Tangled Roots (3 page)

“He didn’t show up today. Olivia called and said he was sick.”

“Oh, well, I guess I can tell him when he comes back to class.” I figured Harmon and Mercer had been by to see Olivia Milton and I wondered if she was covering for Timmy because she didn’t know where he was, either.

“So, he’s doing all right then?” Alex asked with just a hint of concern.

“Oh, yeah, he’s ready to take his GED and if his practice test is any indication he should have no trouble passing.”

“Glad to hear it. That boy’s given Olivia enough grief. It’s time he started giving her a reason to be proud of him. I think if he started using and getting in trouble again it would kill her.”

I leaned back against the counter and watched Alex walk back to his office. I sure hoped Timmy wasn’t about to break Olivia Milton’s heart again.

I
parked in front of a two-story house with gray siding trimmed in white and checked the slip of paper Myra had given me with Shanda’s address. This was the house all right. It was four o’clock and I hoped I could catch Shanda at home alone. I saw her little black Honda Civic in the driveway so I got out and headed up the driveway. The lawn was immaculate. Two large clay pots filled with geraniums flanked either side of the front door. I could hear faint strains of music coming from inside the house. I rang the doorbell.

Shanda opened the door and greeted me with a big smile. I watched the smile evaporate from her face when she saw that it was me. Who had that big smile been for? Timmy?

“Kendra?” she said, leaning slightly out the door and looking quickly up and down the street. “This is a surprise. How’d you know where I live?” She suddenly looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

I didn’t want to get Myra in any trouble so I ignored her question. “You weren’t in class today. I was worried when you didn’t show up. Can I come in?” I asked, pushing past her into the foyer.

“Well, I had to go talk to my counselor today, and the only appointment I could get was for this morning. I thought I’d be done in time to be at the center but my appointment ran over.”

It sounded completely legit but somehow I knew it wasn’t true. Maybe it was because she couldn’t quite meet my eyes.

I followed Shanda into a living room that looked like it belonged in a turn-of-the-century brothel. Garish red carpet clashed with wallpaper crawling with pink and yellow cabbage roses. Massive mahogany furniture crowded the center of the room while thick, gold, velvet brocade curtains, complete with a fringe, hung in the large front picture window. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and a large gilded mirror adorned with cherubs hung over the brick fireplace, the mantle of which was covered in glass figurines of animals. Every available flat surface was covered in lace doilies. A baby grand piano occupied one whole corner of the room and was draped with what looked like a large royal purple silk scarf. I could easily see lingerie-clad beauties lounging lazily around this room, entertaining flashily dressed men who smoked cigars and sported pinky rings. I glanced in the mirror and caught the glimpse of amusement on Shanda’s face as she watched my reaction to the room. This surely didn’t look like the living room of a devoutly religious woman.

“This is the only room in the house where my mother let my father have his way. All this stuff belonged to my grandmother, and since none of my aunts or uncles wanted any of it, we ended up with all of it.”

I suppressed the urge to ask what her grandmother had done for a living and glanced at a grouping of pictures that crowded the top of a round end table next to the brocade couch. One in particular caught my eye and I walked over and picked it up. It was a group picture of the Holy Cross Church choir decked out in green-and-gold choir robes. In it I noticed a much younger Shanda standing next to a beautifully smiling Inez Rollins. I felt tears prick my eyes and quickly put the picture back.

“Have you seen Timmy lately?” I asked, watching her closely.

“I ran into him at Estelle’s last night. It was slow so he sat with me while I ate. Why?”

“He didn’t show up in class today and I was just wondering if anything had been bothering him lately.”

“I only see him in class and I haven’t noticed anything different about him.”

Only saw him in class? I’d been getting the distinct impression that there was an after-class involvement going on between them. Unless Shanda flirted and acted familiar with all the men she knew. Somehow I didn’t think so.

“Oh, I thought you were tutoring him in geometry.”

“Yeah, I tutor him. But, mainly I just see him in class. You didn’t think he was my man or anything, did you?”

“I did wonder. You two seem kinda close so I naturally assumed —”

“Well, you assumed wrong. I have a man and it’s not Timmy Milton. And if there’s something wrong with Timmy it’s his problem and I don’t know anything about it.” Her arms were crossed defensively across her chest and her shoulders were drawn up almost to her ears.

Talk about protesting too much. Shanda’s little declaration was long on attitude and short on persuasiveness. No matter what she said about having a man, she sure hadn’t acted like she had one whenever I’d seen her with Timmy.

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Shanda,” I said through partially gritted teeth. And I
was
sorry, if I was wrong, but I knew that I wasn’t. Diplomacy, which is a fancy word for ass kissing, is not one of my strengths. But I didn’t want to offend her further by bringing up example after example of her so-called noninvolvement with Timmy.

“It’s okay, Kendra. No big deal,” she said, relaxing and looking away from me towards the window. She was obviously expecting someone and making no secret of the fact that she wanted me to leave.

“Will I see you in class tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she said with a smile, returning to the sweet and friendly Shanda that I knew and liked.

I took the hint, said goodbye, and headed out the front door. As I walked down the driveway, a black Cadillac Escalade pulled up behind my car. I watched as one of the finest black men I’d seen in a long time emerged from the driver’s side. His skin was the color of coffee with liberal splashes of cream and his sandy-colored hair was cut so short he may as well have been bald. His body was slim and muscular and his belted baggy jeans and tight black T-shirt emphasized a slim waist and well-defined pecs. As he walked past me, I caught a whiff of a spicy lemony-scented cologne that I couldn’t place. He must have been about six foot two and anywhere from twenty-five to thirty years old. As we passed each other, he tipped his black Ray Bans down, giving me an appraising glance with eyes as green as emeralds. He must have liked what he saw ’cause he grinned at me with teeth so straight and white that I could almost feel my panties start to disintegrate. Almost. Fine as he was, he was almost a little too pretty for me. But still.

I watched him head up Shanda’s driveway. She was waiting at the door and practically leapt on him as he entered the house. Poor Timmy. I wondered if he knew about Shanda and her pretty boy.

I started to head home after the afternoon session at the literacy center. Noreen had spent the entire afternoon in a meeting, which made everyone much more relaxed and happy. It was like old times again. But I couldn’t enjoy her absence with the same enthusiasm as my fellow inmates because I was worried about Timmy. The only murder that had occurred recently that Harmon and Mercer could possibly want to talk to Timmy about was Inez Rollins’s murder. Timmy’s past drug usage, which included at least one arrest that I knew of, didn’t necessarily mean that he could be involved in any way with a murder, least of all Inez’s. Surely the person who killed Inez was some anonymous psycho. But, then again, I didn’t know Timmy as well as I used to when he was a little boy and I’d babysit for him occasionally. Who knew what was going on in his private life?

Instead of heading home, I decided to drive past Timmy’s place. He lived with his mother in a condo on Palmer Street. It was in a fairly new development, which had about three dozen small two-story brick units, each one with a different color door. I’d only been there once for a party when the Miltons first moved back to Willow about six months ago. As I turned onto Palmer Street, my heart sank. There were police cars parked in front of the Miltons’ unit. I drove past as slowly as I dared, trying to see what was going on. I knew I should stop to see if everything was okay. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. I spotted Olivia Milton, dressed in her work uniform, standing in front of her front door talking loudly and gesturing wildly at Detective Trish Harmon, who looked like she’d just finished sucking a lemon. Her lips were pressed together and stuck out in what could have been classified as a pout by anyone who didn’t know her. More than likely Harmon was just trying to remain calm in the face of the blatant hostility currently being flung in her face. I hoped Olivia was giving her hell.

I saw Mercer standing by a car that was parked in front of the condo. It was Timmy’s burgundy Chevy Cavalier. Mercer had on gloves and he and another officer appeared to be searching the car. I didn’t see Timmy anywhere, not even in the backseat of either of the two police cars. Things were not looking good. Where in the world was he? A loud blast from a car horn behind me quickly snapped me out of my trance. Not bothering to look back, I sped off down the street.

I wasn’t feeling quite ready to go home, so I ended up grabbing dinner at Wendy’s and wandering through one of my favorite thrift stores, Déjà Vu. I’m not big on malls and I love a bargain the way old ladies love bingo, though most people I know just think I’m cheap. Practically everything I own is used. Déjà Vu is a tiny hole-in-the-wall connected to a secondhand record shop. I’ve found most of my favorite articles of clothing while digging through the shop’s crowded racks. Ruby Young, the owner of both shops, greeted me when I walked in.

“We got some great new stuff in the back, Kendra. Not too raggedy and don’t none of it stink.” Ruby was in her seventies and looked like she’d stepped out of a fifties time capsule. She wore gold cat’s-eye glasses studded with rhinestones and an unnaturally jet-black beehive hairdo that looked as though something were making a nest in it. She had a raspy voice that sounded like she gargled with rocks. Today she was dressed in a white vintage Chanel suit with black piping and gold buttons.

“Thanks, Ruby. How about evening gowns? Got anything new?”

I was desperately trying to find a blue gown to wear in Lynette’s wedding more flattering than the sequined horror she’d picked out for me.

“There might be a couple back there, though I can’t make any promises.”

I thanked her and headed to the back of the small shop towards the dresses, stopping briefly to admire a fringed silk shawl and breathing in the shop’s oddly appealing scent, a mixture of cedar and Ruby’s Charlie perfume. I got busy hunting through the jam-packed racks, praying I’d find something fabulous. I found a beautiful powder blue creation with a tea-length skirt right away but was disappointed to discover it had a large stain on the back that looked suspiciously like urine. I quickly put it back. That was the only thing about Déjà Vu that I hated. Ruby’s eyesight wasn’t what it used to be and she often had more trash than treasure.

Finally, after an hour, I managed to find a very flattering satin halter dress from the seventies in a deep midnight blue, which fell to my ankles and had a daring split up the side. I loved the way it hugged my body in all the right places. I’d recently lost some weight and the dress showed it off well. It looked like something Thelma from
Good Times
could have worn to the prom. Determined to get Lynette to change her mind, I had Ruby hold it for me.

I arrived at my duplex on Dorset around eight-thirty. I knew something wasn’t quite right when I walked through the door, even before I turned on the lights. But when I heard an exasperated voice exclaim, “It’s about time,” I almost wet myself. I spun around, almost knocking over a potted plant, and saw a figure sitting in my wicker rocking chair. The last time someone had been waiting for me in my apartment I’d almost died. So, I wasn’t feeling very hospitable. I flipped the light switch and saw that my visitor was Timmy Milton. He was looking at me like I shouldn’t be surprised to see him.

“Boy, I almost killed you,” I said, and meant it. I could have killed him for scaring me.

“Yeah, like what was you gonna do, Kendra? Beat me to death with your purse?”

I looked down and saw that I had my purse clenched in my hand like a weapon. I relaxed my grip and walked over and sat down on the couch opposite Timmy. He had on the same baggy jeans and Dallas Cowboys jersey he was wearing the last time I saw him.

“How did you get in here?”

“I got my ways,” he said with a mysterious smile. It was apparent that he thought I should be impressed.

“Do you know the police are at your place? I saw them searching through your car.” I was hoping to wipe the smile off his face and I wasn’t disappointed. Timmy buried his face in his hands and groaned.

“This is bullshit, man. I can’t believe this is happening to me. I didn’t kill that chick! I didn’t even know her.”

“Do you mean Inez Rollins?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.”

“Then why are the police looking for you?” I asked.

Timmy sighed, sat back in the rocker, and gave me an exasperated look. “I was set up, Kendra,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I didn’t know what I was expecting him to say. But somehow I thought I was going to get a more original answer. Weren’t the prisons filled with innocent people who blamed their predicaments on either bad luck or having been set up by the government or persons unknown? I didn’t know what to say. Instead, I resorted to the one thing that always gives me comfort during a stressful time: food.

“Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?” I asked, getting up from the couch and heading into my tiny kitchen. Timmy was hot on my heels.

“Naw. I ain’t hungry. I’m serious, Kendra. I was set up and I know who did it!”

I pulled two cans of Pepsi from my fridge and tossed one to him. “Okay,” I said, pulling the tab on my can. “Let’s hear all about it.”

I didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic and felt bad when I saw the hurt look that flashed across Timmy’s face. I sat down at the kitchen table and gestured for him to sit as well. We sat in awkward silence with Timmy looking like a sulky child for several long minutes during which I realized I was treating Timmy like he was still a crackhead. I was fine with him as long as everything was okay but at the first hint of trouble, I automatically figured he had to be lying. There was only one way to find out.

“I’m listening, Timmy,” I said softly. “What’s going on?”

“Well, you know I had some problems a while back with drugs?” he said, not quite able to look me in the eye. I nodded.