Deadly Charm (18 page)

Carly yawned. “We'll be here forever.”

Sasha wouldn't. “Dear,” she said. I knew that “dear.” The first dear had been a
real
dear, but this second one, especially since it was accompanied by the insidious expression of polite yet controlled rage, wasn't. If Ma didn't get some answers fast, she'd blow with such impressive force, Mount St. Helens would applaud her.

Sasha sighed, an ominous release of breath. Kalaya had
crossed the line and gotten on Ma's last nerve. “Did she say what she dreamed?” The tundra had more warmth than Ma's voice.

Kalaya sank back down on the couch next to me. “Um. No, ma'am. She woke up screaming, ‘No!'”

Jazz pulled one of his arms from around me to join the fun. “She had a dream the other day that made her wake up screaming.”

Ma's head snapped in his direction. “And why were you present when my daughter woke up? Mr. I'll Leave You High and Dry Whenever I Feel Like It.” The devil himself would have been frightened by her withering scowl. “Or shall I call you Mr.
Unavailable
?”

Jazz's cheeks reddened. He pulled his other arm from around me, no doubt to protect himself if my mother threw a few blows. “Ma.”

I think any variation of the word “Ma,” coming from anyone besides Carly and me—oh, who am I kidding? She rankled when Carly and I referred to her as our mother, too—but coming from anybody else…

She roared like she was a demon possessed. “Call me
Sasha
!”

“Sasha!” Jazz shouted. Addie had raised him well. He tried to regain his swagger, not content to let an old lady best him. He lowered his voice. Spoke slowly, as if she were not in her right mind. “I left
temporarily
so I wouldn't
really
kill someone, namely her puppy-eyed sidekick, Rocky. You're aware, since we discussed it at length, that I am completely committed to honoring your daughter, who I love. I can assure you that although I
feel
like leaving
right now
with all this
drama
, I won't be going anywhere.”

Honestly, I found his effort to control his voice modulations honorable. I'd be screaming if it were me.

Sasha opened her mouth, probably to lash out her acidic retort, but Jazz interrupted her. “My point being,” he said, loudly, then softer, “she woke up screaming from a dream she had Friday.”

My mother must have realized there was a time to exchange sharp zingers and a time to find out why her daughter's behavior hovered just shy of catatonic—and not in a contemplative way. She turned her gaze back to me. “Did she tell you the content of her dream, Jazz?”

“Yeah. She said she had gone to the school building where Thunder had his crusade thing. She said the building was full of kids of all ages. She saw her daughter, Imani, and Zeekie, and for a minute she felt happy and was laughing. Then the kids started turning into zombies and skeletons, and they were begging for her to help them.”

“Ewwww!” That was Carly's profound contribution.

Kalaya shuddered.

Ma pursed her lips. “But she told you everything?”

Jazz nodded. “Right.”

“Then it was a dream. Not a Dream.”

The difference must have escaped Jazz. Again he tried to control his volume. Slowly. “Sasha, what do you mean it was a dream, not a Dream?”

She sighed and hugged her arms. Released a deep breath. “Dreams, with a capital ‘D,' are from God.”

Jazz's face brightened. “Okay. From God is good, right?”

Sasha's darkened. “I've never known them to be.”

Kalaya wrapped me in a tight hug, as if she could protect me from God's wrath. “This is gonna give me the willies. I can feel it.”

Carly waved her concern away. “Nonsense. Some of the women in our family, including Ma Brown, had this weird God Dream thing.”

Jazz's mouth hung open. “‘Weird God Dream thing'?”

“Right,” Carly said, as if creepy God Dreams were as common as varicose veins. “It seemed to skip generations. Nobody in my father's generation had it, so the old folks started speculating which of us would be dreamers. Everyone thought it'd be me, since God obviously gave me so much more than Bell.”

I would hurt Carly. I would spend many hours planning her ruin.

Kalaya, ever the reporter and probably driven by “the willies,” asked Carly, “So do you have the creepy God Dreams?”

She sighed, “God didn't want to burden me. He knew that I was meant to be a butterfly, spreading peace and happiness wherever I go.”

I rolled my eyes, even though she'd spoken the gospel truth.

She got up, rounded my coffee table and got on her knees beside me. She placed her hand on my thigh. “No,” she said, “I was spared, but our little Bell is
not
a butterfly.”

“She is!” My husband lied. “She's my butterfly.”

Although Carly sat on the floor, she managed to tilt her head back just so and stare down her nose at Jazz seated next to me on the sofa.

She shook her head at him as if he should be pitied. “You sweet boy.”

I don't think Jazz enjoyed her calling him a boy, especially a sweet one. He bit his lip as if the gesture would keep curses from flying out of his mouth. “Does my wife have weird God Dreams or not?”

Kalaya, the youngest Christian among us, took this moment to show off her Bible prowess. “Maybe it's like Acts, chapter 2, verse seventeen says: ‘In the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams.' Only, Bell isn't an old man.” She thought for a moment. “Does it count if Bell isn't an old man? I can be a literalist sometimes when it comes to scripture.”

No one bothered to answer her.

Carly finally said, “She has weird God Dreams.” At this she got up and went back over to her chair next to my mother and sat down.

Sasha rubbed her chin. “It's been years since she had one this bad, but when she was about eight, she had her first one about a neighbor of ours. The woman was traveling, and Bell dreamed she was on her way to her wedding, and she had on a red wedding dress.”

“So what ended up happening?” Jazz asked.

“The woman ended up being murdered.”

“Holy Moses!” Kalaya said.

My mother went on. “When Bell first had a Dream, we all told her that it was probably something she ate. She agonized over it. She asked anyone who would listen if she should tell our neighbor about it.” Ma shrugged. “At the time, nobody knew Bell would have the gift.”

“Or curse,” Carly said.

“Shush!” Ma said to Carly. “It's not a curse. It's a very difficult cross to bear, but if you ask me, God chose well. At least Bell cares.” She looked around the room at everyone. “Anyway, she was just a child. She didn't know what to do, and we all counseled her to forget about it. We didn't want Carolyn, our neighbor, to needlessly worry. I guess we were mistaken.”

“How often does she have a Dream?” Jazz asked.

“Thank heavens they're rare. She had a few in her twenties. And the last one a few years ago. It was so terrifying, she wouldn't even speak it. In fact, for days she didn't utter a word. When she spoke again she said one word, ‘Daddy.' We had an all-night prayer vigil for him, though frankly, I wonder if we shouldn't have let him go on to meet his maker.”

“Ma!” Carly said.

“So she will talk again in a few days?”

Ma shrugged. “It doesn't have to take days. She's capable of talking. She's just scared. We have to pray that whoever she dreamed about will be protected.”

Kalaya looked relieved. “So you mean nothing happened to her dad?”

“Unfortunately God answered our prayers. He's fine.”

Carly finally had something useful to add to the conversation. “When we found out she was a dreamer, Ma Brown took her under her wing, taught her about what she used to call ‘praying through.' Bell was just a kid, but she took it all in. But once Ma Brown was gone, she'd get discouraged. If anything happened to the person she dreamed about, she'd blame herself.”

Jazz shook his head. “That sounds like a terrible burden.”

“We don't get to choose the gifts God bestows on us,” Ma said.

Carly quipped, “I hope she didn't dream about me.” She pulled out a package of cigarettes.

She wouldn't have the nerve to light up in my apartment after all the fuss I'd made in my office. She knew that not only was I in the throes of misery from having a prophetic Dream but also I was pregnant. With twins.

Carly fished around her sky blue Chloé Paddington handbag that had to have hit her for a grand. The purse had an adorable padlock on it, and honestly, I hoped that lock would keep her from accessing a lighter. Unfortunately it did not.

I waited for someone, anyone, to tell her no smoking. My husband seemed a logical choice. The lion protecting his lioness carrying their cubs. But he didn't pay attention to her. My mother kept staring at me as if her gaze would compel me to speak. Kalaya rocked me in her embrace, and while I loved her, I needed my delicate fetuses protected more than me.

Carly lit up. Honestly! Nobody rushed her on behalf of my babies. She went into the kitchen and came back carrying my
last
Addie Lee mug. She sat back down in her chair and took a long drag of her Newport.

I yanked away from Kalaya. Everybody looked surprised. I tried to stare Carly down with an icy gaze. She paid me no attention whatsoever. I jerked my head around, scowled at my husband, and then looked at Carly again.

“What?” he said.

Sheesh! What does a girl have to do to get some respect
around here? Again, I looked from Carly to Jazz with exaggerated movements.

Carly flicked an ash into my beloved mug.

“
Carly!
” I screeched like a maniac.

She laughed. “Look, it talks!” She cracked up all the way to the kitchen. I heard water running. She came out a few minutes later, sans cigarette. She looked triumphant. “I knew that would get her talking. And the Addie Lee mug effect. Brilliant.”

Everyone laughed, except me.

“I washed it out. No harm done. But who has three days for you to speak? We want to know what you dreamed.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” I said.

“So we see,” Jazz said. His voice had an edge, but he grabbed my hand and held it, tenderly stroking it with the pad of his thumb.

“What did you dream, ladybug?” Ma said.

No fair. I loved it when my mother acted like a mother and not a drill sergeant. “Awwww, Ma. I don't want to say.”

“Let us help you pray. Was it another wedding dress dream?”

I nodded.

My mother scooted to the edge of her chair. She leaned toward me. Not like a drill sergeant at all. “Baby, what color was the dress?”

“It was black.”

She nodded. “Good girl. Now, baby, did you have on the dress?”

“No.”

“Who wore the black wedding dress?”

“Nikki Thunder.”

Ma nodded again, showing no sign of shock or surprise. “What else happened?”

“I lost the…” I couldn't say it. I placed my hands on my belly.

Ma didn't ask me to clarify. “Anything else?”

Tears sprang to my eyes. I quickly wiped them away. “Don't make me say, Mama.” My voice cracked.

I rarely called her Mama. Sasha stood up and walked over to me. Both Jazz and Kalaya got up from the sofa to give my mother plenty of room to comfort me.

She sat down beside me. Cradled my hand in hers. She lifted my chin with her finger until my eyes met hers. “Baby, you have to tell Mama what you dreamed. We have to pray.”

I didn't say anything. My tears fell on her hands. She stroked my hair. “You know that God will do His will. You get the Dream so that you can pray. What else happened?”

I whispered. “I can't say it, Mama.”

She nodded. “It's okay. You don't have to tell me what happened. Can you say who we need to pray for? We really are concerned.”

I looked at her. She meant it.

“Bell, who else should we pray for?”

“The babies. And Jazz.”

Gasps.

“We will pray,” my mother said. Without hesitating she began a very lengthy conversation with Jesus. We all joined in, praying for dear life.

Literally.

T
HAT NIGHT
Jazz and I had our honeymoon. We didn't make love. Jazz insisted that we wait until we were sure I was physically well enough. He told me we had the rest of our lives for lots of lovemaking. I hoped he was right. Instead, we held each other and listened. I heard secrets he had never shared with anyone, and I told him mine. We talked until the wee hours of the morning.

Even after Jazz had gone to sleep, I stayed awake. I didn't want to go to sleep again. Thoughts of Zeekie's funeral filled me with anxiety, but I had to focus on the case, not my own feelings. People from Nikki's past could be present who could tell us more about the enigmatic cow.

Cow again? Goodness gracious, I'm gonna have to watch my thoughts!

Finally, my pregnant body forced me to slumber. I had a mercifully dreamless sleep. I woke up the next morning feeling the chill of Jazz's absence, his warmth no longer beside me. For one irrational moment I panicked. “Jazz!”

He rushed into the bedroom. He already had his suit pants
on and a white undershirt. Shaving cream was slathered on half his face.

“Are you all right?” He brandished his plastic razor like a gun.

“I'm fine. I got scared when you weren't in bed.”

He sat on the bed next to me. “Baby. I know the Dream spooked you, but we prayed, and we'll keep praying. You have to trust God that I'll be all right.”

“I do trust God. But God's idea of all right and mine are sometimes two different things. I want to grow old and naughty with you. I want us to be like your parents.”

He got up and went back into the bathroom. My place was small enough for me to hear him without either of us significantly raising our voices. “Then keep talking to God about it.”

“But what if He wants you for Himself?”

“I've been a cop almost half my life. He had plenty of opportunities to get me if that's what He wanted.”

“But what if it's only now that He wants you?”

“You can't live in fear, baby.”

“Tell my brain and heart that.”

“How's the pain this morning?”

“Mostly gone. I'm more tired than anything.”

“Why don't you stay home and rest?”

“Maybe I will.”

Jazz came out of the bathroom with his face shaved clean. His skin looked as soft as a newborn's. He leaned against the doorjamb, watching me.

“I hate baby funerals.” The look of revulsion on his face made me shudder. He nearly spat out the words. “You know what I hate the most? Those itty-bitty caskets.”

“What I hate are those itty-bitty bodies in those itty-bitty caskets.”

We didn't speak for a few moments. Jazz pierced the silence, but his voice had taken on a soft, sympathetic tone.

“Did Imani have a funeral?”

The question cut into me. I wondered if I'd ever get over her death, but I wanted to share everything with him. “No. They put her in a hole in the ground in Adam's backyard. Adam was as high as a California redwood that day. He got nice and coked up for the occasion. And I couldn't even make it to the backyard because he'd nearly killed me. I couldn't walk for weeks, and the other wives didn't think I should attend.”

“They didn't think you should attend your own baby's funeral?”

“Jazz, they didn't think I was worthy of medical attention. They certainly weren't concerned about my feelings.” I paused as the feeling of nausea that always accompanied this memory washed over me.

And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. Help me out, Lord
.

I had to forgive all of them, seventy times seven. All day, every day.

“Are you relating this case to your past? You know what that does to objectivity, not that you've been objective
at all
.”

“I'm not making it personal. But you know that woman isn't thinking about her dead baby if she's trying to hook up with you. And since we're on the subject, I'd better watch my back. Nikki got it in her head that she wanted Thunder, and the next thing you know, his wife was dead. Not to mention I had that dream…”

He came to me, gathered me into his embrace. “Then don't mention it. Just pray.”

“I'm afraid that if you have to rely on my paltry prayers, you're going to end up pushing daisies.”

“You're not the only one praying, so don't worry.” He kissed me on my neck. I wished we could stay that way forever, locked in an embrace, completely safe from all the Nikki Thunders in the world. But we couldn't do that.

Jazz got right back to business. “I've been thinking about what you said. There's definitely something that's not right about Nikki Thunder. I get a bad feeling…”

“I had a bad Dream. A God Dream. I hate that I asked you to get involved in this now.”

“Are you sure it wasn't just a pregnant dream? My mom said expectant mothers have very vivid dreams. You know she has mystical inclinations.”

“Then her mystical inclinations should clue her in to the fact that my Dream was from God. Besides, I've had pregnant dreams before. There's a difference.”

“You said prayer affects the outcome.”

I sighed. “I did.”

He took my hand and stroked it. “Then pray already; but I gotta look at this case harder.”

“Maybe we should let this be the Ann Arbor Police Department's problem and step off.”

“Your local boys in blue are done with this, unless we give them a reason to look back into it.” He looked into my eyes and continued his gentle hand massage. “I know you're scared
about the dream, but you can't do a three-sixty now and ask me to stop. I'm in this, Bell. And I'm going to see it through to the end.”

“I don't want it to be
your
end.”

“What did I just tell you to do?”

“Keep praying. I know.”

Jazz's expression changed to a boyish, reticent look. Like he wanted to tell me something I'd spank him for. And not in a good way.

“What?” I said. “What are you thinking, Jazz Brown?”

“What do you mean, baby?” he said with absolutely no sincerity.

“You have to tell me something I'm not going to like.”

“Who? Me?”

“Spill it.”

“I was just wondering if you're going to go back to work tomorrow.”

“I'm thinking of calling in.”

“Fox isn't going to like that.”

The only thing my boss, Dr. Eric Fox, hated more than me poking around in police business was me missing work because I got hurt poking around in police business. I'd been on probation ever since a nutjob almost took my head off strangling me. Eric didn't have an issue with me being injured. He had trouble with the fact that I'd brought it upon myself.

“I don't think the jail will fall apart because I won't be there to give someone the MMPI.”

“It won't fall apart if you don't go back at all.”

“Don't go back at all?”

Uh-oh. His emotional armor went up. He crossed his arms over his chest. He took a deep breath. “Don't get mad.”

When someone starts a conversation with “Don't get mad,” you can be sure they're about to tick you off. “Don't get mad at what, Jazz?”

“Maybe you should quit.”

“
Quit?
My private practice doesn't bring in enough income for me to live on. It doesn't have benefits, either.”

“Let me take care of you.”

“No offense, Jazz, but I'd like to keep my job.”

“What about your high-risk pregnancy? Wouldn't you
like
to keep our babies?”

“I'll work until I can't anymore.”

“I want you to quit the jail.”

“No.”

“I demand it, Bell.”

“You're not trying to pull the ‘I'm the head' card again, are you, Neanderthal man?”

“You seem to forget that I
am
the head, woman. It's my job to protect and provide for you. Some women would kill for a man like me.”

“Nikki Thunder?”

“She probably would, which is why I'm going to take her down if she killed her kid. I'm not going to let that nutjob hurt my family, and you happen to be my family. One thing I can say for her, though:
she
seems to
want
a life with me.”

“I don't recommend you have kids with her.”

He got up. The pinched expression on his face made it clear that I hadn't pleased him. “I gotta go.”

He stormed out of the room and went back into the bathroom. I got up and went to him. He stood in front of the mirror adjusting his tie, a grim expression on his face. I tried to sweet-talk him, taking over the tie business.

“Baby, I didn't mean to offend you. I just don't think it's a good time to quit my job.”

“No, Bell. You didn't mean to offend me. You never mean to offend me, but you do. Your problem is you don't trust me to be a man—a good man. Not to worry. Do your thing. I'm out. I've got work to do. Apparently so do you.”

When his tie looked perfect, I gave it a pat. He jerked away from me. “I need to get to Zeekie's funeral early. We don't need to talk about this anymore. Looks like you've made up your mind.”

“We can talk about it later.”

He didn't acknowledge my existence. Jazz walked to the foyer, opened the closet door, and put on his coat.

I grabbed him as he put his hand on the doorknob.

“Wait.”

He turned around. His being mad at me was one thing, but I'd had a Dream, and he was on his way to where Miss Black Wedding Dress held court.

I reached up and put my arms around his neck. He didn't lean down to kiss me, but I didn't care. I simply pulled his head down. I didn't force him out of my apartment permanently by giving him the full treatment while I still had morning breath. I
pressed my lips on his until I could feel him relaxing and yielding to me. I trailed kisses to his ear. “I'm sorry,” I whispered.

He looked at me. “I have to go.”

“I love you.” If he was the man I thought he was, he wouldn't leave without saying it. He knew the Dream worried me.

He shook his head as if I alone were the source of all his problems. “I love you, too. Why, I don't know. You're stubborn, hardheaded, and insubordinate.”

“Aren't those all pretty much the same thing?”

“
Yes!
That's my point.”

“Have a great day, Jazz. Stay safe.”

“I will.”

“I love you more than Columbo,” I said.

“I bet you say that to all the detectives.” A half smile tugged at his lips. “Get some rest, and call me if you need anything.”

He pressed a kiss on both my cheeks and gave me a peck on the lips. “See you later.”

“Okay,” I said.

I'd make sure he would. And it would be sooner than he thought.

 

For a few moments I played “I'm going, I'm going
not
” with one of the carnations I had gotten as a gift when I was in the hospital. Finally, I abandoned the childish game.

Man up, girl! You had a Dream! You can't let Jazz go out there on his own
.

Not that I'd offer much protection, but God knows I'd do
what I could. Jesus asked his disciples to watch with him. If I could do anything at all in this case it was to watch the predator intent on making Jazz her own.

I made quick work of dressing and grooming and got ready to meet my Jazz at the funeral. I stopped at the closet before I put my coat on, and placed my hand on my belly, silencing my guilt about our argument. I prayed that I hadn't miscalculated what my body could do.

You up for this, Mama?

I couldn't help smiling. I still couldn't believe I was going to have babies.
Babies!

“Lord, don't let me do anything that could harm them. Give me wisdom.”

I waited, fine-tuned to my intuition and the small, still voice of God's leading. I didn't hurt at the moment. I felt tired, but I didn't feel any pain. Just to be sure I padded back to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. I grabbed the bottle of Tylenol that Dr. McLogan assured me was safe for the babies and took it with me.

See. I can be proactive
.

Again I waited for something, anything, to tell me I shouldn't join him, but nothing did. I got my coat on, locked the doors, and headed over to the Rock House.

 

As Kalaya would say, “Holy Moses.”

I arrived at the Rock House a little before nine. The Thunders had planned for the wake to take place an hour prior to
the ten o'clock funeral. Cars overwhelmed the parking lot at the Rock House, spilling out into the streets. The media had come out in unbelievable numbers. When Jazz had been accused of murdering Kate, the media descended on him like vultures. The attention they gave Jazz didn't begin to compare to this. News vans bullied the SUVs and cars for parking spaces.

Oh, man. I hoped I could get in without being hassled, especially since most of the people present had probably obsessively watched all kinds of media coverage of the story—including my infamous appearance on CNN. Maybe no one would recognize me.

I gathered my courage and headed to the church. I had to press through the throngs—easily a thousand people—huddled all around. At last I neared the door to the church. That's when I heard it.

“Look!” a disembodied woman's voice said. “It's devil-vomit girl.”

A crowd of reporters rushed me, thrusting microphones in my face. They fired questions at me. “Are you still possessed?” “Do you support Ezekiel Thunder?” “Do you believe God is going to raise Ezekiel Thunder the fourth from the dead?”

Jazz had taught me well. I kept walking, showing no emotion, offering nothing of myself.

Devil-vomit girl!
I experienced no guilt for ignoring them.