When Rain Falls (18 page)

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Authors: Tyora M. Moody

BOOK: When Rain Falls
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Chapter Thirty-five
Before Candace turned off the car's ignition, Daniel and Rachel scrambled out of the car with more enthusiasm than she'd seen in a long time. Beulah's cooking had a way of putting one in the best of spirits. They stopped mid-step up the driveway as a black cat scampered across in front of them.
Daniel commented, “Uh-oh, we're in trouble now.”
“Boy, hush. It's just a cat.” Rachel looked at her brother like he'd turned into a toad.
He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Don't you know what they say about black cats?”
Candace reached around and put her hand on her son's shoulder. “Mr. Daniel, there's no such thing as bad luck. Now, let's get up the steps. We're already late.”
With all that she'd been through in her life, it would be easier to blame everything on bad luck. But Aunt Maggie had preached that God didn't make mistakes, and she simply hadn't tolerated superstitions, which she claimed were from the devil.
They continued toward the door and then rang the doorbell. Two feet away on the porch, the dark feline watched and waited.
As soon as the front door opened, the cat shot past Candace, inside the house. Like a mother hen, Beulah clucked at the cat. “Oh, there you are, Mr. Knight. I called you hours ago. You need to come when I call you, you crazy cat.” Beulah beamed at Candace. “Come on in. It's been too long since you and the kids have come by for Sunday dinner.”
Candace's nostrils flared, absorbing the mixture of collards and fried chicken aromas in the air. Was that macaroni and cheese? A hint of corn bread tantalized her nose, as well. For an instant, she felt like she'd walked into Aunt Maggie's home. This was the kind of meal she ate all the time while living with her aunt, guaranteed to put meat on one's bones and delight a tummy.
“Make yourselves at home in the living room. We'll be serving in a minute,” Beulah said.
“Beulah, you need some help in the kitchen?” Candace offered.
“Oh no, I got plenty hands in there. You go in there. Got a surprise guest.”
Not sure who would be in the living room, when she rounded the corner, Candace clasped her hands in surprise. “Mrs. Roberts.”
“Hey, sugar, how you doing?”
She reached down and hugged her favorite salon client. “Miss Beulah talked you into getting some good eats, too, huh?”
“Oh, now, you know Beulah is known for putting pounds on quite a few sisters.”
Candace laughed. A young woman who sat quietly on the couch caught her attention. She hadn't met her before, but she knew who she was because of the striking resemblance to Mrs. Roberts. “Is this your granddaughter I've heard so much about?”
Mrs. Roberts turned. “Yes. Angel, come over here and meet my favorite hairdresser in the whole world.”
The young woman rose up. She was petite and fair-skinned. Her glasses were modern and square, kind of like the ones Daniel liked to wear. It was hard to tell her age, because she was dressed in jeans, and Candace peered down to see a pair of Converse sneakers.
“It's good to meet you, Candace. My grandmother talks about you all the time,” the young girl greeted.
“Oh.” Candace looked at Mrs. Roberts. “Well, I appreciate your grandmother. Between her and Miss Beulah back there, they keep me straight.”
“Candace, you are a wonderful soul.” Mrs. Roberts beamed. “It's good to see the kids. They are so tall. He's about tall as you.”
“They both get their height from their dad.” Rachel and Daniel stood behind her, both anxiously glancing into the dining room. She wanted to tell both of them they didn't have to look so eager. Might make folks think she didn't feed them.
Of course, it had been a long time. A few years back, they used to frequent Beulah's house at least one Sunday a month. Frank and Harold would go off to the den, both taking turns shouting at football players on the screen.
Beulah came barreling around the corner with an armful of dishes. Candace started to go toward her but stopped. She seemed to have help already. Now, Beulah had failed to mention this particular guest. Although earlier at church, Candace should have caught the hints.
Darnell hadn't noticed her yet. He placed one dish at a time from his arms onto the table. “Woman, if I had known you were going to put me to work when I came over, I might have thought to stay home.”
“Stop complaining. You know you like this. I remember when you was a little boy, your mama gave you this job.”
“Yeah, I hated it back then, too. Setting the table. What man sets the table?”
“The same one who likes to sit and eat at the table. Stop grumbling in front of company.” Beulah winked over at Candace. “It's not polite.”
He turned in her direction.
Candace snickered at the sheepish face. She could almost picture what he must have been like as a boy. Candace walked up beside him. “You need some help, Detective?”
“You know what? I'm glad you offered.”
“Oh no, you don't,” Beulah scolded. “This boy was good for getting his sisters to do his work for him. That man will charm the pants off anybody. As soon as you finish the table, young man, we can eat.”
Beulah walked out. Darnell grimaced. “Can you believe that? I walk back up in this house, and it's like the woman forgot I'm an adult.”
Candace reached over and grabbed some napkins. “I know the feeling. My aunt came to visit me last night. Kind of felt the same way. But you know there's nothing like family.”
No matter how imperfect they are
. This seemed to be a weekend of revelation, one after the other.
In a few minutes, Candace had helped Darnell set the table. She enjoyed the ease with which he'd laid out the utensils. If his mother was anything like Beulah, she was a strong woman who raised a man quite comfortable in his own skin.
Beulah entered the dining room, carrying a piping hot dish. “All right, y'all find you a chair, and let's get ready to eat.” Beulah yelled, “Harold, get in here so you can say the grace.”
Candace had almost forgotten about Mr. Harold. He was a quiet, unassuming man, who, she was sure, was caught up in Sunday football in the back room, or the man cave, as Beulah called it.
The balding man shuffled into the dining area. “Candace, it's good to see you and the kids here. Almost like old times.” He reached over and hugged Candace.
“Thanks for having us, Mr. Harold.”
Someway or another Mrs. Roberts and her granddaughter ended up on one side of the table. Daniel and Rachel took the other side. With Beulah and Harold at the head, there were two seats open, leaving Candace sitting across from Darnell.
She sat and eyed Beulah. If she didn't know any better, she'd think her dear friend had planned it that way.
Chapter Thirty-six
Darnell rubbed his stomach. His aunt Beulah's greens and corn bread hit the spot. One of many reasons why he moved back to the South. The Jackson women knew the way to a man's heart. With thirty years of marriage, he was sure one reason Uncle Harold put up with his crazy aunt was that the woman made a mean pot of greens.
In some ways he almost wished his mom was here. He would love to see the two sisters go at it across the table.
Speaking of across the table, he'd never imagined sitting in such a cozy setting with Candace. He'd known her only a little over a week, and most of the times they talked, it wasn't under the best of circumstances. He stole peeks at her and on occasion caught her checking him out. Now, that did something to him.
He had to remember the woman's children were sitting at the table, too. They might not be too keen on him flirting with their mother. Of course, he wouldn't bother Candace. She was vulnerable right now.
Earlier, when he talked to Uncle Harold, his uncle mentioned how the entire family had come over more often when Frank was alive.
Candace spoke up. “Beulah, let me clear the table for you and get the dishes.”
“No, you are a guest. I can't let you do that.”
“I'm not a guest. Beulah, please, let me.”
Darnell watched the exchange between his aunt and Candace. His aunt reached over and rubbed Candace's shoulders and mouthed “Thank you.” Then she turned her attention to him. “I think my nephew should help you, though. He probably hasn't washed a dish in years.”
“What?” He started to protest. Of course, she might be right. He was no cook and probably ate way too much fast food, which made tonight's dinner all the more special. He needed this more than he knew. “All right. Let's get to work, Mrs. Johnson.”
The Johnson kids drifted off from the table, along with Mrs. Roberts's granddaughter. As Darnell and Candace moved dishes off the table, Uncle Harold disappeared in the back and the two older ladies remained around the table.
“Is that the last dish?” Candace asked as he entered the kitchen.
“Yeah. I think that will do it.”
“So, you want to wash or dry dishes?” Candace swung a dish towel around. He knew she didn't intend to, but she looked awfully sexy to him the way she smiled openly. His stomach started doing flip-flops, and that had nothing to do with the plate of greens he'd just demolished.
The more the dishes piled up in the sink, the more he wondered why his aunt had never bothered to install a dishwasher. Now he saw an opportunity too good to pass up. “Since you have your hands in water all the time, how about I wash dishes?”
Candace looked down at her fingers. “That's a good idea. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Detective.”
They got into a groove rather easily. He asked her, “So, did you always know you wanted to be a hairstylist?”
Candace looked thoughtful. “No, I didn't. Early in our marriage, Frank and I agreed I should stay home with the kids while they were young. But as soon as Daniel started kindergarten, I knew I wanted something to do. The salon idea came up because I'd always made extra money working in a few local salons.”
“Interesting.”
“Yeah. Last night my aunt reminded me that my mother always wanted a salon. It's kind of strange that I'm living her dream.”
“Not so strange. I'm sure your mother is proud.”
Something passed over Candace's face. He'd seen that look before. Darnell stuck his hands back into the warm, soapy water, hoping he hadn't stepped into another hole.
“Mama died when I was twelve. I lived with my aunt Maggie until I was old enough to be on my own. What about your mother?”
Now she'd reversed it. They had something in common. “Ma died when I was, let's say, not at my best. Breast cancer.”
“Oh.” Candace stopped rubbing the dish she was drying. “I'm sorry.”
“Yeah. Cancer has taken out most of the women in this family. There were two sisters older than Ma and Beulah. My mom and Beulah were the two youngest. Pretty close. Got to be careful. Beulah can tell you some stories about me I might not want you to know.”
Candace smiled and cocked an eyebrow. “Sounds like you were a bit of a handful.”
“I would say. For all the trouble I got into, God played a real good trick on me when I started thinking about being a cop.”
They both laughed. All the dishes were washed and dried. Together, it didn't take them long at all. He wanted to go watch the game with Uncle Harold, but he didn't want to leave Candace's presence. “You want sit on the back porch?”
“Sure, that's a great idea.”
Candace settled in a rocking chair, while he chose the steps. It was Sunday, and he was determined to enjoy it. But questions left unanswered stirred in his mind.
“Candace, I do hope you trust me on Pamela's case.”
“Darnell, I told you I do.”
“Yes, you did. But I know you aren't happy with the department. They let you down when you needed closure.”
Her eyes misted. It could've been the way the sun shone through the porch, but he knew he'd hit a nerve.
Man, you talk too much sometimes.
She reached up and wiped her eyes. “I have a lot of good memories of Frank here on Sundays.”
He remained quiet. No need to put his foot in his mouth. He really wanted to know what happened.
“I hounded the captain and Brunson for a full year after Frank's death. I know they wanted to help, but there were other cases and no one could find a trail, witnesses, evidence, nothing.” Candace pushed with her feet to move the rocker. “It's only been about six months ago now, I stopped bothering people. You know, Pamela was the one who told me to let go. Some things happen, and we don't always get closure.”
“Still, he had to leave some clues. Maybe there needs to be some new eyes on the case.”
Candace stared at him and then bit her lip.
He asked, “What are you thinking about?”
The rocker stopped. Candace put her hands in her lap. “Serena Manchester came to visit me in the shop Friday.”
He raised his eyebrow. “What did she want?”
“I know she's fishing for a story, but she said something to me that has bothered me ever since.”
“Tell me. Does it have something to do with Pamela's case?” He hadn't seen the reporter since she dropped off those photos. Did she stumble onto something else? All he needed was for her to do something to mess up this investigation.
“She brought up Pamela and Frank. Somehow she made the connection between him being my husband and Pamela being my friend. I don't think she was doing more than digging for information, but she wanted to connect their deaths.”
Darnell frowned. He didn't know the specifics of Frank's death, other than it was two years ago. These cases were two separate beings. Plus, he was pretty sure he was missing something on Mitch or Yvonne Harris. Both were too guilty in his eyes. “That's pretty out there, Candace.”
“I know. Think about this. Frank went to meet somebody that night. Same thing with Pamela. She went somewhere, maybe met someone, before she went home.”
“Wait, we don't have any witnesses that state she met someone.”
“But she stopped somewhere before going home. She wouldn't have just driven around all that time. Didn't you place her calls in the downtown area?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Plus, there's one thing I know about Pamela that most people don't know. She hated talking on the phone while driving. Driving upset wasn't her thing, either. Pamela had to sit still and ponder. When she called me, I heard background noises, like people talking. She said she wasn't at the art gallery, so she was somewhere. Maybe somebody saw her at least.”
“Okay, okay. Still, don't start getting ideas in your head from this reporter. The cases are different.”
He saw Candace's face crumble before she turned away. Man, he wished Serena hadn't put those crazy thoughts in her head. The things that woman did to get a story.
Something was disturbing, though. No clues. How did a man get shot and no one could trace anything?
Weird.
That was where he was stuck now with Pamela. A small, mysterious time frame that had to hold a clue.
He had to ask, “Candace, you mind if I ask you something?”
She rotated her body back in his direction. “What about?”
“Do you remember your last conversation with Frank?”
“Unfortunately, yes. You may not know this, but when they found Frank, he was barely hanging on to life. It was almost like he wanted to say good-bye to us. He hung on until we got there. He could barely talk. All I could make out him saying was, ‘I'm sorry.' He said that over and over again. Not much of a clue.”
No. Didn't seem like much at all. But what was Frank apologizing about? Darnell intended to start a little investigation of his own. Candace didn't need this hanging over her.
She needed a fresh start. He was going to make sure she got just that.

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