When Rain Falls (8 page)

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Authors: Tyora M. Moody

BOOK: When Rain Falls
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Chapter Seventeen
Her eyes were closed, but sleep failed to come. Not knowing what else to do after the funeral, Candace retreated under the covers. Not much comfort. Maybe God should have built humans with a key to turn the brain off. Bleary-eyed, she shuffled into the kitchen, her head still throbbing, her stomach grumbling.
Thanks to Beulah and some of her salon clients, the fridge was fully stocked. She reached for one Tupperware container after another, not sure what her stomach could handle. From the living room, the television blared. “Welcome to the early edition of WYNN News. At the top of the five o'clock news hour, our first story of the evening is ...”
Grabbing a container of fried chicken, she sat it on top of the counter. It wasn't until she found a chicken wing that she realized the fridge door stood wide open. How many times had she fussed at the kids about wasting energy and running up the electric bill? She returned the container, slamming the door shut.
“Attorney Pamela Coleman was laid to rest today.”
Candace froze, her ears perked as she heard the anchorman announce her friend's name. She walked to the kitchen door and peered into the living room. Daniel sat on one side of the couch, and Rachel in the recliner. She scooted into the living room and perched on the couch. Surely there was something new to report.
“Hundreds attended her funeral at Charlotte's fastest-growing church, Victory Gospel Church. Our correspondent Serena Manchester joins us with an update about the investigation.”
The cameras panned to the woman Candace saw talking with Detective Jackson earlier. “Today people from all walks of life came to pay tribute to a prominent woman in our community.” The news story transitioned to footage of the church's massive sanctuary, zooming in on the rows and rows of people. Then the screen changed again, the camera focusing on a man with sweat beading around his forehead. At the bottom of the screen, it read, “Reverend Jonathan Freeman, Victory Gospel Church.”
“Pamela was a pillar in this community. We know God has welcomed her with open arms.” He took a moment to wipe his wet forehead. “I'm sure He has said to her what we all long to hear. Well done, good and faithful servant.”
The camera returned to Serena, with a large man standing beside her.
“We have Captain Ransom here to update us on the case.” Turning toward the stocky man, Serena placed the microphone close to his mouth. “Captain, can you share information with the public about this case?”
“Well, I can report we have investigators actively gathering and studying evidence. If there is anyone with a tip, we encourage them to call our twenty-four-hour hotline.”
The reporter stuck the microphone closer to the captain. “We know Coleman had quite a few high-profile cases over the years. Are you seeking suspects from those cases?”
The captain's face reddened around his cheeks. “We're looking at a number of avenues. But I can't go into details.”
He turned and walked away as Serena tried to ask another question. The pretty reporter turned back toward the camera. “It looks like this case isn't going to be open and shut. We will definitely keep you posted as we gather more information. Back to the studio with you, Wesley.”
The anchorman, Wesley Cade, responded, “Thanks, Serena, for keeping us updated on the Coleman murder case. Now joining us here in the studio are defense attorneys ...”
Rachel jumped off the couch. “Those people don't know what they are talking about. They go on and on about her like she wasn't a real person.”
Candace's heart broke at the tremor in her daughter's voice. “Rachel.”
The girl stomped off down the hallway. A few minutes later a door slammed.
Candace hated doors to be slammed. She would need to talk to Rachel, but right now she was too exhausted to deal with her daughter's outburst. It would only result in a major blowup.
She sank into the chair Rachel had vacated, Frank's favorite chair. Holding her head in her hands, she watched as Daniel flipped channels, finally stopping on a cartoon. The characters had big eyes and talked funny.
“That's one of those Japanese cartoons?” Candace asked.
“They call it anime, Mom.”
“Mmm.”
“Mom, who was the lady at the limo? She looked familiar.”
Her eyes flickered open. Candace didn't realize she had been dozing. So, they had noticed Aunt Maggie. Both of her children had been so young the one and only time her aunt entered her home. That unpleasant visit from long ago had turned out to be a big mistake, leaving her estranged from her one living connection to her mother. “She's a relative. The last time you or your sister saw her, you were very young.”
“Oh.”
Thankfully, the cartoon, or whatever Daniel called it, came back on the screen. She leaned back. Every time she sat in the recliner, she could almost feel Frank's presence. The smooth suede fabric lulled her to sleep.
This dream seemed familiar, but different.
From the back side, Candace observed a figure moving in the darkness. She tried to comprehend her location, which appeared to be a large area of space, where unusual shapes surrounded her.
The figure up ahead stopped and then turned in Candace's direction. When the face emerged from the darkness, Candace gasped.
Mama.
No, Pamela.
Candace drew closer to her friend. Her bushy hair was pulled back. Worry lines were etched across her high forehead.
A phone rang nearby.
Startled, Candace looked down to find a cell phone in her hand. She couldn't recall where it came from, because she wasn't carrying a purse. The slim, fancy phone didn't belong to her, either. Her daughter, Rachel, always bugged her about purchasing one.
Puzzled by the phone, she looked up. Pamela's mouth moved, as if she had something urgent to say. Her brown eyes huge and fear filled. Too big. And what was she trying to say? It sounded like gibberish.
In the distance, she heard voices. Where were they? Pamela was so close, Candace reached out her hand to touch her. She looked down at her hand. The ringing phone was no longer there.
It didn't matter. She needed to help Pamela. Wait. The figure in front of her resembled her mama. What's going on? Where's Pamela?
A pair of large hands grabbed her from behind, yanking her backward. She wrestled her shoulders back and forth, trying to free herself, but the hands held her in a vise grip. Her breathing grew constricted. The voices grew louder and closer as her assailant dragged her farther away from Pamela. Mama. Pamela.
Candace twisted awake.
“Mom, are you okay? Mom!” Her son stood hovering over her, appearing younger than his fourteen years.
She leaped up from the couch and grabbed Daniel's arm. “What? Is the house on fire? Did you call nine-one-one?”
Daniel shook his head, his eyes wide and scared. “No.”
“Well, why didn't you?” Candace raced down the hallway to Rachel's closed bedroom door. The door was locked. How many times did she have to tell that girl there would be no locked doors in her house? She banged on the door. “Rachel?”
Standing behind her, Daniel yelled, “Mom, the house is fine. It's the phone!”
Candace looked at the handset extended toward her. Confused, she grabbed the phone from her son. “Hello.”
“Mrs. Johnson. This is Detective Jackson.”
Her mind was still in a state of panic. This man was a homicide detective. She'd spoken to him earlier. “Yes. Did you have some news for me?”
The detective made a noise in the background, as though he had something in his throat. “Um, I was calling about Rachel. She got caught up with a crowd of young people gone wild, I hate to say. I wanted you to know I'll be bringing her home.”
What!
She closed her eyes as a wave of warmth flowed through her body. This was no ordinary hot flash. “Thank you, Detective.” Candace pressed the receiver button down. Almost two years ago she buried her husband. Her best friend was laid to rest earlier today. She prayed she didn't have to bury her one and only daughter.
Because right now she wanted to kill her.
Chapter Eighteen
It wasn't safe for her to have some of these thoughts. Still, here she sat in the living room again. What in the world would make Rachel do something this foolish? A few months ago Candace had grounded her for missing a ten o'clock curfew. At her wit's end, she hadn't known whether she should look for her or call the police. Candace hadn't prayed like that in years, promising God she would never let that girl out of the house again. That was exactly what Frank would've done.
During that time, when a pair of headlights glared through the front windows, she'd almost tripped over her bathrobe as she rushed to the window to peek through the blinds. Before the key turned in the door, she'd twisted the dead bolt to find her sixteen-year-old daughter shocked to see her mother standing in the door.
“Well, it's so nice of you to come home. Did you, by any chance, lose track of time?”
“Mom—”
“Don't! Do you remember what you said before you left?”
Rachel looked down.
“Speak up, young lady.”
“I said you can trust me.”
“Why? The one opportunity I gave you. Why would you blow it?”
The next day Pamela had talked to Rachel on the front porch. Candace had felt ashamed of her envy as she watched Rachel talk so easily to her godmother. Since Frank's death, mother and daughter had rarely had a civil conversation, without one of them blowing up.
She didn't have Pamela now to smooth the rough edges. Make both of them laugh.
Candace glanced at the clock again. The detective should be there soon. Her eyes rested on the oil painting over the fireplace, of the four of them together. Rachel and Daniel were barely preteens. Frank's eyes appeared sympathetic. Or was that her imagination?
Her children were good kids, rarely giving her trouble, other than an occasional sibling fight that got out of hand. Good grades, good students. For the longest, basketball interested Rachel more than boys. It was a relief, especially to Frank, who often contemplated how he would intimidate Rachel's future boyfriends.
Candace hated that he wasn't there.
Her husband wouldn't have appreciated getting up in the middle of the night to have to rescue his beloved little girl from whatever she managed to get into tonight. Lights flashed outside the window. Candace dreaded facing Rachel. What would she say to her?
Somewhere she had failed to be a parent. Maybe being a mom and a dad was a bit too much. It was easier being on one side. It was all insane, and most days she preferred to be numb. Maybe that was her mistake.
The doorbell rang, jarring her from her pity party. She sprinted to the door and snatched it open. Her eyes fell on her daughter's disheveled hair and tear-stained eyes. Candace stretched out her arms to pull her daughter close, into a hug, instead of the choke hold she'd envisioned earlier. Besides, Detective Jackson stood only a few feet away; there was no need for her to commit a crime in front of him. He probably had already labeled her as one of those bad mothers who let their children do what they wanted.
The thought tapped into an aching in her soul. She'd promised herself she wouldn't be a replica of her own mother. Never. So, what happened?
She gripped her daughter's chin, willing her to look at her in the eye. “You know I'm disappointed. It's been a long, hard day.” Tears sprang into her daughter's eyes, one leaking down the side of her face. Candace's face twitched from the assault of emotions lingering on the surface. With a shaky voice she added, “I will talk to you in the morning.”
Before Rachel sulked off, she called to her. “Rachel, make sure you tell Detective Jackson thank you.”
Turning around, her face wet with tears, Rachel said, “Thanks.”
After her daughter left the living room. Candace faced the detective. “Detective Jackson ...”
“Darnell. I'm off the clock. Please call me Darnell.”
He had the warmest smile. Anybody taking the time to drop someone else's kid off at this hour, smiling like that, he must be crazy or something special. “Thank you. I do appreciate this.” Afraid to ask, she proceeded tentatively. “What exactly happened? Anyone hurt?”
“No, just a few surprised teenagers. We had a few neighbors complain about some unruly disturbances.”
“Forgive me for asking, but you're a homicide detective. Why were you called? You scared me to death.”
“Sorry about that. I had a very scared young dude ring my phone. Got me out of bed, too. Since I've been back in the Carolinas, I've been coaching down at the VG Center. Made friends with a few kids. I told them if they needed help to give me a call. Well, I got that call. I don't know how parents do it.”
She grinned. “It's not easy. Especially when it's just one of you.” Up until now, she had never really looked at the detective's bare fingers. So, he was a bachelor.“Never married? No kids?” Why was she asking him?
Darnell shifted his eyes away. “Uh, divorced. Didn't stay married long enough to plan for kids. Although I did get Zack.”
“Zack?” she inquired.
With a sheepish grin, he replied, “The dog.”
“Oh.” Candace laughed. “Well, he must make for good company.”
“Yeah, I feel bad about leaving him alone so often, though. I have good neighbors. They check on him for me.”
“That's good. Very different with kids. How did you know Rachel, by the way?”
“I remembered her from the funeral. I assumed she was your daughter. I asked her. She confirmed. Pretty scared kid.”
“She wasn't ...”
Darnell shook his head. “As far as I can tell, she's clean. She didn't test positive for alcohol, which is good compared to some of the others. Some kids were pretty plastered.”
Candace rubbed her hands through her hair. “I can't believe this. We just buried her godmother. What in the world would possess her to sneak out?”
“I'm not taking up for her, but it might have brought her comfort to be around her peers. Kids grieve differently.”
“She needed to be here.” Candace looked up at the oil painting of her family again. He needed to be here. Beside her, Darnell seemed to be standing a little too close. She stepped back. She forgot the end table was behind her, and the lamp teetered and then tipped over. Like an experienced football receiver, Darnell caught the lamp before it crashed to the floor.
She held her chest. That lamp was an anniversary gift from Pamela. “Oh my, thank you.”
The detective must think of me as a clumsy, out-of-control mother,
she thought.
“No problem. Look, I don't know you very well, but I know you and your children have been through tremendous losses. If you need some help, let me know.”
She stared at him as he turned to leave, a little dumbfounded by his offer of assistance. A lot of people had offered help over the past few years, but this guy was a stranger. Was she really that bad off?
“Thank you, Detective.” She closed the door behind him. Funny, Darnell would've been the kind of man that appealed to Pamela. Her friend loved the tall, dark, and handsome type. Unfortunately, the married kind.
In the restaurant last week, for some reason she didn't believe Pamela when she said it was over with Mitch Harris. She would need all her fingers, toes, and some other appendages to count the many times her friend had walked away, only to return to the one man she'd loved most of her life. The man Judge Coleman had mentored and invited to be a part of his family. Did the judge even know this man had stolen his daughter's heart?
There was no way she was going to go back to sleep. Candace had seen firsthand how a woman's life could be destroyed by her choice of men. She'd grown up motherless for that very reason.
The crazy dream earlier. Her mother's face. Then Pamela's face. She wasn't into interpreting dreams, and she definitely needed to be careful what she watched on the boob tube before dozing off. Sadly, that might be all the sleep she would get tonight.
She walked past the hall mirror. Her reflection caused her to pause. How in the world had she stood there all that time with her hair sticking up on her head like some rooster? Of course, what did it matter? She didn't care what Darnell—no, Detective Jackson—thought.
Still, she walked away from the mirror, thinking he must be laughing his head off right now.
 
 
Sweat poured down his face despite the forty-degree temperature outside. This sitting and watching was getting on his nerves. He'd almost spoiled it earlier, after the funeral. But he had to be close to her. It was the closest he'd ever been.
The front door was opening. He gripped the steering wheel as he observed the man leaving the Johnson home. It was the cop who had been snooping around, asking questions at the funeral and at church earlier . Why was he here so late at night?
He had to be extra careful now. The plan was in place, and he had no intentions of being distracted from the ultimate goal.

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