Deadly Charm (16 page)

The sun had already gone down, but I got God's point, although I wanted to run from God, too.

“I'm going to bed,” I said, not looking at him. I walked to the doorway of my bedroom, turned, and said, “Sleep tight, Jazz. And don't let the bedbugs—”

“Bite me!” he said.

My mouth flew open. Jazz cracked up.

“I couldn't resist,” he said.

So much for Jazz knowing me. Or not letting the sun go down on my wrath. I went to bed spitting fire. And I went
alone
, locking my bedroom door behind me.

M
ONDAY MORNING
. Ma had called the jail for me on Saturday and informed them that I'd been hospitalized and wouldn't be back in until Thursday. I wanted to sleep in but ended up waking early to the sounds of Jazz—not the music; the man. He'd gotten into my bedroom somehow and sat beside me with his legs under the covers.

I prayed that man had something on. Anything, and it didn't look like he did from what I could see. He had his cell phone to his ear. Sounded like he was trying to schmooze someone into running fingerprints through AFIS—the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. I propped myself up on my elbow, wild-eyed, braids all over my head like Medusa, and still mad from last night.

“Jazz,” I stage-whispered, “what are you doing in my bed?”

He put the index finger of his free hand to his lips. I hated when he shushed me, even if he hadn't actually
said
“shush.” At least waiting to speak with him—okay, yell at him—gave me a chance to eavesdrop.

“If you get a hit let me know.”

He waited. I couldn't hear what the other person said.

“Thanks a lot, okay?”

Pause. He laughed. “Cut that out, girl. You know I'm not on the market.”

I sat up. “Who
is
that?” I said. Loudly. Honestly! Women seemed to have no regard for married men actually being
married
. What is up with the world?

He laughed again and nudged me with his elbow. “Bye, now.” He flipped his phone closed. Looked at me. “Good morning, Mama.”

“How did you get in here when I locked the door?”

“That lock is useless. All you need is a wire hanger to open it.”

Man! Why didn't I listen to Joan Crawford when she said, “No more wire hangers”? I chided myself for my lack of foresight.

“So my boundaries mean nothing to you?”

“Bell, some boundaries are good. Noble. Others are dumb. We're married, and I'm going to sleep with you. No need to play hard to get anymore. Just accept this and be happy.”

“What? You think sleeping with you is a gift?”

“Tanya Stevenson would think it's a gift.”

“And who is Tanya Severenson?”

“Tanya Stevenson.”

“That's what I said.”

The mischievous eye-twinkle thing returned with a vengeance. “You didn't say that.”

“Could you just tell me who Toni Anderson is?”

“I don't know anybody by that name.”

“You just said she would think sleeping with you is a gift.”

“No, I didn't. You got the name wrong.”

“You know who I mean. Tessa Jefferson.”

He chuckled. The sound delighted me. “You're doing that on purpose.”

“I don't have all day to play the name game with you, Jazzy. Please, tell me who Tonya Harding is.”

“She's the chick who got her ex-hubby and his boys to crack Nancy Kerrigan in the knee.”

“She wants to sleep with you? Ew.”

He chuckled again and bent over to kiss me. “You're so much like Sasha sometimes.”

“That's not what Ma and Carly say. They say I'm just like Artie, my dad. Neither of them likes him.”

“I'd like to meet him.”

“Yeah. You can knock back a few drinks together. So, who is Tanya Stevenson?”

“She works for the crime lab for the Ann Arbor Police. I need to start networking and establishing relationships with them.”

“Okay, networking is one thing. You need to go easy on the ‘establishing relationships' thing, especially when Tanya Stevenson wants to bed you down.”

He threw his hands up. “I'm not the one with an adultery demon.”

“No, but who knows where that sexual demon will take you?”

He reached out and smoothed my braids. “Don't worry. You're cuter than she is.”

“Am I smarter?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Funnier?”

“Definitely.”

“Breasts bigger?”

“I didn't look at her breasts.”

I smiled at him.

He laughed. “I knew that was a trick question. You won't see me taking a beatdown from a hormonally driven pregnant woman. Jack Brown did teach me a few things about women.”

I cocked my head to the side and studied him. “You don't miss a thing, do you, Jazz?”

“Sure I do. But you can help with that, can't you?”

I perked right up. “I know! Maybe we can be private investigators
together
. We'll be the black version of
Hart to Hart
. Chic, fabulous—”

“And filthy rich.”

We got quiet for a moment. Jazz must have been seriously contemplating the possibility of us working together. He frowned and shook his head. “
Psych!
Don't even get your hopes up. Me, plain ol' homicide detective with police force. You,
Jane
. Me, have dangerous job. You, mommy now.”

I lightly slapped his arm. “You downsized me! Jane used to be a psychologist.”

“I
upgraded
you. Being a full-time wife and mother is a noble vocation.”

Full-time wife and mother hit me like Niagara Falls! Slowly I turned…

Jazz deftly diverted my attention. “I'm running Nikki's and the kids' fingerprints through AFIS.”

I filed that full-time wife and mother bit in my mental “im
portant” file. We'd finish our discussion later. I'd make sure of it, but for now…

“How'd you get their prints?”

“I let them finish their ice cream in the car. I asked Nikki to collect the trash, so she touched both their cups.”

“Good work, detective.”

Jazz winked at me. “It's what I do. Besides, that's not what she was checkin' me out for.”

I frowned.

He rubbed my arm. “I don't want her, Mama. I'm here in my bed with you, where I belong.”

“I'm not going to touch that one right now.”

I felt hopeful. Not only was Jazz investigating for me but he was sharing everything he did with me. I appreciated that as both client and jealous wife.

“So do you think Nikki could have murdered Zeekie?”

“I admit, a woman on the make when her son is at the morgue makes me leery of her, though honestly, people have been known to do worse and not be murderers. Bell, people use sex for a lot of things, and if what you told me about her is true, she probably isn't a stranger to that kind of behavior. That doesn't make her a murderer, though.”

“It doesn't make her an innocent little lamb, either. Consider this, Jazz: since the ME ruled his death an accident, whoever killed him may now have a false sense of security. They'll think they got away with murder and won't be on to a continuing investigation.”

He nodded, not bothering to hide his frustration.

“Why do you do this, Bell? I can see why I look for murder
everywhere. I've been in homicide way too long, but not you. Why do you insist on this? I don't like it. It puts you in a position where people hurt you. We can't afford that now.”

“But she might get away with murder.”

“She might not have murdered anyone, Bell, and you know what? Sometimes people get away with murder. I hate it, but they do.”

“If you hate it, don't let it happen.”

“There's no proof. Come on, Bell. You don't like her! Maybe you're seeing things.”

“People thought I was seeing things when I saw that somebody other than you killed Kate, Jazz. I fought for you.”

“I know you did, baby. I'm grateful. You saved me from prison, but you also almost got your neck broken.”

Jazz lifted my chin with one of his fingers. “I can't let anything happen to you. She might have killed her baby, but she won't kill mine.”

I didn't know what to say to that.

He took my hand, kissed my open palm.

“I'm still looking, Bell.” He held my hand.

“It's Nikki, Jazz.”

“I hate to say this, but you may be right.”

“What do you think her motive could be?”

He looked uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

“You know something!”

“Why can't you just be normal? Why don't you bother me about money or for not spending enough time with you?”

“Tell me. I'm pregnant. I have to
know
things.”

“I don't want to discuss this with you. Isn't it enough that I'm still looking into this?”

“I kept you from prison. You'd be up in Jackson right now if—”

“I would not!”

“Would, too!”

“Shut up!”

“What do you know?” I screamed.

He harrumphed.

I always break him down.

“She had a life insurance policy for him. And we ain't talkin' small change.”

“Aha!” I said. “Familial murder, especially when a mother kills her child, is often motivated by insurance money. Other motives include a woman wanting to please a husband or boyfriend who's not the child's father, or she's frustrated and can't handle the child.”

He agreed with this solid assessment.

I continued, “Ezekiel said she couldn't handle Zeekie. This wasn't an impulse killing like if she beat him to death in a rage. I'll bet she planned to drown him. Maybe that's how she got Sister Lou involved. She knows Lou hasn't got 'em all.”

“Lou ain't got none!” He shuddered again.

“Maybe she coerced Lou to make her responsible for it and Lou is none the wiser. Nikki would know Lou's history of mental illness and about her unorthodox deliverance methods.”

He agreed. “This could also mean Nikki was smart enough not to get her own hands dirty. Maybe Lou really did kill him in
another exorcism gone wrong, but if she did, it really would be an accident. Actually it was brilliant. If anybody ever found out what happened and prosecuted, Lou's defense attorney could cop an insanity plea and nobody would even go to jail. Lou might even get the help she needs.”

“What do you think of Nikki as a grieving mother?”

His brow furrowed. “I think she overdid the stoic yet surviving bit—when she wasn't brazenly putting the moves on me. That's the thing about murderers. They don't realize how fake their acting is.”

“She must have fooled the police.”

“Maybe not. Like I said at the hospital, they'd be inclined to go with the autopsy report, especially with this being a high-profile case. You, however, have an in with the AAPD. Why don't you ask your friends what they think?”

“Good thinking.”

“Bell. She calls me.”

“What?”

“She calls me several times a day. She's not a nice girl on the phone.”

My heart sank. “Why are you taking her calls?”

“Because you keep your friends close and your enemies closer. How am I supposed to watch her if I don't watch her?”

“I don't like this, Jazz. She's got a freakin' personality disorder and deadly charm.”

“You have nothing to worry about. I'm in love with only one woman.” He rubbed my thigh, like seeing me jealous put him in the mood for love. “What's that you were saying about Nikki's deadly charm?”

I could hardly concentrate. He really did have skilled hands. “What, honey?”

He drew circles on my thigh. My bed felt really, really small. “Personality disorder? Deadly charm. What you think Nikki has.”

I had to snap back to attention. I moved his hand. “In a way I was kidding when I said she had a personality disorder.”

“You said ‘in a way.'”

“Well, maybe I wasn't kidding. Jazz, she has a coldness about her. From the things Ezekiel told me about her coming on to him when she was a kid? How many teenagers do you know who throw themselves at old geezers?”

“I wouldn't call him that. He's pretty smooth.”

“He was her sugar daddy.”

“Many people like that arrangement.”

“She had no regard for his wife, who ended up getting sick and dying two seconds after she found out they were lovers.”

“Luuuceeee!”

“I didn't imply anything. The things Ezekiel and Joy said about her just give me pause.”

Jazz rubbed his chin. “That's not a pause. That's practically an accusation, Bell.”

“There could be something to it. Maybe she poisoned her. I can talk to Thunder. Get more information.”

He rubbed his temples. “What? You just gonna ask your boyfriend flat out if Nikki's been knocking off hookers and transients?”

“Are you turning a little green around the edges, Jazz?”

“Maybe I don't like how the old hustler looks at you.”

“He looks at all women like that.”

“But you're
my
woman.”

“Not if Jack Daniel's is your new best friend.”

He turned away from me. Bit his lip, probably to keep from saying something I'd have deserved.

“I'm sorry.”

He didn't say he accepted my apology. Just plunged into confessing. “There's something I really need to tell you.” Concern shadowed his face.

My teasing mood sobered in an instant. “What is it, Jazzy?”

He lay back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling. “Like I said, I'm no fan of Nikki Thunder, and I'm not saying you're wrong about her, either, but…” He took a deep breath. “I guess I'm thinking about grief. How people can grieve in different ways. Like, some people might deal with their losses with a glass of Jack Daniel's, or three of them. Every few hours. For six weeks.” He reached his hand over to touch my arm, as if he needed the contact to go on. I wanted to encourage him.

“Go on.”

“I've been fighting you on it, but I know I'm drinking too much.”

“You're self-medicating. There are healthier ways to deal with loss.”

He pulled his hand away and my skin cooled, immediately missing his touch. If I didn't do something, a wall was going to go up between us. I leaned over and took his cheeks in my hands. “Hey.”