Deadly Charm (25 page)

“No mixing business with pleasure, detective.”

He gently took my hand away and held it. He pressed his body close to mine. “May I speak to Jane?”

“This is Jane.”

“I want full-time wife and mother Jane.”

“Jack Daniel's ran her off.”

“Touché. I haven't had a drink all day.”

Goodness gracious, he stood too close. He made me feel all tingly. I wanted to touch him.

“Come back home,” he whispered.

I turned my gaze away from him. Stared at the ground. He didn't lift my head this time. He grazed my cheek with his own. Stubble had just begun to emerge, and the friction felt so good that I had to stuff my hands in my coat pockets to keep from laying them on him.

He whispered, “I'm sorry I got drunk.”

“I need to work through something, Jazz. I can't come home.”

Maddening man! He kept murmuring—his soft, sexy voice and warm breath tickling my ear. His hands found my waist.

“Come home with me. Don't even get your stuff. Let's go.”

“I want to…”

“Then let's do it.”

“The way you're pushing up on me, I think you want to do more than go home.”

“I'm not drunk, and that's exactly what I want to do.”

“Jazz you need to listen to me.”

“I did listen, Bell. I'm not drunk on anything but the vanilla and sweet amber I smell in your hair.”

I couldn't help myself. I swept my hands up and down his cheeks and let them make their way to his curls. He turned into a beast, furiously kissing me.

“We should stop.”

“We're married.”

“We're having—”

“A really good time, as soon as I get you home. Let's go.”

“Jazz, that isn't going to solve our problems.”

“It'll solve one of mine. Come on.”

I didn't answer. Let his kisses carry me someplace I'd been before, but didn't stay nearly as long as I should have. I ached to return. “Okay,” I said.

He stopped. Stared at me, his expression almost comical. “Did you say ‘okay'?”

“Yes.”

He grabbed my hand and got me off that porch like
it
, not
him
, was about to explode. I trailed a little bit behind him. He didn't seem to mind until we got to the car. He went to open the passenger-side door, hesitated, and looked at me. He took his hand off the door handle. “I know you want to go.”

“You're right, Jazz. How could I not?”

“Give me another chance, Bell. I won't disappoint you.”

“I said okay.”

“Okay is different than yes.”

“Semantics, Jazz.”

“Touché.”

“Why do you want me to go?”

He sighed. “You're my wife, and you belong with me. My babies belong with me.”

“Will you start pounding your chest like King Kong, shouting what belongs to you? I am alpha male. Hear me roar?”

His features darkened in anger. “Do you have to ridicule me?”

“Jazz, I'm not trying to ridicule you. It's just that sometimes you say things that…”

His mouth tightened in a flat line. “Things that what?”

I paused, debating whether I should say it. I decided to be honest.

“Things that remind me of Adam.”

I couldn't have surprised him more if I'd slapped him. “Adam? The nutjob who beat you? Do I need to remind you that I've never laid a hand on you?”

“Sometimes you make me sound like inventory. ‘You're mine. Do this. Do that.' Even the way you said, ‘Come home with me.' A demand. You didn't really ask.”

He leaned against the car. The cold and his anger reddened his cheeks and nose. Even angry he looked beautiful. For a long time he didn't say anything. Then finally, “You told me that there is a serial killer in that house. I'm going to say this one more time, Bell, because sometimes in life you have to act and you can't coddle and placate. You have to say, ‘Move!' or ‘Watch out!' And you may lose your decorum in that instance. You may have to physically remove the person against protest. But you do it so you won't have to scrape them off the bus tires.” He gave me a look as hard as the one he'd given me on our wedding night before he stormed out of my life.

All that, and I hadn't even told him about the threat she'd made. He went on. “If you don't get in that car and come home with me, I promise you, I will call my lawyer as soon as I get home, and when the time comes, I will sue you for custody of my children.”

I could feel the rage coiled tight as a spring slowly unfurl. My legs trembled and my hands burned to scratch or slap or punch him. I tried not to think about the fact that he'd just threatened to take away my children. A number of unpleasant names crouched at the tip of my tongue. I dared not speak because I knew if I did, something would come out and do the kind of damage one can't easily undo.

If felt like my throat was slowly closing. My lungs hurt to breathe. I lifted my head and looked at him, and his expression had turned from anger to alarm. I began to count to calm myself enough to be able to speak and put an end to this conversation, put an end to the fiasco we'd called a marriage. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five…

Lord, have mercy; Christ, have mercy; Lord, have mercy
.

Four, three, two, one…Deep breath, in and out, again.

Finally I could speak. “Then I suggest you get a scraper, because you'll scrape me off those bus tires before I go anywhere with you. I'll see you in court.”

I turned and walked away from him only to feel his hand clamp over my wrist. My rage became incarnate.

Dear God, I'm going to hurt him. Protect my babies because I'm going to…

He grabbed my wrist. “Get in the car with me.”

The porch light came on, and Rocky opened the door. All I had to do was lash out, and Rocky would help me.

“Is everything all right out there?”

“I'm taking her home.”

Rocky stepped toward us. “Jazz, let Bell go.”

“This is my wife. She's coming with me.”

Rock took another tentative step. “Jazz, dude.”

Jazz exploded, “You stay back, or I will hurt you, Rocky. I played along, earlier. Now I'm taking my wife home.”

“Let her go, Jazz.”

He held me fast, with me resisting him. We were frozen in that nightmare, neither one of us willing to surrender. Or so I thought.

Jazz let me go.

I stood there a moment, unsure if I should flee or fight. None of us moved. Elisa waddled outside and took Rocky's arm.

He looked at her, clearly annoyed. “Babykins…”

“This is a husband and wife, Rocky,” she said.

“She doesn't want to go.”

“I know she's your friend, but she's his wife. Has he beaten her?”

Rocky's puppy eyes searched mine.

“No,” I said.

Elisa continued. “Did he cheat on her?”

I shook my head.

“Bell, why don't you want to go with him? What does he want that you don't want to give him?”

I didn't answer her. She addressed Jazz directly.

“Jazz, what is it that you want?”

“I want to protect her. She knows that's all I want.”

“He wants to own me.”

“I do own you. You are mine.”

Rocky stepped closer to me. He looked at Jazz as if he were asking for permission. Jazz obviously gave it.

“Jazz. You need to rethink the scriptures. Marriage is about serving one another. It's not a slave thing.”

I could sense Rocky's fear of Jazz's aggression. None of us knew what Jazz would do. Rocky spoke tentatively.

“Babe, I know I asked you to play hard to get. But this is taking things a bit far. You're welcome here anytime. But I think you need to have a talk with your husband tonight.”

Jazz spoke. “No, that's okay, Rocky. Don't help me. If it takes all that to get her to come home, then she doesn't want to be home.” Jazz threw his arms up. “I'm done.” He lowered his arms. “Forgive me for all the drama. I may not be like you Rocky, but I love her. More than you do. See, I'm
one
with her. I'm in her and she's in me. And that's not just a sex thing. I used to think it was. I was married before, or I thought I was, and I
had a lot of women, but I wasn't
one
with anybody. I'm only
one
with her.”

He walked to the driver's-side door and opened it. Jazz took one last look at me, then got into the car and drove away, leaving me standing in the driveway with Rocky and Elisa.

Three o'clock in the morning, and I tried to discreetly unlock my three locks and quietly enter my apartment. I met with no resistance. I swung open the door and looked around. All things Jazzy had been stripped from my apartment. My husband and all his stuff had vanished from my life.

After I settled in, I picked up the telephone. Dialed a number I almost never did. Heard my father's voice, thick with sleep.

“Daddy?”

“Princess, is that you?”

“It's me. Daddy?”

“What's the matter?”

“I keep making a mess out of my life. That's all.”

“Everything okay with you and Jazz?”

“Why didn't you prepare me, Daddy? Why didn't you tell me I was strong and beautiful and worthy? Why did you leave me when I needed you the most? Carly got that part of you. I missed it.”

“Do you want me to come over there?”

“I don't need you to come over here. I need my husband to come over here. And bring his stuff back. But you know what, Daddy? I don't even think I really want that because he's drinking so much, he can't begin to be a good husband and father. And you know what I really want to know? How did I end up marrying you?”

Daddy didn't speak. The phone stayed quiet until I hung it up, angry. I thought he'd fallen asleep on me.

I was wrong. An hour later he was at my door. A tall, brown brick of a man. Woolly white hair. Skin the color of pecan shells. Dancing eyes full of compassion. Paint stained his clothes from his making art all day. He brought me Starbucks.

He sat beside me on my sofa. “Go ahead and rage, princess. I'm up for it.”

We stayed up all night, him nodding his head and listening while I raged. He stayed until I was spent.

“Princess,” he said, as the light of dawn began to emerge through my blinds, “everything you said to me is true, but I need to say something to you that's true.”

I waited.

“You're not a teenager. You're an adult. You're acting like a child emotionally, but you are not a child. You have to tell that teenage girl who's running your life, ‘Thank you, but I don't need you anymore. I'm adult Bell, and I have to take over now.'”

The truth of his words caused me to sag against my sofa cushions. He went on. “All that you told me about Ezekiel Thunder, your fractured faith, your disappointment in the God who doesn't always do a miracle, your confusion about Ezekiel Thunder's gifts, your anger at me—they're all your teenager stuff, Bell. Your never-healed teenager stuff.”

“I'm thirty-five years old, Daddy.”

“But not in these matters. In these things, you're fifteen.”

“How can God use Ezekiel Thunder? He's awful. But, Daddy, he knew about my tumor. He knew Jazz's name without ever
being told. He prayed for my ankle, and the next day the pain was gone.”

“Gifts and callings are without repentance, sweetie. Look at Saul. Look at David.”

And then the big ones.

“Look at you, princess. And me.”

My daddy had changed, just like I had. He hadn't had a drink in years, and yet I still punished him as often as I could like he was still a sloppy drunk.

“I'm sorry I keep bringing up your past. I know you're a different man now.”

“It's my chickens coming home to roost, princess. I deserve all your wrath and more. I did all that drinking. The least I can do is be here now when you call for me, which isn't often, though I wish it were.”

Daddy let me fall asleep with my head on his shoulder. He kept my hand in his, and I drifted off into a dreamless slumber, hearing his voice telling me that, in the end, God will redeem it all, and everything we suffered will be clear to us. Love really will win in the end, he said.

I believed him. After all, he was my daddy, and despite himself I loved him.

I
TRUDGED INTO WORK
at the jail an hour and a half late, barely functional. Finding clothes to fit my ever-expanding voluptuous frame took some time. Before I went to my desk, I saw one of my pals, Detective Jeff Winslow. I caught Jeff hanging around the front desk and pulled him aside. I'd hoped I could buy him off with a bag of Famous Amos Cookies. I headed over to the vending machine, Jeff following.

I pulled three quarters and a dime out of my handbag. Plopped them into the vending machine. Jeff caught on immediately when I pushed the numbers and his favorite chocolate chip cookies fell out.

“Uh-oh. A bribe.”

“Jeff, you worked on the case with Ezekiel Thunder, right?”

He eyed me warily. He was a big, blustery man, blond, blue-eyed, just shy of handsome. Bushy hair. Overweight. He talked like he had chronic breathing trouble. “Why d'ya ask, Amanda?” He had that smirk on his face like he wanted to say, “What is she about to do to get beat up now?”

“Two words: Nikki Thunder.”

“For her I got one word, but you're a Christian, so I won't say it.”

I took the cookies out of the vending machine and handed them to him. He took them, reluctantly.

“What if I told you I've heard that she had three other babies who died? Two cases of SIDS and one mystery death I haven't gotten the details about yet?”

“I'd ask you how you could prove they were homicides.”

“Wouldn't that be your job?”

“I've done my job. I investigated. Got the medical examiner's report, and it says her kid had no indicators of child abuse to suggest that his death was anything other than an accident.”

“What about that story, Jeff? A kid goes to the bathroom and walks out leaving his almost three-year-old, very busy brother who dies?”

“It raised flags, sure, but we couldn't find anything amiss other than that incredulous story the kids didn't budge from. And truth be told, it wasn't so incredulous. Kids drown in bathtubs.”

“He was a firecracker, Jeff. He'd have taught himself to swim in that tub before he drowned in it.”

“We got nothing for the DA. What can you do?” He shrugged his wide shoulders.

“What if I had a name you can run a check on? Her
real
name. See if the police in Philly want her on something. Come on,
two
SIDS babies? Another baby dead of unknown causes? And a toddler who drowned in the bathtub after that?”

He leaned against the wall. A few people shuffled into the area—an officer and a nervous-looking older couple probably hoping to bail out some wayward soul. “Amanda, maybe the
woman has tough luck. If nobody else prosecuted, they didn't have enough on her. You know how hard it is to prove a SIDS death is a homicide. Babies don't fight back.”

“How many babies have to die before she's stopped? She's a serial killer, Jeff.”

He wheezed. Surreptitiously glanced around. Slanted toward me. “Lower your voice, Amanda.
Sheesh
. You can't just go around accusing people of being serial killers.”

“I'm sorry, Jeff. I'm just frustrated.”

“And what is it with you and murderers? You a homicide cop now, like your hubby?”

“My hubby got suspended for drinking on the job.”

He placed his hand on his double chin. “No stuff?” Only he didn't say “stuff.” “When did this happen?”

“A lot has happened. It's crazy.” I tried to give him the puppy eyes. “Jeff, I know she's a psychopath. She's gotta go down.”

He put a beefy hand on my shoulder. “It's not your job to take her down. You can't just charge in there like you're Christie Love.” He thrust an imaginary gun at me, with both hands, his arms extended. He used a falsetto voice, “You're under arrest,
sugar
!”

I cracked up. “I
cannot
believe you remember
Get Christie Love!
”

“Remember it? I was in love with Teresa Graves.”

I shook my head. “I'd better get to my desk. As it is, I'm late and have been absent again. Plus, I'm afraid you're sweet on black women now. I'm not sure I can trust you anymore, you rascal.”

He roared with wheezy laughter. When he'd calmed he said, “Your boss isn't the only person around here worried about you, you know.”

“I know, Jeff. I have two very good reasons to behave myself now.”

“Congrats on the babies, Amanda.”

News travels fast at the Washtenaw County Jail. “Thanks, Jeff.” I turned to go to my desk.

“Amanda,” he said. I turned back to him. “Sometimes you have to let it go. We don't win 'em all. I wish we did.”

I nodded and waved good-bye to him. But I couldn't let it go. Not when all those kids in my dream were crying out for help. I couldn't help them all, but I could help my little Thunder boy. At least I hoped I could.

 

Two hours after my chat with Jeff, I sat at my desk amid piles of manila folders. The work had piled up while I spent a week with my husband, the craziness of Zeekie's funeral, exorcisms, and finding out I was pregnant. My fabulous life as Jane sure did make my job at the jail look boring.

Before I had time to muse about it, a female uniform—a redhead named Rebecca Burns—summoned me to a meeting with Eric. She almost winced when she told me he wanted to see me in the conference room. When she left, I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. The conference room. He'd give me “the talk”—employer's version.

It felt like I walked five miles down the hallway to get to him. He could have just as easily told me, again, that he didn't appreciate my frequent absences without the fanfare of having to go into the conference room.

I knocked on the door, and like a doctor, didn't wait for him to say “come in” before I barged into the room. One look at his face and I could tell that he wanted to talk about more than my attendance.

He didn't stand when I came into the room, not quite the perfect gentleman. He nodded to a chair in front of his desk. “Dr. Brown, please, have a seat.”

Dr. Eric Fox had the cool persona of a Vulcan. Honestly, the man even looked like Dr. Spock sans pointy ears. Tall, always immaculately dressed, thin, dark-haired—with a shock of black hair constantly falling across his forehead—and anal retentive. He always seemed to be preoccupied.

“Good afternoon, Eric.”

“And speaking of afternoon, you got to work late today, Amanda.”

“I'm sorry, Eric. My dad was over, and I didn't sleep. I'm dragging around this morning, and a lot is going on. You know I'm rarely late for work.”

“Yes, and perhaps that's because you rarely come to work.”

“That's not fair, Eric. I've worked here for years, and you've never had any problems with me. I know that the past five months have been—”

“Amanda, I like you. You know that. I've been very patient with you, but in truth, the past five months have been unacceptable. You continue to involve yourself in police matters to your own peril.”

I couldn't deny it. “Eric, I was absent this week because I found out I'm pregnant with twins, and I have a medical condi
tion that will make that precarious. My mother said she spoke to you.”

“She did, and congratulations on the babies. I know you've wanted this for a long time, and you deserve it.”

“Thank you, Eric.”

“Dr. Brown, we both know a pregnancy with twins is going to be high risk.”

“I'd hope to address that later on down the road. I'm only about seven weeks along, though I
look
four or five months—”

“You've already missed three days of work, and you only just found out about the babies.”

I looked at my hands wringing in my lap. Generally speaking, Eric didn't intimidate me, but I had that sinking feeling. And I could see what was coming. “Well, one of those days I had to go to a loved one's funeral. The fact that I had to be hospitalized doesn't necessarily mean that I'll continue to miss work. I don't know how things will progress. I've never been pregnant with twins before.”

“Didn't you have a miscarriage once, Dr. Brown?”

“You know I did, Eric. A long time ago.”

“Surely you're concerned.”

“Of course I'm concerned.”

“And frankly, I'm disappointed that you talked to Detective Winslow this morning about Nikki Thunder.”

I couldn't hide my own disappointment that Jeff had ratted me out. Eric must have seen it in my face.

“Now, now, don't look like that, Dr. Brown. He only spoke to me out of concern. Several people have confided in me about
how alarmed they were at your unorthodox decisions to involve yourself in homicide cases.”

“Them and
everyone
I know. Like I said, I know the past few months have been—”

He cleared his throat. “I don't want to fire you, Amanda. You're a fine psychologist and a wonderful colleague.”

My heart felt like it had dropped down to the kitten heels of the purple boots I had on. “I don't
want
to be fired, Eric.”

“I think it would be best for everyone if you resigned. I'll be happy to give you a good recommendation.”

I'd always played nice. I'd never been fired before in my life. I didn't love the work. I should have been courageous enough years ago to let the job go and do some work that I did love. But it offered the security of excellent benefits. How in the world would I pay for my prenatal care and the birth? What if I needed a C-section? What if something was wrong with the babies?

I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn't blame Chantilly because Eric didn't wear it. A headache bit at my temples. If I sat there much longer, I'd end up weeping into my palms.

Be brave, girl. You can do this. If thou canst believe, all things are possible
.

I stood, kept my posture erect, and extended my hand to shake his. He stood in turn and met mine across the table. His concerned expression let me see he'd had a hard time with this.

“I'll put together a letter of resignation today. With two weeks' notice?”

“There's no need for you to continue on for two weeks. You can leave now if you'd like.” He released my hand. “I'm truly
sorry, Amanda. I really do think this will benefit you and your new family in the long run.”

I shrugged and bobbed my head about in a not quite affirming nod and a not quite disagreeing shake. “Thank you.”

I swallowed the huge bitter pill I'd been given without any water. I walked away, trying to keep my knees from trembling and my hands from shaking.

I walked to my desk and begin to clear out my personal mementos. I didn't have many.

Everyone avoided me, except for Jeff. He approached me reticently. “I didn't know he'd fire you, kid.” Jeff was only ten years older, but he always called me kid.

“It's not your fault.”

“Need some help?”

A tear strayed beyond my control. I swiped at it. Shook my head.

Jeff gathered me in a hug. He emboldened a few others to do the same. I even got a woman or two in the office to cry with me.

“Hey! You'll have plenty of time to take care of those babies. And you gotta let us see the twins when they get here,” Rebecca the redhead said.

Despite their generous good-byes, I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

My legs felt like they were made of lead. I trudged to the car and then home, feeling completely defeated.

Jazz doesn't want me to work anyway
.

Score one for Jazz.

Just then, my cell phone rang. I rarely charged it, so whoever
tried to contact me caught me in good form. “This is Amanda,” I said.

“Bell, it's Elisa. Rocky is sick. He's in the hospital.”

That hale and hearty man is rarely sick. My heart dropped to my shoes. “What happened, Elisa?”

“We don't know,” she sobbed. “He just got really sick. Vomiting. Diarrhea. Spitting up blood. They say he has severe gastroenteritis. I think he's dying, Bell.”

I couldn't think. One mantra repeated in my brain.

Help him, God. Help him, God. Help him, God. Please, help him!

When my thoughts could move past my litany of terror, Nikki Thunder's face flashed before me. Her words:
an accident could happen to someone you love
.

I had very unflattering names for her in my mind.

Nikki had made good on her threat. I knew it with everything in me. But could I prove it? Who else did she harm? Had she been in contact with Jazz? Dear God!

“Where are you?” I asked.

“I'm here at the U with him. He's in intensive care!”

“How long has he been sick?”

“Since this morning.”

Oh, God. Oh, God. What to do?

“Listen to me, Elisa. I think he's been poisoned.”

“Poisoned? Bell, that can't be.”

“Make them check him for poison.”

“What kind of poison?”

“I don't know. Anything.”

I could hear the frustration and hesitation in her voice. “Why would somebody poison him?”

“You have to trust me. I can't tell you everything now, but I guarantee you a threat was made and that Rocky was poisoned. Make them listen, Elisa. Let me save Rocky's life like I saved yours.”

I heard her sniffle. She must have been gathering her courage. “Okay. I'll try.”

“Do it, or he's gonna die, Elisa.”

“I love him.”

“Then make them listen to you. I'll prove it. I'll prove it all. Just give me a minute.”

She started sobbing uncontrollably.

I hung up the phone, praying I was right. I needed to make another call; I called on Jesus.

 

I knew Carly had taken me off her favorite persons list, but I didn't care. I called her cell phone and prayed she wouldn't be so upset at my neglecting her in her Timothy crisis that she would refuse to talk to me.