Murder in Germantown (17 page)

“
Wydell, the thug?”

“
No, Wydell, the intellect,” Shannon said and went into a shopping bag that she had brought along.

She pulled out an expertly wrapped gift.

“
Here’s your retainer. I know you’d like to know where this cash came from, but I’m sworn to secrecy. I will tell you that it’s so legal, Condi Rice would spend it in the White House commissary.”

I gave her a cynical smile and took the gift. “Thanks, Ms. Oscar. Is there anyone else on campus who can attest to Wydell’s impeccable character?”

“
Sure, but don’t get me wrong he’s not flawless.”

“
Meaning what?”

“
A little arrogant temper.”

“
I know it,” I said quickly. “Was it public or private?”

“
Don’t-complain-about-the-small-stuff temper. Being from the ghetto, he hated complainers. Epitome of excellent judgment, charismatic, a leader. No nonsense, though.”

“
So, the showcase of temper came when?” I needed to know of any adverse behavior. (I do not do surprises.)

“
Only when a...” she hesitated.

“
Strictly confidential.”

“
When a racial slur about our relationship was thrown at us. A few football jocks had things to say.”

“
Like who?”

“
Lewis Barclay and his pals. Footballs lie between their ears, not brains. Wydell stole their newspaper thunder and according to them, one of theirs.”

“
You?”

“
Precisely.”

She sipped her water.

“
They bad-mouthed me how some blacks badger Tiger Woods when he acknowledges his Asian descent. I acknowledge my African descent, and they can’t take it.”

“
Where do I find this Barclay clown?”

“
Don’t bother, Mr. Lemmelle. He can’t offer anything to help, Wydell.”

“
Just a little chat,” I said with a sinister stare in my eyes.

“
Lemmelle, he’d make trouble for me and there’d be no Wydell to protect me from their middle school-like horror.”

“
I won’t bother for now,” I told her.

“
If I thought he could offer anything favorable by talking to you I’d be up for it, but he’s a bad seed. The truth about what happened, and who did it, will come out. I hope so, so Wydell can come home.”

What’s done in the dark. You know the cliché. “We’ll see,” I told her. “Glad to have met you.” I waved for the check. Albeit, I wouldn’t pay it then, I’d be billed, but the check needed my John Hancock.

“
It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Lemmelle. Thanks for the late lunch,” she told me and left. All of her curves went with her.

However, all of Ariel’s curves stepped in accompanied by a male companion.

CHAPTER 39

Mrs. Ravonne Lemmelle had had a lot of nerve to bring that gentleman to my digs. My stomping grounds.

In a very casual fashion, I said to Ariel’s back, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Lemmelle.”

She turned and looked at me like a viper. I wholeheartedly desired to chuckle, but I suppressed that thought to remain within the behavioral standard that a man should be in line with men watching their wife in the hands of another man.

“
That’s the former, Mrs. Lemmelle. My husband is dead,” she snapped back. “Haven’t you seen the obituary?”

“
Who’s prince charming?” I asked, ignoring her comment. I was having a moment of jealousy, and praying that it did not turn into rage.

“
Prince Charming?” the man asked, gruffly.

He then asked Ariel, “This must be the great orator that you told me about?”

He pushed his tongue into his cheek indicating a long sharp object was piercing his mouth.

I held marginal feelings for Ariel. I also adored my freedom, so rather than defending myself in a trial for murder, I reduced my ass-kicking to: “I can permanently force your cheek to swell like that, but...”

The bitch cut me off.

“
No need for that, Ravonne Lemmelle,” she said to me. Turning to her date, she said, “Excuse me.”

“
Yeah, before we have a...”

“
A nothing,” I said cutting off her boy toy’s threat.

That little pretty South American, green-eyed bandit was about to get fucked up over a bitch that I didn’t even want.

“
I’ll meet you at the bar,” the man told Ariel.

“
Good thing, or you’d be sipping out a straw for a few months.” I told him.

I had to get the last word in. For this occasion, that was a must.

When the prince left, I asked, “So this is who you wanna spend half my dough with?”

“
Not hardly. He’s new to Philly. I don’t need to explain myself to you, hun.”

“
To hell you don’t,” I said hotly and emotionally. I recanted that emotional outburst, and told her, “You should find a better place to entertain your flings. This will be desirable testimony during our divorce proceedings.”

She stepped closer to me and rested her hand on my chest.

Lovingly, she told me, “You will not be having a divorce proceeding, silly.” She smiled wickedly. “My lawyer will contact your lawyer and you’ll sign what I propose.”

“
Really. That’s a lie.”

“
You can pretend to be tough, Ray-Ray, but this is not a boxing match. Play pussy and get fucked if you wanna. I have a very long dildo for ya.”

She then snickered at her joke, as I watched her walk to join another man at the bar.

She could stay as firm as she wanted in the belief, but I would not be beaten by any one. Not even my wife.

CHAPTER 40

Rude parked on Olney Avenue and walked a few steps to the front of the LaSalle University two-story dorm. It had been sometime since he had been on a college campus. He lusted over two sexy co-eds exiting the dorm. Behind them a geeky male exited.
Why
wasn't
the
co
-
ed
idea
thought
of
when
I
was
in
college
? he thought. He entered the building and slipped pass security. On the second floor, his eyes widened as two toweled females, bursting out of their towels with busts duly exposed, skipped past him gossiping.

"Excuse me," he said to a girl with a LaSalle sweatshirt on and jeans.

She had a luxuriant, spiky hair do.

"Look cop. I was not smoking weed. Leave me alone, pal," she said and brushed by him.

"Ex-cop," Rude countered.

"Ex-con," she snapped back. "We have the ex part in common."

"I'm investigating for one of your classmates, Wydell James."

That caught her attention. "Who are you?"

"You know him."

"The entire campus knows him. Haven't looked at a conference championship until he arrived."

"How'd he do at the game Saturday?" Rude asked.

It was a leading question designed to get the student to confirm that Wydell was in fact at the game.

"Thirty-four points, thirteen boards. He's thirty and plays like he's twenty. Do you work for his attorney?"

"You must be a fan?"

"Nope. Campus reporter. The name is, Rhonesia Cosby."

Great
catch
, Rude thought. "Got any footage?"

"Every game, but Coach Patillo could be better to assist you there."

"Anybody dislike Wydell?"

"Dislike may be the wrong choice of words. Jealous would be more fitting. He owned the sports section of the paper, even on Saturdays when the football team played. They always attempted to pressure the paper to be more partial to them."

"Them as in?"

"The football team. I'm sure they're glad that he's in county jail."

"But Wydell didn't write the paper. How'd Wydell respond to them?"

"He once pulled a gun on Barclay, the school QB. Barclay recently relocated from LA to King of Prussia and is perversely discriminatory. He's a racist pig, but all mouth and no bite. And I am being nice with my words because you're also white."

"What room does this pig live in?"

"Check with student services," she replied.

She knew the room, but there was a limit to what she would disclose.

"Look I have a class, so I have to go."

"Okay," Rude said, shoving a card into her hand.

"If anything surfaces, even rumors, contact me. Where can I find the coach?"

Rhonesia checked her watch. "The gym. Practice is going on."

"One last thing, sweetie."

"Rhonesia is fine."

She did not like that.

"Was Wydell at a party after the game last weekend?"

"He is the life of the parties."

* * *

Rude was escorted to the school gym by another female who shared the same sentiment for Wydell as Rhonesia. She dropped him off at the gym and he all of a sudden ran out of business cards, so that he could take her number. He was such a slick bastard.

Rude forgot all about the gym when he saw a sweet thing. She had on jeans, T-shirt, and a wind breaker, like it was fall. But her long hair and breast caught his eye. He stepped to her.

"I'm Jonathan Rude, an investigator working for a classmate of yours, Wydell James. You know him?"

"I do," she said, without breaking her stride. "We can chat, but in the school cafe, as you can see I'm not dressed to talk out here.”

Rude wondered what it would be like to see her not dressed at all. In the cafe, they ordered lattes, he paid and they took seats in the window.

“
Calculus,” he said. “Don’t miss that. Sorry to interrupt your studying time I know how valuable that is.”

“
That’s okay,” she said, and batted her eyes at Rude.

He thought that she was flirting, but she was being normal, though.

“
What you wanna know about Wydell? I still can’t believe it. Unimaginable.”

“
Wish you were a juror. You sound convinced.”

“
No, I’m still registered in Virginia, but Wydell was...well...sweet.”

A southern belle
, Rude thought.

“
What you mean?”

“
Well not in a gay way, but in a gentleman way. Ladies first. Thank you. Excuse me. That sort of thing. Shannon is lucky.”

“
Wow! Sounds like Prince Charming.”

“
All except the time that he pulled a gun on the QB.”

“
Yeah, I heard about that. Guess everyone explodes.”

“
But everyone does not carry loaded guns.”

“
How can you be so sure that it was loaded or even worked?”

“
He shot it on New Year’s Eve right over there,” she said, pointing to an area which looked like it was a summertime hangout full of scantily clad females and in-heat males.

“
But do you think he’d kill anyone?”

“
Only under extraordinary circumstances.”

Rude gave her a smile of understanding. “Happen to see him at the victory party?”

“
Who Wydell?”