A Good Excuse To Be Bad (21 page)

 

“
I
t's about time you got home.” Whitney sat on one of the kitchen stools nibbling on a stack of leftover cupcakes Sugar Hill's grief care team brought over for the family yesterday.

“Where are the kids?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Mama has them around here somewhere. You know she took them to the Suwanee Water Park soon as you left this morning.”

“She what?” I gasped, thinking about how dry Bella and Taylor's hair would be by now.

Since Mama had been sporting wigs and weaves for the past quarter century, she must have forgotten that our hair kinked and twisted like cotton caught in an April wind after a good head soak.

“Did you oil Bella and Taylor's hair?”

“Do I look like Fraulein Maria?” She smacked her lips and rolled her eyes. “No, I did not. I was hoping you were bringing Ava home with you, so you two could fix your own children's hair.”

“I wish.” I slapped my purse and flopped on a stool next to her. “She may come home tomorrow.”

“What are we going to do if she doesn't?”

“Don't worry. Willis is going to fanagle Ava onto some judge's docket, so she'll be going to court first thing in the morning. I'm sure she'll be released.”

“Good.” She sighed, then turned to me. Her eyes made mine water.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Some funeral home called here, soliciting to handle Devon's funeral.”

“I don't need this crap.” I laid my head on the table.

“If Ava gets out tomorrow, then you won't have to.” Whitney brushed my hair with her hands. “It's okay.”

As she continued stroking my hair, I realized how Ava must have felt when I combed her hair with my fingertips. Thankful.

 

 

Justus said he would meet me in two and a half hours. That was thirty minutes ago, and I still hadn't changed my clothes or snuggled with Bella. I rummaged through my closet for the tenth time. There wasn't anything remotely close to an outfit Ava would wear to a prayer meeting. Now I wished I had snuck around the McMansion and yanked a few things out of there like Ava's purse—which reminded me, I needed to call Salvador. He should have combed my old case file by now. I hoped I hadn't left anything that would hurt Ava's chances.

I plopped on my bed and sighed. Would these women tell me anything relevant tonight? I looked down at my clothes. Not with me in jeans and a dirty T-shirt, they wouldn't.

I walked into my bathroom and turned on the shower. Mama had returned my cologne, but placed it on the sink. I shook my head and put it back in my medicine cabinet. She hadn't been a young mother in years, so she had forgotten the lifestyle.

Then I gasped. Mama! She had clothes befitting a Black American Queen. I headed toward her room.

I popped into Bella's bedroom, but she wasn't there. I shrugged. She and the kids could be out in the backyard playing. But I didn't have time to run outside and check. I checked my watch and sighed. I craved a pudgy kiss on my cheek. I wondered if she was missing me at all.

I reached my guest room and knocked on the door.

“Why are you knocking on your own door, Angel?” Mama shouted from the other side of the door. “Get in here. Your child needs you.”

“Bella?” I opened the door.

“Hey, Mama.” Bella waved.

She sat on the bed next to Mama and barely glanced at me. She didn't jump up to greet me like she usually did.

“Can I get a hug?” I asked.

She nodded, slid off the bed, then ran toward me and buried her head in my stomach. I leaned down and kissed the top of her head, but shot back up. I blinked. Her Powerpuff Girl-inspired ponytail had been replaced by cornrows with gold beads dangling at the end circa 1990s tennis pro princesses, the Williams sisters. It complemented her summer bronzed skin. I didn't want to act too surprised, but I was. She looked beautiful.

I looked at Mama. “When did this happen?”

“I took the girls to the salon. They needed to look presentable.” She lowered her gaze at me. I knew exactly what she meant. The girls needed to be properly coiffed for Devon's funeral.

I nodded. “What salon did y'all go to?”

“Halle's.” Mama picked up some magazine she was reading. “You know she's the only one in Atlanta that I let in my hair.”

I smirked. Her hair was buried under all those weave extensions.

She looked up at me. “You would look good with a fresh new look, too.”

“I know, but I don't have time.”

“You'd better make time,” Mama said.

“Oh, I will. Halle and I have some matters to discuss anyway.” I returned my attention to Bella. I stood back. “Is that a new dress?”

She nodded. “It's for tonight, Mommy.”

“Tonight?” I frowned and looked back at Mama. “What's going on tonight?”

Mama touched my shoulder. “I'm taking the kids to meet their new granddaddy.”

“Oh,” I nodded. “Maybe I'll meet up with you guys later.”

“No, you won't, Mama.” Bella shrugged and walked off.

Mama watched Bella, then me. “That baby will take your bad ways, if you don't stop her.”

“Long as she don't have the ones you and I share, then I'm good.”

“I pray she never develops your inability to know when you need to make a hair appointment.”

“You're right!” I spun around toward her. “I just forgot. I need to go to Halle's right now. Kiss the kids for me. I'm out again.”

I ran out the door. I hoped I could get down there on time, find out what I needed to know, and get back before the armor bearers arrived.

 

 

Halle scheduled me for an emergency wash and set. Perfect. If anyone living in Dekalb County wants to know the latest scoop and the gospel truth of a matter, then book an appointment at Halle-Do-Ya Spa & Salon on the corner of Hairston and Memorial Drive. Halle's salon sat in a Kroger Shopping Plaza sandwiched between the grocery store and an AMC movie theater. It was a great location for her.

Seven years ago, Halle and I met while judging the Miss Black Atlanta Pageant. She had migrated here from Louisiana when her husband, Constance Capers, took on a job as a music minister for Atlanta Faith's rival—sister church—World Faith. Then Constance got a gig producing musical scores for Perry David's Movie Studios. Now she styles hair for some of the top Hollywood actresses, singers, and first ladies in Atlanta. Because of that, the woman knew news long before it became news. It didn't take long for her to become my informant and I her reliable Monday, 10-o'clock wash and set, until three years ago when I didn't think I needed her or anyone anymore. That was the worst decision I ever made.

“I thought you retired?” she asked, as she began to oil my freshly shampooed hair with something that smelled of peppermint and coconut. My head tingled. I liked it. Then she massaged my head with her hands. I thought my spirit was about to sour.

“So did I,” I mumbled.

“Honey, it's a good thing, if you ask me.” Her fingers continued to work their anointing. “Maybe you'll go back to the
Sentinel,
'cause, child, they don't know what news is anymore.”

“Neither did I when I was there.”

She reached for the wrapping lotion. It was a pink foamy texture that smelled of strawberries. No wonder Ava's head smelled so good.

“You know, Ava said that that place had stolen your soul. You think she was right?”

“No, no one can steal your soul. You give it away.”

“Amen, honey.” She nodded. “Especially if he's fine.”

The other ladies in the salon giggled. “Amen.”

Halle began wrapping my hair around my head with a brush and more of that strawberry foam. Her process had me so calm I couldn't remember what I came to ask her.

“Not disrespecting the dead . . .” She leaned down and whispered, “Bishop McArthur was fine enough to lose your religion. It's a sin and a shame that man was killed like that.”

The woman next to me patted my shoulder. “A man like that will drive any good woman crazy.”

I shouted, “My sister did not kill Devon McArthur.”

The salon shut up.

Halle said, “Oh, honey. We know that.”

The salon breathed and Amen' ed some more.

“You're just saying that because I'm here.”

“Honey, I don't have time to lie.” Halle slapped my thigh with the hand towel that hung over her right shoulder. “Let's get you on the dryer before the wrap lotion dries up. When did you say the church folk are coming?”

“In two hours, and I need time to drive home.”

I stood up and waved at the other ladies getting prepped. They waved back. As soon as I left the room, the original boom of the salon returned to its normal robust roar.

Halle walked me into another room. Both sides of the room were lined with hair dryers. She placed the towel on one of the dryer chair arms. “Sit down.”

As she set the dryer to dry my hair, she said, “It's a sin and a shame what has happened. I knew Greater Atlanta was going to hang Ava out to dry the moment I saw the story about Devon's death on the news.”

“Why did you think that?”

“Don't act surprised.” She lowered the dryer over my head. “Ava talked about the administration's disloyalty all the time.”

I lifted the dryer off my head. “She said that to you?”

“Yeah, she never told you?” She shook her head. “Of course she didn't. Ava didn't want you to know that you were right about the church.”

“Right about what exactly? You know I have many gripes about the place.”

“That last story you did for the
Sentinel
. You know the one about nonprofit foundation fraud, the one that made you quit. Well, Ava believed you.”

My legs numbed. “What?”

She checked her watch. “You're going to have my schedule backed up with all these questions.”

“And so what. You double book your clients.”

“Touché. Let me get the blow dryer. It's not as good, but you don't have much time anyway. I get to try out my new porcelain dryer.” She went back to her station, then returned with a big barrel silver blow dryer and a huge comb attachment.

“So why did my sister tell you all this and not me?”

“Women tell their hairstylists a lot of things. I don't know. I think it's the fact that we make you feel so comfortable, you can't help but tell the truth.”

“Or could it be this place is so loud, she didn't think you heard her.”

“Oh, honey, I hear everything. I even heard you are in love with your pastor.”

“I didn't tell you that.”

She chuckled. “We don't just listen, Angel. We see very well. So let me give you some advice.”

She had my full attention. “Yes?”

“Marry him.”

I laughed. “What?”

“Marry him.”

By the time we were done, not only did I look fierce, but I was ready to face off with the women armor bearers of Greater Atlanta Faith. I hoped.

 

A
va's armor bearers walked inside the church at 8:00
PM
on the dot. There were three: an older woman, a young woman who looked old enough to be barely out of school, and a woman in her late twenties or early thirties, about my and Ava's age. The woman closer to our age introduced herself and the group to me. Her name was Candace Johnson, the older woman was Mrs. Loretta Stephens, and the young one's name was April Peters. I must admit I was surprised they weren't dressed alike or wearing the same color. In fact, they didn't look like the modern-day Stepford Wives I had imagined. They wore jeans and button-down blouses just like I did. I cringed. What if they were normal decent folk? I hoped so for Ava's sake.

To my surprise, Elvis was there. He was sweet enough to bring over some finger food from the Biscuit Depot: peach marmalade tea cakes, coffee, biscotti, and banana pudding, my favorite. I hoped the pudding would take the edge off. Justus hadn't arrived yet. After Elvis placed all the food on the serving tables, he walked over to me with a small plastic container in his hand. He handed me the container. “These are for you.”

I popped the lid. Key lime cupcakes. I gasped. “How did you know?”

“It's a gift God blessed me with.”

“What?” I giggled. “The ability to know a woman's guilty pleasure?”

“No.” He touched my hand. “The ability to listen and remember. Your sister talked about your cupcake fascination often.”

“She did? Talk about me, I mean?”

He nodded. “I know that you two have not been close for a long time, but I believe—I hope—that through this tragedy, God will reunite you and Lady Ava. She needs her family right now, and the children do, too.”

He was so sweet. I gave him a hug. I would have given him a juicier hug if Justus and Mama hadn't walked in.

I heard Mama's voice first. “Where's Evangeline? Where's my daughter?”

“Your mother is here.” Elvis released his hold. “I would love to chat with her, but I can't. I have to attend the Board of Trustees meeting tonight.”

“I'm sure she will understand.”

“I need to tell you two important things. One, the utensils and trays are disposable. The ladies will handle the cleaning of the catering supplies. And two . . .”

His voice quivered, I noticed. “Is something wrong?”

“I apologize, Angel, but I'm a bit concerned for you.”

“For me? Why?”

Mama stopped in front of the door. “Elvis, why didn't you tell me you were in here?”

He walked toward her and gave her a hug. “Because I'm still on the clock, to my chagrin. I need to speak with your daughter for a bit longer and then I have to go.”

“It's okay, sugar. We will talk soon. I just want to warn you.” Mama then turned toward me and sneered. “Ava's women friends brought dishes covered in tacky plastic wrap. It takes away from the décor of the buffet table. I'm just saying.”

“Okay, Mama. I'll get on it.”

She nodded and walked out the door.

Elvis tilted his head as if he were looking out the door. “Mother Crawford Curtis Carter looked as if she's ready to pounce on our armor bearers.”

I giggled. “She's anxious for answers. We all are, especially whether Ava makes bail tomorrow. She'll be okay.”

“I pray that she will.” He touched my shoulder.

I watched him. I wanted to ask him about Terry, but my gut told me to be patient and fish for something else. “You must think I'm a hypocrite.”

He batted his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I know you saw me and Pastor Morgan in your parking lot today.”

“You two are a couple.” His cheeks reddened. “Yes, I figured as much.”

“No, actually, we're not.” I looked toward the door to see if Mama was within earshot. “This isn't the right time for that sort of thing. You know?”

He nodded, but didn't say anything.

“So I'll be alone tomorrow.”

“Of course.” He smiled. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Not even Terry? Should I worry about him?”

His eyes widened. “Terry?”

“Devon's bodyguard. I saw him today at your place. Should I worry about him when I visit tomorrow?”

“No, I'm sorry.” He cleared his throat. “The church forced my hand. They sent him over because they knew you were coming.”

“And how did they know that?”

“I told them.” He rubbed his neck. “I didn't think it was going to be a problem. I mean, you are focused on clearing Lady Ava of the bishop's murder. What could be wrong with that?”

“So the Board of Trustees is afraid of me?”

“Not afraid, just concerned. They aren't anymore.”

“What changed their minds?”

“Rachel. Your inquiry of her. The church shares similar concerns.”

“What kind?”

He lowered his head. “They want to find her, too.”

I stepped back and took a deeper look at Elvis. His hands trembled and his head remained lowered. He was definitely hiding something.

I touched his shoulder. “How well do you know Rachel?”

“Apparently not well enough.” He looked up. His eyes had reddened. “From what I remember, she was a great girl. She did great work for the church. We got along very well. I don't have anything bad to say about her, except that she had found herself in a spot of trouble. Lady Ava wanted to help her. So did I, but unfortunately Rachel decided it was best to leave the church and resolve her issues without us.”

“You worked closely with her?”

“Yes, by default, mind you.” He chuckled.

“Right. Since you're Devon's first man and Rachel was Ava's assistant, you saw each other a lot.”

“Exactly.” He nodded. “We worked on a lot of projects together.”

“Wow, you must miss her then?”

He looked up at me. “Angel, I miss them all. We were a happy family.”

“I see . . .” I observed him some more. He wasn't as fidgety as he was before. “Since you and Rachel had such a close connection, did you become friends?”

“Yes, of course. She's a lovely girl.”

“So you liked her?”

He grinned. “Angel . . .”

“Just asking.”

“I understand, but she's not my type.”

“Did she contact you after she left the church?”

“The board asked me the same question the day bishop died, but no, she hadn't contacted me. Honestly, I hoped that she bloody would have. I didn't want her to find out via cable news.”

“That's very considerate,” I said. “But I'm confused about why the board wanted to find her after Devon's death. Do they suspect she's involved?”

“Of course not.” He sighed. “That's absurd.”

“Then give me a better explanation.”

“It's quite simple, honestly. Finding Rachel is a crisis management issue. The last thing the church needs right now is for the DeKalb County Homicide Unit or the Atlanta press to find Lady Ava's personal assistant.”

“Former personal assistant.”

He squinted. “Excuse me?”

“Rachel is no longer Ava's personal assistant. She could possibly be a material witness, but she wouldn't be helpful or hurtful to Ava at this point unless there's more. Is there more about Rachel that you're not telling me, Elvis?”

“This discussion makes me uncomfortable, especially when the conversation is with a bloody reporter.”

“I'm not talking to you as a reporter; I'm talking to you as one sister desperate to free her sister from jail.”

He huffed. “It's hard to believe with all your questions.”

“Questions?” I scoffed. “The police don't have a reason to search for any other suspects, because my sister won't say anything. But if Ava's silence has to do with Rachel . . .” I touched his shoulder. “Please, Elvis. I'm begging here. Tell me. Why is Rachel important to the church?”

Elvis folded his arms over his chest. “Rachel had problems. I can't talk about them here, for the sake of time, but finding her is very important to Greater Atlanta, and, of course, to Lady Ava. We don't want her problems adding more scandal to an already scandalous situation. Do you understand?”

“Very. When can you tell me about her problems?”

He rubbed his jaw. “Not now. I have to go to my meeting.”

“So I assume you've already asked the armor bearers about her?”

He looked at them and leaned toward me. “Since bishop's death and Lady Ava's arrest, they barely talk to me. I don't know why.”

“Is it because you're white? No offense, but you do stand out at Greater Atlanta. It's got to be the elephant in the room over there.”

“Actually, my father is Nigerian.” He smirked and shook his head. “Bishop McArthur was working toward changing the dynamics in the church to something far beyond race, more like structure and traditions.”

“Would that include the need for armor bearers?”

He shrugged. “Some traditions Devon didn't think were necessary. I don't know if the armor bearer division was a part of that plan. All I know is that he wanted to streamline Greater Atlanta. Take the church toward a new and better vision, a new denomination.”

“A new denomination? Really?” I made a mental note. “So what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to find her. Maybe the ladies will talk to you. One of them must know where she is. If not”—he pulled an envelope out of his hand—“I hope this is enough to retain you. I know you have other ways to find someone who doesn't want to be found. It's pretty clear Rachel doesn't want to be found.”

“Seems like that to me, too.” I peeled the envelope open and peeked inside. My mouth dropped. There was a cashier's check for $50,000 inside.