her body, her chocolate-covered fingers in the air. Pamela would have told her to try making amends with Maggie. How often her friend asked, “Have you talked to your aunt lately?”
Deep down, Candace felt ashamed for turning her aunt away. She reacted and thought about the consequences afterward. That was so like Mama, too. Those Washington girls. How often she heard those whispers in school, the grocery store, and even from the church pews.
Mama, her men, and the bottle.
Maggie, her God, and her scripture for everything.
Seemed like they were so much alike in their anger and bitterness. Neither really meeting in the middle.
It scared her. Now even Rachel had picked up the same trait. Their fighting was no different than what she'd witnessed between Mama and Maggie. Hormones out of control. Or something else maybe.
A short knock on the office door snapped closed her chest of memories.
“Candy? Are you okay?”
Her body wilted as the tension left through her shoulders. She should have known. “Come in, Beulah.”
The salon office wasn't very big. Candace loved the beautiful cherry desk that served as the focal point for the room. She'd found it at a state government auction years ago. There were chips in certain places, but she liked the worn look. Two metal filing cabinets sat against the wall. Since the office didn't have a window, she'd painted it a soothing sage green. A mixture of artificial plants had been placed around the room. The bamboo ceiling fan above the desk completed the tropical feel.
Beulah popped her head in the doorway. “If my memory is still good, wasn't that your aunt?”
“I'm sorry. Was my voice too loud?”
“I hoped I didn't have to break you two up. That poor woman walked out of here so wilted. You must have laid it on her.”
Candace gulped and then bit her lip. “I didn't mean to show out. She caught me off guard.”
Beulah sat in one of the wingback chairs. “Honey, that flesh, our main enemy, will rear up when you least expect it.”
Candace grabbed another piece of chocolate from the drawer. “Tell me about it. Care to have a piece from my chocolate medicine cabinet?”
“You know I'm not gonna refuse something sweet now.” As they sat in silence, munching, Candace struggled to keep her composure. But she couldn't. Her anger overwhelmed her again, causing her to be petty and cruel. Tears stung her eyes.
“You look like you could use a hug.”
Tears escaped down Candace's cheeks. She nodded as Beulah came around the desk and embraced her. “It's going to be okay, Candy.” Very few people called her Candy. Despite being her employee, Beulah had become the mother figure she sorely missed growing up.
“Sugar, how about we pray?”
Candace stiffened. Maybe God would listen to Beulah.
I never seem to have much success with communication.
Her voice trembled. “Please.”
I never seem to have much success with communication.
Her voice trembled. “Please.”
Beulah's voice wavered with emotion as she began praying.
“Lord, we come to you with heavy hearts. We lost someone special to us. Oh, we know she has been yours since she was a child, but we miss Pamela so. We miss her laughter and her wisdom. Lord, we miss her smile. It's especially hard on Candy right now. Lord, she loved Pamela like a sister. Her heart is hurting. Lord, she is still trying to heal from Frank's death. Let her know you won't put more on her than she can bear. In her time of need, let her not forget to call on your name. Remind her you will never leave her or forsake her. We ask these things in Jesus's name. Amen.”
I will never leave you or forsake you.
Those words pierced her heart. Candace pulled away from the embrace. Beulah's brown eyes glistened with tears. Beulah was quite the jokester, and it wasn't always easy to take her seriously. But one thing for sure, her eldest stylist was very serious about the Lord.
“Be encouraged and know you are loved. Pray. If you don't do anything else, you pray.” Beulah looked at her watch and stood. “Child, it's past time for some lunch. You want something real to eat besides what you got in that junk drawer?”
Candace smiled. “No, I don't have much of an appetite right now.”
Beulah shook her head. “Okay. But you keep eating that stuff”âBeulah slapped her hipsâ“you'll have a wide load like this.”
Candace snickered until Beulah closed the door. She turned her attention to Frank's photo on the wall. Her Frank. Mama. Now Pamela. God kept taking away the people she held dear to her heart. She didn't quite get that part of the plan.
Next to Frank's photo sat the framed calligraphy piece Pamela had given her during the salon grand opening ten years ago. Protected by the glass, the words seemed to sparkle. During a brainstorming session for the salon name, Pamela had stumbled upon the Bible verses. Back then, Candace hadn't picked up a Bible in years.
When they'd opened the Bible, the two friends had laughed as dust particles floated in the air. After some time passed, Pamela jumped up from the couch. “You need to read this. I don't really understand it, but how about this?”
Candace had taken the Bible, noticing it was turned to Isaiah. When she was a child, her aunt had insisted she learn the names of all sixty-six books in the Bible. Funny, so many years later, she actually remembered Isaiah was one of those books, even that he was God's prophet.
She moved her lips and read the verses from the sixty-first chapter silently.
The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zionâto bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.
She'd borrowed the phrase “crown of beauty” to name the salon. That framed piece sat dusty on the back of her desk. Candace reached over, placing her finger, sliding it across the “oil of gladness” part. She needed Jesus to pour some of that on her now.
Beulah's prayer had settled her, but the little bit of peace she felt now was fading minute by minute. Her life played out like a tragedy on stage as thoughts tumbled forward.
Candace grabbed her Crown of Beauty smock from the chair. She needed to set up her station for her four o'clock appointment. Sitting there, pondering life wasn't going to change a thing.
Before she moved from around the desk, the yellow envelope Tangie had brought in with the other mail glared at her. She picked it up.
Candace tore it open, reached inside, and then pulled out the contents. Her eyes fastened on the black-and-white glossy photos. One after the other, she shuffled through them.
No. No.
Pamela couldn't have been aware of the photographer as he or she snapped various photos of her with Mitch Harris. Some of these were too much for Candace's eyes.
When Candace reached the last photo, she threw the photos down on her desk.
Who sent these to her? What did someone expect to achieve by sending her these images of her best friend? Especially this one. She picked up the one photo.
The last photo was taken earlier in the day of Pamela's death. Both she and Pamela were sharing a laugh over lunch. The last meal. The last time she saw her friend alive. Was the killer nearby the entire time?
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