“Suspect?”
“That someone is asking people to cough up thirty thousand dollars and then promising to pay off their mortgages in just a few years?” I inquire further.
“Of course it seems suspect. But like I said, I’m not paid to ask questions; however, I can see how some people do get enticed into the program. If you had been to one of Charles’s presentations, you’d have seen, as well. The one I went to was at the Four Seasons in Georgetown. People go to an event at an expensive hotel . . . it adds credibility . . . people think the operation is legitimate. And there were so many people there who were already involved in the program, and they shared their stories. Many of them already had their houses paid off and had reinvested with new homes that they had traded up to . . . or so they said.”
“Okay,” Detective Hutchins says. “We’ve got some background on this program. I’m going to need to interview this Charles fellow and the two young people who were having dinner with him the night Marcus disappeared . . . and the girlfriend, as well. What was her name again?”
“Régine,” Wavonne says before anyone else has a chance.
“Thanks. And your name is?”
“This is my cousin, Wavonne,” I say.
“Nice to meet you, Wavonne. So you left with Ms. Watkins Saturday night?”
Wavonne nods.
“Do you have a few minutes to talk?” he says to her, before turning to me. “And I’ll need to speak with you, as well, Ms. Watkins.”
“Sure. No problem. Let’s go in the break room.”
Wavonne leads the way with me and Detective Hutchins following. On the way down the hall, all I can think is: Showtime.
CHAPTER 19
“So you said nothing seemed unusual to you the night Marcus was last seen? No one at the table with him was acting strangely? Was he acting strangely?”
I hear Wavonne take a breath, and I speak before she has a chance to. “Maybe. The young couple did seem very cross with Marcus during the early part of the meal, but things seemed better by the time Wavonne and I left.”
“Cross? How so?”
“That lil’ white girl was all snarly with attitude,” Wavonne says. “I could see it from clear ’cross the room. I bet she did it. I bet she killed him. You have to watch out for those skinny white girls. They may be tiny, but you get one of them mad, and, ooh girl, watch out!”
“She and her husband both seemed upset with Marcus. You could see that there was some tension between them. Darius, one of my servers, waited on them that night. I remember because he commented on how the young lady was speaking to Marcus in a hushed but terse voice.”
“Really? I’ll need to speak with him.”
“He should be in for the evening service, or I can give you his phone number if you want to contact him before then.”
“Thanks. I’ll collect it from you before I leave,” Detective Hutchins says. “Now, back to the night of Marcus’s disappearance. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary to you? You’re sure?”
Wavonne tries to speak again, but once again, I beat her to it. “No. The other gentleman at the table, Charles I think Jacqueline said was his name . . . I hadn’t met him before, but he was pleasant enough . . . and Régine has been in here numerous times with Marcus.”
“And Régine? What can you tell me about her?”
“She a gold-diggin’ heifer,” Wavonne says.
“Wavonne—” I start to say, but Detective Hutchins lifts a finger to me.
“No. Please. Let her finish. You were saying.”
“Now, I don’t know if she’s a murderer, but I will tell you she was in it with Marcus for one thing: his money. She’s all about the Benjamins. ‘Marcus, buy me this. Marcus, buy me that.’ She ain’t got no money of her own, and she was carryin’ a Jimmy Choo bag last time she was in here. It’s from last year but still musta cost a mint when he bought it for her. She’s a hairdresser, and not even a good one, over at Salon Cuts in Kettering. She met Marcus when he came to pick up his old girlfriend, Jennie Becks, from gettin’ her hair done. You see, my girl, Melva, told me that Jennie got a bad weave over at Madame Souls. Apparently poor Jennie never could do right by her hair. I’ve never met her, but Melva told me that, years ago, Jennie tried to relax it herself. Melva said she ended up looking like a buncha crows made a nest on her head, and—”
“Please, Wavonne,” Detective Hutchins says. “Régine. Tell me about Régine.”
“Yes. Régine. I’m sure she took one look at Marcus’s fancy suit and BMW and did whatever she could to get her paws all up in that bidness. They’ve been together for a few months, but I think Marcus was cheatin’ on her.”
“Cheating on her? Why do you think that?”
“ ’Cause men like Marcus always cheat. And lately she wasn’t spending Saturday nights with him. He said it was ’cause he had to get up early to take his momma to church, but I think he was out there gettin’ it on with some other floozy.”
“But you don’t have any proof? You don’t actually know he was cheating or with whom?”
“I don’t need no proof. I know what I know. But no, I can’t be sure who he was cheatin’ with. Give me a few more weeks on the gossip mill at the beauty shop, and I’ll get back to ya.”
Detective Hutchins grins. “You do that,” he says and turns his eye to me. “This Régine. You have a phone number for her?”
“I don’t, but Jacqueline probably does.”
“Okay. I’ll check with her. Now, what else can you tell me about that night?”
“There’s not much else to tell. Aside from Marcus’s party, the restaurant had cleared out by eleven thirty, and they were the only ones here when Wavonne and I left.”
“You left a table full of customers in your restaurant without any staff here? Who was going to close up?”
“Marcus.”
“Do you normally let customers stay in the restaurant when no one else is here?”
“She do for Marcus. She owes him a shit loada money,” Wavonne says, and even she realizes what a mistake divulging that information is as soon as the words leave her lips.
“What Wavonne means,” I say, glaring at my cousin, “is that Marcus and I were business partners. He had an investment in the restaurant. So to answer your question, no, I don’t normally let customers stay in the restaurant without any staff present, but Marcus is . . . was a business partner. Besides, I’ve known Marcus for years, and he has dinner meetings here all the time.”
“What do you mean, he was an investor?”
“Just that. When I opened the restaurant, Marcus loaned me some money to supplement my savings and loan from the bank. I’ve been paying him back in monthly installments with interest ever since.”
“How much money are we talking about here?”
“Well, that’s getting awfully personal, Mr. Hutchins, don’t you think?”
“A man has been murdered, Ms. Watkins. We need to follow up on every lead.”
“Every lead? You’re not accusing me of anything, I hope?”
“Just doing my job.”
“It was a substantial amount, Detective Hutchins, but I’ve paid more than half of it back.”
He looks at me as if he’s sizing me up. And I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.
“When you and Wavonne left here, did you go straight home?”
“No, we stopped by the grocery store to pick up some things for my mother. From there, yes, we went straight home.”
“This is true?” Detective Hutchins asks Wavonne.
Is he really asking Wavonne if what I’m saying is true?
“Ah-huh.”
“Can anyone else substantiate your whereabouts?”
“I’m afraid I don’t appreciate where this conversation is going, Mr. Hutchins, but I’m sure I have the receipt from the grocery store that night, and the clerk who checked us out would probably remember us. The receipt should have the time and date on it, and my mother may have heard us come i
n, but I’m not sure. She was probably asleep.”
“Forgive the questions, Ms. Watkins. Like I said—”
Detective Hutchins is cut off by his phone ringing. “Hutchins here,” he says into the phone and pauses. “Really? Okay. I’ll be right there.” He hangs up. “Thank you for your time, ladies. I’ll be in touch if I need anything further.”
“That’s it? You start questioning us like we are suspects and now you’re leaving?”
“I think you’re off the hook. There’s been a new development. Someone has been using Marcus’s credit card all over town. There’s bound to be some security camera footage of the assailant. I’ve got to run. Like I said, I’ll be in touch if necessary.”
CHAPTER 20
“That’s odd,” I say to Wavonne after Detective Hutchins leaves. “Who would be using Marcus’s credit card?”
I notice Wavonne divert her eyes from me toward the floor.
“Who would be so stupid as to kill a man and then use his credit card?”
Wavonne is still looking at the floor.
“Oh, Wavonne. No!?”
She doesn’t say anything.
“Please. Oh, please, tell me it’s not you.”
She looks at me. I can see the guilt in her eyes.
“Oh my God! That’s what you were doing when you were lagging behind me after we left Marcus by the Dumpster? You said you were taking a last look at him. I can’t believe it, Wavonne. You stole his wallet?!”
“I didn’t steal anything, Halia,” she finally responds. “He was dead. What was he gonna do with it?”
“Oh my God! What are we going to do? How could you do something so stupid!? Now we’re both going to go to jail. And for what? What did you buy? A new Gucci bag and a pair of Manolos?”
Wavonne stays quiet. She stares at me with that “I’m just a silly child” look of hers. Like she doesn’t know any better, and I shouldn’t be mad at her.
“Where did you go, Wavonne? Where did you go charging stuff to Marcus’s card?”
Her gaze goes to the ceiling as if she went to so many places it’s going to take her some time to recall all of them. “I bought this Coach bag at Macy’s . . . and I got a sweater and a pair of Juicy jeans there, too . . . oh, and a pair of heels . . . you’d love ’em, Halia . . . they’re black with a bow on the toe and rhinestones along the side with—”
“I don’t need the details of the shoes, Wavonne. Where else did you go?”
“I had some lunch at Applebee’s and bought some skin care stuff from one of the kiosks at PG Plaza. I was gonna use it to pay for a new manicure yesterday, but I thought that might be a bad idea. You know . . . ’cause they know us at the salon.”
“You thought that might be a bad idea. But using the credit card of a murdered man, whose body we illegally moved from the scene of the crime, in stores with security cameras and clerks who can identify you in a lineup seemed perfectly okay?”
“Well, when you put it that way . . .”
“You better hope Detective Hutchins doesn’t remember that bag you have sitting on the table when he sees it on a list of the purchases charged to Marcus’s card. Hand it over.”
I noticed the purse yesterday, but I assumed it was a knockoff she’d bought from a street vendor or something.
“Hand it over? Why?”
“So I can get rid of it.”
“Oh, hail no! I paid six hundred dollars for this bag.”
“You didn’t pay anything for it. A dead man’s credit card paid for it.” I reach across the table, grab it, and dump out the contents. “Where’s the wallet?”
Wavonne retrieves the wallet from the pile on the table and hands it to me.
“So Macy’s, Applebee’s, and a kiosk at PG Plaza? That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure? Now is not the time to keep things from me, Wavonne.”
“Yes. That’s it.”
“We better pray you are not on any security cameras. If you are, we are toast.” I get up with the purse and the stolen wallet and walk into my office, which connects with the break room. It’s really more of a storage closet with a desk and a file cabinet. In my business you don’t have the luxury of grand offices. As anyone who owns a restaurant will tell you, any square footage that doesn’t have a table for customers on it, is not making you any money. I run all the cards in the wallet through the shredder and toss the remains in a trash bag with the purse.
“I’m going to get rid of the evidence. If the police come back, don’t answer any questions. In fact, I think it’s best if you take the bus home. Don’t answer the door if they come to the house. We’ll need to get rid of the shoes and the jeans . . . and whatever other nonsense you bought later. This is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Wavonne.”
“Me?! I was the one who wanted to call the police when we found Marcus. You’re the one whose brainy idea it was to move him. You was the Lucy in this episode, Halia. I was just the Ethel.”
“Which wouldn’t have been a problem if you hadn’t mucked up everything by stealing Marcus’s wallet.”
“I told you, I didn’t steal it. It ain’t stealin’ when the owner’s dead. He was—”
“Shut it, Wavonne. Just get home and don’t answer the door until we find out if they have you on any surveillance cameras.”
I walk out of the break room as Wavonne gathers her things and make my way through the restaurant and out to the van. I’ve got to find a trash can far away to throw out Wavonne’s purse, the shredded cards, and the wallet. Or maybe I should bury them . . . or burn them. As I back out of the parking space, I think about what a disaster this is, and how the whole thing will really blow up if the police are able to connect Wavonne to Marcus’s credit card. I just hope the cops find out who really killed Marcus soon. But I went and made that more difficult by tampering with the crime scene. Other than the killer, Wavonne and I are the only people who know where Marcus was killed. The location may be crucial information that the cops just don’t have.
When I reach a red light and stop the van, I begin to think of a way out of this predicament . . . a way to speed up the murder investigation. And then it occurs to me: I may have to be the one to find out who killed Marcus.
CHAPTER 21
I’m driving back to the restaurant thinking about how I just threw a six-hundred-dollar purse wrapped in a garbage liner in a Dumpster behind a 7-Eleven. I also threw out the wallet and its shredded contents in a trash can—this one a few miles away in front of the Walmart. It didn’t seem like a good idea to pitch them together just in case either one is found. I’m glad to see there are no police around when I pull back into the parking lot. I won’t be able to relax for a moment until I know Wavonne is not going to be arrested.
“Things okay?” Laura asks me when I step into the kitchen. I’ve been disappearing from the restaurant so much over the past few days, she’s bound to be concerned.
“Yes. I just had to run a quick errand. Momma needed something.”
“She’s okay, I hope?”
“Yes, she’s fine, but I’ve got to make a few phone calls. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
When I get in my office, I close the door, but then I think about how I generally don’t, and how now is not the time for me to be doing things that seem unusual, so I quickly open it again. I get seated at my desk and rest my chin on my thumb. I start to think back to the last night we saw Marcus alive and wonder if I can piece anything together that will give me some ideas as to who offed him. I think about the people at the table with him the night he was killed: the young couple that was so cross with him a few days earlier and seemed equally annoyed with him that night; his business associate, Charles, whom I know almost nothing about; Jacqueline; and Régine. I wonder if any of them have a motive for killing him. Of course, Marcus knew a slew of people, but his dinner companions seem like the most logical place to start in terms of identifying suspects. I wonder if that cockamamie mortgage program Ja
cqueline mentioned earlier has anything to do with his murder.
I swivel my chair around to face the computer and Google “Marcus-Rand-mortgage-program.” Unfortunately, the search yields results for any Marcus Rand who has ever had a mortgage. I try “Marcus-Rand-mortgage-Maryland.” Nothing useful comes up.
“What was the last name of his business associate?” I ask myself. I remember Charles being his first name, but I can’t remember what Jacqueline said his last name was. I could call her, but I don’t want her to know that I’m looking into this.
It’s a long shot, but I type “Charles-mortgage-pay-off-quickly” into the search engine, and, bingo, the first site on the list is for Reverie Homes. The summary underneath the link to the site reads, “Recoup your investment and pay off your home IN FULL in as little as seven years.” I click on the link and start perusing the site. It’s a page personalized for Charles Pritchett, who apparently is “Vice President of Investor Relations” for the greater Washington, D.C., area. I see a photo of him in the top left corner, and I recognize him from the night in the restaurant. I click on the “About Charles Pritchett” button and read his bio. It’s overflowing with words like “caring,” “experience,” “expertise,” and “knowledge.” It talks about how he’s recruited more than two hundred home owners into the program, and how many of them are now mortgage free. I love how he uses the word “many” . . . such a relative term . . . it could mean two, or two hundred, or two thousand. Or, considering how shady this whole program appears, it may mean zero.
I continue to click around the site, which mostly confirms what Jacqueline already told us—home owners make a big investment up-front and then Reverie Homes helps them pay off their mortgage from the profits they make off their other lines of business. I’m about to close the site when I see a link that says, “Attend a Free Information Session.” When I click on it, a calendar appears, and I see that Charles is hosting a forum tonight at the Gaylord Hotel at National Harbor. I’m thinking about how I just might attend that session this evening when I see Laura standing in the doorway.
Murder With Fried Chicken and Waffles Page 10
