Murder in the Aisles (7 page)

Chapter Ten

Mark was tired and irritable when he pulled up in front of Felicia's house the following morning. The woman had the uncanny ability to wind him up without even trying. Or maybe she was trying. Maybe that's what was pissing him off. She was playing with him, using that lethal sex appeal of hers to scramble his brain. What other explanation could there be for him agreeing to have her review evidence in a case that was for all intents and purposes closed? He knew. He
wanted
to have a reason to see her and the only way to do that was through the case. A woman like Felicia Swift with all her fancy ways and high living and genius status would never in a million years be interested in a cranky, jaded detective whose list of failed relationships was as long as his solved cases. She'd gotten to him. She was under his skin. He could see and smell her when she was nowhere in the vicinity. He wanted her, in his bed, with those long legs wrapped around him, calling out his name in that raw husky voice that drove him mad.

“Fuck!” he growled and slammed his palm against the steering wheel. He was hard as granite. He squeezed his eyes shut and visualized jail cells and criminals and dead bodies, whatever it took to get her out of his head and return his cock back to normal so that he could get out of his car. When he opened his eyes, Felicia was standing in front of him. His jaw clenched. He turned the key in the ignition and shut off the car. He took a quick look downward and was thankful that the bulge had dissipated enough for him to get out and stand in front of her.

“Mornin',” he muttered and slid into his coat.

“Good morning. Is everything all right? You look tense.”

She was fucking with him. She had to be. “Everything's great. Ready?”

“Would you like some coffee before we hit the road?”

The last thing he needed right now was to be behind closed doors with her the way he was feeling. “No. I'm good.”

She gave a slight shrug, adjusted the black infinity scarf around her neck then turned on her three-inch heels, flashing the red bottoms as she walked to her Navigator.

Mark trudged behind and adjusted his navy and maroon striped tie against his snow-white shirt. He'd put on his good navy suit, by some designer that Elaine had picked out for him, and his black wool coat that he only wore for special occasions, and he still felt like Oliver Twist next to Felicia's high-end but understated elegance.

The inside of the Navigator was like crawling in bed next to Felicia. The interior was filled with her essence. The leather enveloped you when you sat. Within moments he felt the heated seats begin to take out the chill.

“Let me know if it's too warm,” Felicia said offhandedly as she maneuvered the luxury-mobile out of the driveway. When she got to the end of her driveway she paused and tapped the address into her GPS. “All set,” she said, a bit too cheery for Mark's taste, before pulling out onto the street.

“I generally listen to NPR when I drive,” she said. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Listening to someone else would keep his mind off her knee that her opened coat exposed.

She spoke a command and the commentator's voice filled the space between them.

The host was talking about the latest string of protests that were happening around the country in response to the rash of police brutality cases. Most were peaceful but there were several instances of arrests for disorderly conduct.

“Have you ever participated in a protest, Detective?”

“In college.”

“Really? What was the cause?”

“The war in Iraq.”

“Hmm.” She nodded her head. “So what are your thoughts on what's been going on?”

He heaved a sigh and eased deeper into the leather palm of the seat. “There are plenty of good cops out there. Unfortunately, there are those that make it bad for the rest of us. I don't think anyone who has not had to make a split-second decision that could cost a life will ever be able to understand the pressure that police are under every day.”

“I don't doubt that. What seems to be happening, however, is that too many cops shoot first and ask questions later. And if they're not shooting they're practically torturing people—black people, brown people.” Her features tightened. “And those are only the cases that we hear about. It's a different world for people of color who are, on sight, guilty until proven otherwise.”

Mark was silent. He understood all too well the great fissure that was happening between the police and the people that they were sworn to protect and serve. Most people didn't know that his mother was black. She died when he was three, and his Italian father raised him. He didn't hold that up as some kind of “get in free” card. The reality was, his entire life he walked a tightrope between his two realities. More often than not he took the road of least resistance—his white privilege. He glanced at Felicia's pensive profile. He knew she was right. He saw it on the job every day.

“But you wouldn't know anything about that—what it's like.”

“When you look at me what do you see?” he asked quietly.

She snatched a quick look at him.

“Which island was your mother from?” she asked instead of answering his question. “St. Kitts, Barbados, Trinidad, Aruba?”

He lowered his head and smiled in amazement. He turned toward her. “Barbados,” he admitted. “At least that's what my father finally told me before he died.”

“Sorry.”

“Long time ago.” He paused. “How did you know? Or were you just casting a net?”

“I knew from the beginning. My career has been spent studying the peoples of the world, their origins, cultures, genetic make-ups and languages. I surmised when we first met, Detective, that your last name was only half of your story. It's in the barely there ring of soft brown around your cuticles, the shape of your forehead and the slight flare of your nose. There's also an undertone to your skin. Caucasians would consider you dark with your ‘swarthy' skin tone, inky black hair and dark eyes. I'm thinking that your mother was mulatto, probably from the Caribbean or possibly Louisiana.” She wondered if his father knew or if she'd decided to
pass
.

“Wow. I'm impressed. Never met anyone who knew unless I told them.”

“It's what I do, Detective.” She turned to him and smiled softly. A light of “it's okay” glimmered in her eyes.

He wasn't sure why he'd admitted his mixed heritage to Felicia. He'd never even told Elaine. And the women that he'd dated throughout the years assumed who and what he was based on his appearance and his last name. He never challenged it.

“I don't remember my mother,” he admitted. “There was only one picture of her that I ever saw. To look at her,” he shrugged his left shoulder, “you'd figure that she was some kind of European. Until I was in my early twenties, I didn't know anything different.”

“When you found out, how did you feel?”

Mark drew in a breath. “Confused. Angry. Like I'd been perpetrating a fraud all my life.”

“But it didn't make you change the way you were living?”

Silence sat for a moment between them.

“No.” He swallowed down the knot of recrimination.

“I wouldn't blame you. Most of us don't have those kinds of options or any options at all.”

It shouldn't matter to him what she thought about his life choices, but it did somehow. The tight fist in his chest loosened.

They hit the highway and Felicia, seeming to read the shift in Mark's demeanor, switched from NPR to the local jazz station. Soon they were both soothed in different ways.

The hit song “You Don't Know” by Jill Scott came on.

Felicia instinctively swayed her head to the bluesy, jazz-infused beat.

“Have you ever seen her perform?” Mark asked.

“No. I've always wanted to.”

“I, uh, read somewhere that she was coming to the Kennedy Center next month.”

Her pulse kicked up a notch. “Hmmm.”

Mark studied the landscape that whizzed by his passenger side mirror. “I was thinking about getting tickets.”

Felicia's lashes fluttered. She visualized the items in her purse: lip gloss, tissues, mints, comb, wallet. She saw their exit up ahead. “Almost there,” she nervously blurted out. “About another ten minutes.”

Mark nodded. “With some time to spare.”

Felicia gripped the wheel and pressed her lips and knees tightly together.

* * * * *

The chapel had begun to fill with staff members by the time Felicia and Mark arrived. Mark whispered that he would sit in back and left Felicia at the door. And for the first time since he'd gotten into her vehicle she took a full breath. She made her way over to the memorial table where flowers and cards had been placed and nearly collapsed in relief when she saw Elizabeth walk in.

“Hey,” Felicia greeted and kissed Elizabeth's cheek.

Elizabeth gave Felicia's arm a squeeze. “How are you?”

“Good. I, uh, came with Detective Rizzo.”

Elizabeth's eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“I'll explain it all later,” she said in a pseudo whisper. “Let's find a seat.”

They snared two seats at the end of the second row. Elizabeth kept glancing over her shoulder.

“Would you stop,” Felicia hissed from between her teeth.

“Is he the hunk in the last row with the wavy black hair?”

“He has black hair,” Felicia conceded but refused to acknowledge the hunk part.

“Yummy. No wonder you got all twisted when you didn't hear from him.”

Felicia elbowed Elizabeth in the side, just as Dr. Wallington stepped to the front of the assemblage and stood at the lectern.

Dr. Wallington cleared his throat several times while he cleaned and re-cleaned his glasses. Finally he began to speak in halting words, expressing his gratitude to everyone that showed up to pay their respects to his longtime friend and colleague. He went on to talk about Dr. Dresden's long career and contributions to the library industry as well as academia through his extensive research in linguistics.

As much as she wanted to pay attention, Felicia couldn't concentrate on the monotone of Dr. Wallington's voice. Instead, while her expression remained fully engaged, her mind and body were back in the car with Mark, in her house, and on her couch. It was no accident that she'd brushed her breasts against his arm when he was leaving. She needed to. She wanted to. It fueled her dreams of him last night. But today, in the car, his revelation about his mother, rather than put her off, somehow softened her impressions about him. He was more than a sexy, arrogant cop. He was flesh and blood with baggage of his own. It made him real, human, and even more desirable.

“You okay?” Elizabeth whispered from the hand she held over her mouth.

Felicia blinked herself back to reality. She turned to Elizabeth. “Yes. Why?”

“I thought I heard you moan.”

Felicia's cheeks burned. Had she been of a different complexion her face would be fire engine red. “Just so sad,” she managed.

Elizabeth gave her the side-eye and turned her attention back to Dr. Wallington. There were several other speakers from the academic world as well as Senator Hopkins and Congressman Wilson, who came on behalf of the White House. The service lasted for a bit over an hour before everyone began to file out into the bitter chill of the morning.

“Very nice service,” Elizabeth said as she and Felicia walked down the steps of the chapel. “But you didn't hear a word.”

“Huh?”

“I said I was six months pregnant and I don't know who the daddy is.”

Felicia stopped dead in her tracks. Her neck snapped in Elizabeth's direction. “Very funny.”

“What's going on with you today? You are totally spacing out.”

They crossed the front of the chapel and walked toward the parking lot.

Felicia lowered her voice. “I think he finally believes me.”

“Who?”

“Mark.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Mark? The detective?”

“Yes.”

“So we've moved from asshole to first names,” she teased.

“Don't. Okay?”

Elizabeth made a face. They reached Felicia's car first.

“He took the disk that I found in Dr. Dresden's office and got some information off of it.”

Elizabeth's eyes widened but she didn't get a chance to ask what she wanted to because Mark approached.

“Nice service,” he said, more to Felicia. He tugged on the collar of his coat.

“Yes, it was. Detective Rizzo, this is my friend Elizabeth Taylor. She works for Channel 7.”

His lips pursed for a moment. He extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Elizabeth gave him the up-close once-over. “You, too. I've been hearing a lot about you from Felicia.”

Felicia wanted to kick her friend, who was practically drooling.

Mark's dark gaze slid to Felicia's. She eyed him right back.

There was an awkward moment of feet shuffling. “Ready?” Felicia finally said to Mark.

“I'm with the driver.” He turned his full-watt smile on Elizabeth. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“I'll call you,” Elizabeth said to Felicia and air kissed her cheek before hurrying off to her car.

Felicia pressed the key fob for her Navigator and the door locks disengaged. She got in without a word. Mark rounded the front and got in, snapped his seatbelt and adjusted his body into the welcoming seat.

Felicia unbuttoned her coat, loosened her scarf and then set her purse precisely on the center of the backseat. “Music?” she asked off-handedly.

“Whatever you want is fine with me.”

The pit of her belly fluttered. It was an innocent statement that was open to interpretation. He was good at doing that and it was making her just a bit crazed because she couldn't determine if it really was innocent or if he was messing with her head. She gripped the wheel.