The Choir Director 2 (19 page)

Ever since I found his name in the college yearbook, I'd become obsessed with finding Mark King. Nothing and no one else mattered to me, and it would be that way until I could confront the guy who lured me into the trap that wrecked my life.

I'd been staying at my brother's house and parking my car a few blocks away so no one would know I was there. My brother was at work most of the time, so we rarely saw each other, which was just fine with me. I really didn't want to talk to anyone these days. Monique was the only one still calling on a consistent basis, but every once in a while someone else from the church would ring my cell phone and leave a message to tell me they were still thinking about me. I knew they meant well, but the last thing I needed was some nosy biddy from the church taking it upon herself to find me and try to “save me.” I could just picture one of them getting it in her mind that she would be the one to get me and Aaron back together.

I had been thinking about Aaron a lot lately. My heart ached when I admitted to myself just how much I missed him, but I knew that us getting back together was not possible, at least not until I had a face-to-face with Mark King. If I was ever going to speak to Aaron again, I needed to be able to approach him as a grown woman, not a wounded girl.

I let out a frustrated scream, grateful nobody could hear me as I drove through the nighttime streets of Queens. Maybe I was being delusional. I'd already done so many things that I couldn't take back, and there was no way that I could expect Aaron to forgive me. But I wanted to believe it could happen. Hell, I needed to believe that. Holding on to that dream kept me going.

As I turned onto a side street, I glanced in the rearview mirror and noticed the car that had been behind me for a few blocks also turned. It wasn't the same one I'd seen the other day, but the way it stayed on my ass when I turned and then switched lanes made me suspicious. Maybe I'd watched too many cop shows on television, I thought, because my active imagination had me worrying that someone had actually been following me for days, and had changed cars to throw me off.

“Shit!” I cursed, worried that I might be in some real danger out here alone. Once all the possible theories started playing around in my head, they seemed plausible to me. What if there was more than one person following me? What if Mark King had found out that I was searching for him and now he was hunting me?

I looked in the mirror again, and the car looked like it was straight-up on my tail now. I made a quick turn into the parking lot of a small shopping center. If the car didn't follow me, then I would know I was just being paranoid.

“Damn!” The car stayed right on my behind. “Think, Tia. Think!” The lights were off in the dollar store, the wig shop, RadioShack, and an overcharging check-cashing place. A handful of cars were left in the lot, probably folks parking for free on their way someplace else. I had to get out of there.

I sped up and shot down an alley that I thought would lead me back to an always-busy Jamaica Avenue. Halfway down the alley, I realized my mistake. An oversize Dumpster was in the middle of the alley behind the dollar store, blocking my exit. Even worse, behind the Dumpster they had erected a chain-link fence. I put the car in reverse and turned my head to back up, but the other car was creeping down the alley behind me. Out of options, I grabbed my purse and retrieved my gun with trembling hands.

The car pulled up right behind mine, but the bright headlights shining into my car made it impossible for me to see who was getting out of the driver's side. I watched, terrified, as the silhouette of a man approached my car. In no time, he was walking around the side to my door. I shut my eyes tight, waiting for the worst.

“Tia? What are you doing, girl?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin when he spoke my name. Whipping my head to the side, I saw Pippie standing there, looking down at me with a puzzled expression. He reached down and opened up my door. Adrenaline still coursed through my body; to my terror-stricken brain, everyone was an enemy right now, even Pippie. Acting on pure animal instinct, I jumped out of the car, pointed my gun at Pippie, and ran to the other side of the car to put some distance between us.

His hands shot up defensively. “Whoa!” he yelled. “Tia, it's me, Pippie. What are you doing? Put down that gun.”

“Why were you following me?” I shouted at him, taking another step back and keeping my gun raised.

“I was coming from that Chinese spot on the Avenue when I saw you drive by me, so hell yeah, I followed you,” he said, his voice a combination of nervousness and anger. “No one's seen you since you left my boy at the altar. You think I was going to see you and not try to talk to you?”

“How do I know that you haven't been following me for days?” I yelled.

“'Cause if I had found you before tonight, believe me, we would have had a conversation. Like, where the hell you been? Are you all right? How could you do this to Aaron? Are you coming back?”

He kept his hands up but took one cautious step toward me.

“Stop right there!” I ordered. “And stop asking me so many questions.”

“Tia, I'm not the enemy here.” He did not stop his slow advance toward me until he realized I was not putting the gun down. He now stood just a few feet away from me. “I only want to help you.”

“Mind your business and leave me alone, Pippie.” I couldn't control the shakiness in my voice, and I was sure he noticed it too.

“This is my business! You're my little sister, remember?”

At one time, Pippie and I had been extremely close. When he got released from prison, he'd lived with Aaron while he was getting on his feet. Over that time, he'd become like a big brother to me. But just like everything else from before the night I spotted my rapist, that relationship was dead to me now. Pippie couldn't help me. The only thing that would make me whole was confronting every one of my rapists, and I did not need Pippie hindering that plan by telling anyone he'd seen me.

“Pippie, walk away. Just pretend that you didn't see me,” I begged. “It would only hurt Aaron. It's better if he just forgets about me.”

He shook his head. “No, that's not right. Aaron loves you. If you're in some kind of trouble, he would want to help you. You two were meant for each other. Let me help you fix things.”

A single tear escaped and rolled down my face, but I refused to give in to my feelings for Aaron.

“Nobody can fix this,” I said. “Not you, not Aaron, not even the bishop can help me.”

Pippie kept trying. “Love can fix almost everything. Trust me on that. Aaron loves you, Tia. He's not going to stop loving you.”

“You spent too much time in prison,” I spat. I was becoming angry at the way he kept trying to tug at my heartstrings. I was in control of my own destiny now, and no man was ever going to be allowed to change my course. I pushed away any lingering tenderness from my mind. “You think because you got out of jail, now life is gonna turn out like one of your fantasies. That everything and everybody can have a second chance. Guess what? Not everybody gets a second chance. And that other fantasy? Please. Love can't fix shit. Not my life or yours, so don't talk to me about love.”

“Look,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Let me just call Aaron and get him down here. I have faith that you two can work this out if you just talk to him.” He pulled out his phone.

“Don't you call him!” I screamed out, waving my gun in the air.

He lowered his phone, staring at me wide-eyed. “What is going on here? You are not the Tia I knew.”

“Yeah, well, you don't really know me then. But if you know what's good for you, then you will back the fuck up and let me out of here!”

I walked into the church, pulled out the chair next to Desiree's desk, and stared her down. I'd just come from a conversation with some very influential church members and the main topic of the conversation was Tia. I wasn't surprised to learn that many of them felt the same way about her that I did.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked, sounding nervous. “Do I have something in my teeth?” She covered her mouth, rolling her tongue around to check.

I answered her question with a question of my own that had nothing to do with her dental hygiene. “Who are you, and why are you really here?”

“What do you mean, who am I? You know who I am. I'm Desiree Jones, the church's secretary. I work here. You're sitting on my desk,” she answered with a little humor in her tone.

“You can cut the BS, okay. It's just you and me. We both know you're not who you say you are, and you darn sure ain't no church secretary.”

Her facial expression went blank. Now she was staring at me. “My name is Desiree Jones. You wanna see my ID?” She reached for her wallet and pulled out her ID.

“Okay, so your name really is Desiree. That still doesn't explain things.” I chuckled, but she did not look the least bit amused. In fact, she was getting downright defensive.

She leaned forward. “What exactly do you need explained, Aaron?”

“Well, for starters, explain that story you concocted about just moving to the neighborhood from Virginia, like it was some coincidence that you ended up here. 'Cause me and a few of the choir members were just talking, and—”

Her eyes opened wide, and she looked truly scared. “What? Y'all were talking about me?”

I realized I better let her in on the joke before she fell apart. “Yeah, we don't believe you moving here was a coincidence. We believe it was divine intervention.”

“Huh?” The fear was gone, replaced by confusion.

“Nobody comes all the way from Virginia to New York without prompting and no family to lean on, unless God's behind them—or possibly the devil. And, well, we all know you have the voice of an angel,” I said with a smile.

“So, I'm not fired?” Her face softened.

“No, you're not fired. Truth is, I'd like to offer you the chance to do a solo with the choir.”

“A solo?” she shrieked, loud enough to make me worry about my eardrums.

“Oh, I'm so sorry about your ears. I'm so sorry. You really think I'm ready for a solo?” she asked excitedly. I nodded. She seemed genuinely surprised, which I expected. Most of the solos in our choir had gone to the same four women for quite some time now. It had become pretty much a foregone conclusion when I assigned parts that the solos would go to one of those four. But I felt like we needed to shake things up. I'd been noticing recently that Desiree had a mean set of pipes on her. When I heard some of the choir members agreeing with my assessment of her voice, I knew it was the right time to make the change. If the other choir members recognized and respected her talent, it might be enough to keep any jealous grumbling to a minimum.

“Absolutely. You have an amazing voice. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a professional.”

“No, nothing like that,” she said with a modest smile. “I just sing for pleasure.”

“What? Are you gonna tell me that you weren't a lead in your last choir?”

“Yes, but it wasn't First Jamaica Ministries. I mean, we hadn't won any awards or recorded albums or toured. We were small time.” She laughed, and I noticed for the first time how pretty she was. Sure, I'd checked out her figure before, but I'm a guy and that's second nature, like holding the door open for an elderly person or putting ketchup on fries. But I'd never taken the time to really look at her—or any other woman, for that matter—ever since Tia left me. Not that I was ready to make a move, but it felt good knowing I could still find a woman attractive. Yeah, it felt real good. Normal.

“You are going to love the song I have picked out for you. I knew you were perfect for the solo once I heard that high note you hit the other day. This song really fits your voice.”

“No, no, no! That's not going to happen! I don't want you in my house!” The sound came booming through the closed door to Bishop Wilson's office, and both Desiree and I fell silent.

“TK! Please, just listen to me!” Monique yelled back just as loud.

We both tried to act natural, like we hadn't heard a thing, when the door to the bishop's office flew open. We weren't the only ones trying to put on an act. Immediately, both Bishop Wilson and First Lady put on their game faces and acted like every­thing was all right.

“Aaron,” Bishop greeted me, although he couldn't maintain eye contact for more than a second. The first lady pretended to be busy searching for something in her oversize purse.

“How's it going, you two?” I asked.

“We're fine.” First Lady gave me a curt smile.

The awkward silence lasted for only a few seconds, interrupted by two white men dressed in inexpensive blue suits who strode into the office.

“Can I help you?” Desiree addressed them.

The taller of the two flashed his badge. “My name is Detective Dillon, and this is my partner, Detective Barron. Do you have a John Nixon who works here?”

Desiree started to answer, “No, no one by that name—”

Bishop Wilson stepped in to address the officers. “John Nixon does work here. People here call him Pippie. How can I help you gentlemen?”

They shared a knowing glance that made me nervous. Pippie was on his last year of a five-year parole, and doing a great job of staying out of trouble—or so I thought. Unfortunately, it would only take one small slipup for him to violate and be sent back to prison to complete his original sentence, probably with extra time thrown in.

“Is he in some kind of trouble?” Bishop asked.

“Bishop Wilson, there's no easy way to say this. John Nixon is dead.” The detective's words caused a collective gasp in the room. “Uniforms found his body in an alley off of Jamaica Avenue around six this morning.”

I felt my knees go weak. I would have fallen to the ground if the bishop hadn't caught my arm to hold me up. God, it felt like my life was totally falling apart. First Tia left me at the altar, then Ross betrayed me, and now Pippie was dead. What had I done to deserve this?