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Authors: Tyora M. Moody

BOOK: When Rain Falls
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Chapter Seven
Candace's hands trembled as she turned the car into North Valley High School's parking lot. Maybe she should have taken Beulah's and Tangie's suggestion to let someone drive her home. The modularly designed high school loomed ahead. Normally, it was only a ten-minute drive from the salon to the school, but the time seemed to stretch as Candace struggled to hold her composure and her tears. She pulled into the parking space outside the school office and turned the car engine off.
Her body felt numb. Would her legs even hold her up when she climbed out of the SUV? She sat, staring out the windshield at nothing in particular.
After the detectives left, she realized that she needed to be the one to tell her children the devastating news. Both Rachel and Daniel, especially her daughter, adored Pamela. In pursuit of her career, her friend had forfeited, with some reservations, marriage and a family. Not that Pamela didn't have an opportunity. The woman was engaged to be married twice. In the midst of wedding plans, Pamela stopped everything. Twice.
Why? Because there was only one man who'd captured Pamela's heart. The same one Pamela had fallen in love with as a young college student. The same man who, years and years later, still had no intentions of divorcing his wife. In her anger, his name came to mind when the detectives questioned her. But would he really hurt Pamela?
Why would anyone want to kill Pamela? She was the kindest soul. Beautiful. Candace squeezed the steering wheel so tightly, her fingernails made indentations in the leather.
She can't be gone.
They'd just eaten lunch together yesterday. She could still picture Pamela. Professional, always feminine, her black pin-striped pantsuit fitting her slender physique just right. Candace had often joked about borrowing a few inches from her friend's five-foot-eight frame.
She thought back to yesterday's conversation, remembering that at the time she thought Pamela was in a strange mood.
“I probably asked you this before, but spare me. I am getting old, okay?” Pamela twirled a lock of her hair around her finger, like she had when they were both in eighth grade, right before a teacher scolded them both for interrupting class with their talking. “How did you know Frank was the one?”
“I guess at some point I realized he wasn't scary, like I thought most guys were. And he ... was a very patient and loving man.” Candace leaned in closer to the table, studying her friend's face. “Why are you asking?”
Pamela blinked, but she didn't answer right away.
“Pamela?” Candace narrowed her eyes. “What happened between you and Mr. You-Know-Who?” There were times when communication would cease between the two friends. Sometimes it had to do with Pamela's caseload, but other times it was because Pamela wanted to keep certain activities from a disapproving Candace.
“I thought you told me it was over? You know he's never going to leave her.”
Pamela's eyes grew dark. “Okay, Candace, that's enough.”
“I'm concerned... .”
“I've just been pondering some things, okay ? At my age, no man, no kids ... seems like all I do these days is play the what-if game. I want to be happy. I want what you and Frank had.” Under all that bravado, Pamela's insecurities floated to the surface, leaving Candace speechless.
What could I have said? Candace thought. Funny how Pamela had started the conversation, insisting that Candace should take care of herself and that Frank would have wanted her to move on.
Wait, the call last night.
She didn't even mention that to the detectives. Probably because it had seemed so strange. That was just it. No way could she
not
mention the call. Pamela had been her friend a long time. They knew each other's quirks, sometimes better than they knew their own. She would need to contact the detectives as soon as possible.
For now, Candace reached in the car glove compartment and grabbed tissues to wipe her face. She glanced at her image in the rearview mirror. There was no way she could hide her grief.
God help me, please.
Her brief prayer seemed strange in her ears. She had attended church sporadically and had fallen into a rut, work and home, since Frank's death.
With the afternoon sun beating down, the car had grown warm. Candace climbed out. Even with two teenagers in her home, Candace felt lost and lonely. But she needed to be strong, especially now. Many, many years ago, the aunt who took her in and raised her had preached that God would give people strength in the time of trouble.
Right now she needed to keep it together until her family was safely home. It would be a long, difficult weekend.
Once inside the school office, she approached the secretary. “I'm Mrs. Johnson. I called earlier about signing my children out of school. We ... have a ... death in the family.”
“I'm so sorry for your loss. Let's see. Your daughter is currently at lunch, but your son is in second period. We will send a student to bring Rachel and Daniel up front right away. Can you sign here?”
She could barely hold the pen, but Candace scribbled her signature as best she could on the clipboard. Ten minutes later Rachel walked through the door, followed by her brother. Normally, leaving school early on a Friday would have brought a sense of glee.
Alarm was clearly written on both of their faces. She needed to get them out of the building. “Let's go.”
“Mom, what's wrong?” Daniel asked, breaking into long strides to keep up with her.
“I will tell you as soon as we get home.”
Inside the car, she felt Rachel's stare from the passenger seat. When her daughter reached for the radio, she covered her hand. “Please don't turn that on. Please.”
“Why?” Rachel frowned.
Candace swallowed. “Trust me.” As much as she loved music, she couldn't risk the children hearing what she needed to tell them over the radio airwaves.
 
That was easy. Almost too easy. He lifted the cardboard cup to his lips and finished off the bitter black coffee. He grimaced, and then a smirk spread across his face. Crushing the cup, he tossed it out the open car window.
“Ah, Ms. Coleman, I think I might miss you.” Her beautiful face would be the talk of the city for days to come. He cackled, “She wasn't as tough as she thought.”
He reached over to the passenger seat and unzipped the black bag. With a quick glance around the parking lot, he pulled out the Smith & Wesson and laid it to the side. He reached back in the bag to grab the digital camera.
Funny, he enjoyed the feel of the camera as much as the gun. Both had a bit of power when shooting. As the camera buzzed to life, his mind went back to the last time he used the gun. His first taste of victory.
Family meant everything to him, and the punishment was long overdue.
He clicked through the stored photos to find a particular picture.
A photo of Candace Johnson and Pamela Coleman appeared in his view. The two women were sharing a laugh over their lunch entrées. He zoomed in on Candace's face. So pretty, yet so sad.
Her solemn face enraptured him. Should he contain himself? Or should he plan a face-to-face meeting soon?
Chapter Eight
Darnell stood outside the city morgue, inhaling the fresh air as though he was about to take a dive into deep water. Once inside, he strode down the long hall, passing gray-green walls. The smells assaulting his nose reached down into the pit of his stomach. Maybe polishing off a double cheeseburger and a chocolate shake before coming to the morgue wasn't his brightest idea.
After leaving the salon, Brunson wanted to be dropped off at the police station. Something about needing to start paperwork. Darnell had a feeling that talking to Candace had put a damper on Brunson's spirits. He wouldn't say Brunson completely disliked him as a person. But he was not Frank. Anyway, he had a job to do and didn't need to be labeled as some hotshot from L.A.
Darnell grabbed a mask from the equipment room and adjusted it around his face. The morgue door swung open easily as he entered the autopsy area. Pamela Coleman's corpse was covered up to her waist with a white sheet. He wished the top portion were covered as well as he attempted to ignore the open chest cavity.
Lou looked up from his work around the head area. The overhead light reflected off the medical examiner's glasses. Behind his mask, his mouth moved. “Right on time. I might have something for you as far as a possible weapon. Come over and take a look.”
Darnell had hoped Lou wouldn't invite him to stand that close. He tried to move closer to the table. Tried. For some reason, his size twelve feet decided to stay rooted to the floor.
Lou looked over his glasses. “You coming to take a look?”
“Yeah.” With much effort, Darnell picked up a foot and lurched forward. As he made his way around to the front of the table, he prayed. He hadn't felt this bad in a long time.
“You sure you're all right?”
Darnell nodded.
“Hold it in until we get finished, all right?” Lou winked. “There's a sink over there if you need it.”
Ignoring the medical examiner, Darnell leaned forward and inspected the ugly contusion. Earlier a mass of dark hair had covered the geometrically shaped wound. The blood, long dried, was now crusted around the edges, appearing pinkish. He looked at Lou. “What did this?”
“I'd say a lug-nut wrench.”
“Well, I'll be.” Darnell tinkered with cars a little bit, so he was familiar with the tool. “Did we locate the tool?”
“Not yet.”
“Did she have a chance to put up a fight?”
“Nope. Her fingernails were pretty clean. The only soil on her hands probably came from her falling to the ground. She probably fell face forward. That would account for the bruising around the left side of her face.” Lou pointed to the purplish marks.
“Since she was found faceup, her assailant probably flipped her onto her back. If she wasn't knocked out at this point, she definitely saw him. Or her.”
Darnell looked away from her face. “Would be nice if the guy left some fiber or hair on her clothes.”
“We have folks processing the clothes. Just remember we are backed up. I know, I know. The captain is going to want us to move her ahead of the pack. I will see what we can do, but it will take some time.”
“Thanks, Lou.”
“Happy Easter egg hunting.”
Yeah, right.
Darnell wrinkled his nose. He had definitely had enough and exited through the swinging door. His stomach muscles quivered, but he kept walking until he reached the car. He sat behind the steering wheel, and his mind started spinning. He needed to find the murder weapon. But he had his first real lead, thanks to a tip from Candace Johnson. He hoped to thank her sometime in the future.
Chapter Nine
What are you doing?
Candace knew she should be home. Daniel had taken the news like a trooper, but his quietness had spoken volumes. She hadn't been prepared for Rachel's reaction, though. “How could this happen?” The girl had welled up and screamed, “Why does God take away people I love?” Candace had reached for Rachel, but the girl had shaken her away, not wanting to be touched. Her daughter's anger nearly knocked her over like a runaway freight train. It also scared her, because she couldn't answer her daughter's rage-filled questions. She had asked the same questions over and over again herself.
“Honey, please let's talk.” But the teen raced to her bedroom, slamming the door hard enough to rearrange the photo frames on the walls in the hallway. Candace stood helpless in the middle of the living room for the longest time. Not knowing what else to do, she tiptoed down the hallway. She grabbed Rachel's doorknob to turn it, but it wouldn't budge. With a clenched fist in the air, she prepared to bang on the door, but thought better of it. For the umpteenth time she would only fuss about how much she didn't like locked doors. It might seem stupid to a teenager, but those were her rules.
Rules didn't matter now. This was too much of a blow for all of them.
She'd called Beulah, asking her to come over. Despite the older woman's protests and obvious wise advice, Candace barreled down the highway. Her friend was dead. As much as she didn't want to, she couldn't help but think Pamela's death had to be the result of what her friend wouldn't tell her the last night they'd spoken. Maybe she should have pushed harder, even convinced her to stop by the house.
Now there was only one person who knew the answers to some of her questions. She weaved her way through late afternoon downtown traffic. With some frustrated circling, Candace found a parking space not too far from where she had to walk. She quickly fed a parking meter and hoped she could get the information she needed before the time ran down. Once inside the high-rise, she stabbed the elevator button and watched the numbers light up one at a time. The doors slid open. From memory she pressed a number. What was she going to say when she arrived on the seventh floor? She didn't know.
God help me.
Candace entered the office. The woman stood to the side with a file in her hand. “Hillary?” Only four hours ago she'd talked to Hillary at the salon. Had it been that long?
Hillary looked up from the folder. “Candace, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be home?”
“I need to talk to Mitch.”
“No.” Hillary placed the folder on her desk and marched around toward Candace. She reached out and touched her arm. “You don't want to do that. You're upset. Everyone is upset. Now is not the time.”
“Hillary, I know you mean well, but I need to talk to him now.” Candace pushed past the woman, ignoring her objections. She jerked open Mitch Harris's door.
The man jumped up from his desk chair, his countenance a mixture of sadness and surprise. “Mrs. Johnson?”
“I tried to stop her, sir.” Candace heard Hillary's huffiness. She hoped she hadn't lost a salon client, but she had to talk to this man.
He held up his hands. “It's okay. This is a surprise, Mrs. Johnson, but I understand your need to come here.”
Her body shook as the office door closed with a click behind her. She stared at Mitch. All her emotions formed a lump in her throat. She could see why Pamela was attracted to the man, despite being at least fifteen years her senior. Mitch Harris was still built like a linebacker, exuding confidence and aging quite well.
“Why don't you have a seat? Can I get you something? I know this must be difficult for you. We're all in shock,” he said.
Her legs felt shaky, so she took his advice and sat in one of the big chairs across from his desk. “I don't need anything. Thank you. What I do need to know is what happened last night.”
“No one has answers to that now. Someone either followed Pamela or was waiting for her when she arrived home.”
Candace gasped.
“You didn't know those details, did you? I'm sorry. I misunderstood your question.”
“That's okay. I actually meant at the art gallery reception. She called me after she left. I could tell ...” Candace struggled with her words. “Something was bothering her. I thought you might be able to tell me.”
“I know you have come here to find answers, but what makes you think the art gallery had anything to do with it?”
Candace scooted to the edge of her seat. “I don't know that. Look, we met for lunch yesterday. Everything was fine. She was in good spirits. Between then and when she called last night, something rattled her. She didn't want to talk about it until today.”
I should have made her tell me last night, she thought.
She swallowed. “I know you had a ... special bond with her. Are you sure she didn't tell you something? Maybe about a case.”
Mitch stared at her and then looked away. “I can't tell you anything about what goes on in this law firm, Candace, but I will tell you this. As far as I could tell, she was fine last night.”
“Are you sure? She didn't seem worried about anything to you?” As she waited for Mitch's response, Candace couldn't help but ponder whether Mitch Harris was the source of Pamela's anxiety.
“I'm sorry.” Mitch stood. “I really wish I could help you. Let the police do their work, and you spend time with your family. I spoke to Judge Coleman an hour ago, and I understand the Colemans have already started funeral arrangements.”
Funeral arrangements. What the judge and Desiree must be feeling now.
With all that had happened, she hadn't taken the time to call them yet. Candace's body felt planted in the chair. She wasn't through with her questions for Mitch. He wouldn't dismiss her that easily. “She still loved you.”
“What?” The man's eyes grew wide.
She watched his Adam's apple bob. Surely he didn't think that as Pamela's best friend, she didn't know about their relationship. “I could see it in her eyes. I told her time and time again, you would never leave your wife. But you wouldn't leave her alone.”
“That's enough. I don't know what Pamela told you, but I can safely say any pursuing was on her part. Now, I think you need to go home. You're distraught.”
“No, I'm not.” Candace stood. Her voice rose. “I hope for your sake, you didn't have anything to do with Pamela's death.”
Anger flashed in the man's eyes. “Now, hold on a minute. I know you want to blame someone, and I will excuse you for having the nerve to accuse me—”
“I'm not accusing you of anything. My aunt taught me a long time ago, what someone does in the dark will come to light.”

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