Missing Hearts

by Wright, Kenya

  “His mother owns Sweet’s Beauty Salon downtown. Her nickname is Sweets by the way.”

  “A beauty salon.” I quirked my brows. “Sean could’ve learned about hot combs from there.”

  Haven held a smirk. “No black woman or girl has ever stepped into Sweet’s Beauty Salon to get their hair done. If they did, they would get a bunch of eyes cutting their flesh and screwed faces.”

  “Black women aren’t allowed in that salon?”

  “There’s no sign, but everybody knows.”

  “So, his mother is a racist beautician. How was her relationship with Sean?”

  “He’s a mama’s boy. Every Sunday, he’s next to her at church. By that evening, he’s at her dinner table smiling and eating her food. He has three other brothers and one sister, but that’s her baby. She keeps him close and doesn’t want him to move out of town. Even if he found a nice white Christian girl to marry, she probably would lose her mind.”

  “He’s with her every Sunday?” I stopped us at the red light. “Didn’t Sean come to visit you in Quantico and even during your college years?”

  “He did, but he always jumped on the plane by Saturday evening. He couldn’t miss church or Sunday dinner with his mother. When I was younger, I thought it was cute.”

  “And now?”

  “I think he should just marry his mother.”

  “Can’t have sex with his mother.”

  “Can’t have sex with me either.”

  For a few minutes, I wondered about how sex would be with Haven. It was a very natural thing for a man to do, so I didn’t beat myself up too much. All day I tried my best to see Haven as a fellow colleague in the field. But that perfume and that gorgeous smile kept having my mind stray.

  And so, as we drove toward Sean Thompson’s house in silence, I wondered how Haven sounded when she moaned. Did she dominate her lover in bed? Did she take charge as she did in the field? Or did she like her man to be rough and the boss between the sheets?

  I licked my lips and pushed those thoughts out of my head.

  Tomorrow, she must ride with Stein. I’m not behaving.

  I’d gone from wanting her completely off the unit for her safety to now imagining her naked and in my bed. I needed sleep and a fresh perspective.

  This case. This town. It is all making me crazy. She can’t ride with me tomorrow.

  Chapter 8

  Honeybee

  Alexander

  We arrived at Sean’s house minutes later.

  It was a middle-class neighborhood. I figured several families lived here—hardworking parents and no more than three kids. A lot of the houses were two level with small yards in the front. A few girls jumped rope on the sidewalk. A man pulled his car into the driveway. A woman walked her poodle. Everyone was white, and they all glanced our way as we parked the car in front of Sean’s house.

  Unlike the other properties on the block, his was one level. The paint was a bright blue with white trim. The yard was well kept with manicured bushes in the front. The garage door looked to be newly painted.

  I climbed out of the car. “He’s neat.”

  “He’s a mommy’s boy. They’re usually neat.” She looked at me. “What about you?”

  “Am I neat?”

  “I already know you’re neat.”

  “Do you now?”

  “Suit impeccably ironed. Not one stain. A quick glance of your office showed everything in its place from paper clips to files. No dust. Nothing scattered. Even your rental car is on point.”

  She’s been studying me too. Interesting.

  Haven got to my side and walked to the door. “I was wondering if you’re a mama’s boy.”

  I smirked. “I am, but she doesn’t expect me to be at her house every Sunday. However, I do have to call twice a week, or she’s threatened that she’ll come for me. I’ve learned as a kid to not test my mother, and so I call three times a week just to make sure.”

  Haven laughed. “She sounds like my mother.”

  “And I try to make sure I visit during the holidays. Sometimes Dad works and leaves her alone.” I held back my frown and knocked on Sean’s door. “But enough about me. We’re here for lover boy.”

  She shook her head, probably not appreciating my nickname for him.

  A man opened the door with a beer in his hand. He wore no shirt, just jeans hanging down at his waist and showing the top of his black boxer briefs. Curiosity filled those blue eyes. He gave me a quick glance and then looked at Haven.

  That was the moment his neutral expression shattered.

  Hmmm. Haven didn’t call and tell you she was coming home. Good.

  Sean had those all-American boy looks. Had he gone pro in football, they would’ve had him on somebody’s cereal box, smiling with perfect teeth. Blonde hair and tan skin. Not as tall as me, but not short. Probably around six feet. Broad shoulders. A little muscle here and there, but I could outlift him on any day and slam him down to the floor with ease.

  He parted his lips and stared at Haven.

  She cleared her throat. “Hello, Mr. Thompson. This is Special Agent King, and I’m—”

  “You’re in town?” Sean stepped forward. Shock covered his face. “Why didn’t you call me? When did you get here?”

  “We can discuss that at another time.” She gestured to me. “Right now, we’re here to discuss—”

  “You’re working on the case?” Sean leaned his head to the side. “The Fullbrooke Six. You’re on that team?”

  “Yes.” Haven looked uncomfortable.

  How long have they been off? And how bad was the ending?

  Sean scowled. “When did you get here?”

  “This morning.”

  “Where are you staying at? How long—”

  “Mr. Thompson,” I interrupted, “can we come inside and ask you a few questions?”

  I think he’d forgotten that I was standing there because he turned back to me and widened his eyes. His gaze sized me up. Annoyance crept at the edge of his eyes. I didn’t know if he was pissed that I had interrupted their reunion or mad that I was working with Haven.

  Either way, I didn’t care.

  I repeated, “Can we come inside?”

  “That’s fine.” Sean backed up to let us in and scowled at Haven. “I just finished dinner. You want a beer or something, Agent King?”

  I entered his living room. “No, thank you.”

  “I don’t have your pinot, Haven. I would have if I knew you were arriving.”

  “That’s fine. I’m not thirsty.”

  I glanced over my shoulder and caught Sean scowling at her some more.

  He walked off and gestured to the couch. “Have a seat.”

  I sat down. Haven came my way and sat on my right. Sean propped himself in the black lounge chair across from us.

  I scanned the place.

  While the house was big for one man, the living room screamed bachelor. Not much furniture—couch and lounge. A small table next to the lounge to set a beer and plate of food. A huge television stood against the other wall. Old high school and college football pictures and trophies decorated the shelve behind him. On the other wall, Atlanta Falcons memorabilia covered it—jerseys, banners, and posters of the players. I leaned to the side and got a view of the kitchen. On the fridge, there was a poster of a buxom blonde in a tiny bikini.

  Sean clearly didn’t have a girlfriend living with him. No woman would’ve allowed the décor.

  That being said, he kept everything clean and organized. No empty pizza boxes or scattered clothes around. His mother would’ve been proud.

  Or she comes by and cleans up after him. How much of a mother’s boy is he?

  I turned back to Sean. He watched Haven the whole time, while she looked away in pure discomfort.

  I decided to end her torture. “Mr. Thompson—”

  “Call me Sean.”

  I nodded. “Sean, how long have you worked for Fullbrooke Baptist church?”

  “
It must be five years at least.”

  Right when they broke up. Does that matter? Or is it a coincidence?

  “Have you done work at Fanny’s restaurant?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Sometimes a toilet overflows or something is up with their stove.” Sean continued to watch Haven. “There’s a plumber in town, Sam Goodwin, but he’s a drunk and hard to find. If it’s a slow week, I’ll take jobs intended for him.”

  Melody had been taken from Fanny’s restaurant last month.

  I took out my notebook. “Did you do any work for that restaurant last month?”

  “No. I haven’t been over there since February. They needed a rush job done in one of the bathrooms. The place was packed.”

  “What day was this?”

  “Valentine’s day.”

  The Angel Maker had kidnapped Karen Brookes on Valentine’s day. I checked the time she was taken.

  5:00pm.

  I looked up from my notepad. “How long were you at Fanny’s restaurant?”

  Sean kept his attention on Haven. “I’ll have to get my book out, but it was a big job. I got there early that morning and didn’t leave until the place closed that evening. Buddy was with me.”

  “Buddy?”

  Sean directed his attention my way. “Buddy is sort of my assistant, but mainly my best friend. When he’s between jobs, I let him help me out. We got to Fanny’s early. Fixed the bathroom. Another emergency came up with the back of the kitchen. The fridge lost power. We had to re-root the back wall due to the leaking, plus drag in a new one inside. By six, we were done, but Fanny wanted to give us dinner. We ended up staying there until closing, eating good and getting drunk.”

  “You have people who could confirm what you said?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve got a whole restaurant, plus Fanny and her staff.” He raised his brows. “Wait a minute. You think I kidnapped the little girls?”

  I made a note of what he’d said. “We’re just trying to get an understanding—”

  “I would never kidnap girls?”

  “Back to the church.” I flipped the pad over and checked the date. “Where were you on March 28?”

  “What day was that?”

  “Sunday.”

  “I was with my mom.” He squinted as if thinking. “In fact, that would have been Palm Sunday this year. I remember being annoyed that it wasn’t in April. I had to show up to her house early and put together a bunch of palm branches into crosses.”

  I stared at him. “For what?”

  “So, the kids can wave them around. It’s supposed to make them feel good I guess before shit gets real and we talk about the crucifixion.” Sean shrugged. “Palm Sunday is the Sunday before Easter. It starts Holy Week.”

  I remained quiet to see if he would talk more.

  “You know what I’m talking about? Right?” Sean took a chug of his beer. “Jesus entered Jerusalem as Savior and King. He rode a donkey and a large crowd gathered and laid palm branches across the road, giving him the royal treatment. Are you a religious man, Agent King?”

  “Not really. Are you a religious man?” I asked.

  “I try.” He directed his attention back to Haven. “But sometimes there are temptations that come.”

  Stirring, she crossed her legs.

  I made a note. “So, on Palm Sunday you were with your mother making palm crosses?”

  “Yes, and then we hauled all of them to church for the kids.”

  “You stayed in church for service?”

  “I did. Later, I sat with my family for dinner.” He took another swig. “Sheriff came by the house and told us another little girl was missing that evening.”

  “Sheriff Michaelson?”

  “Yes. Said another black girl ran away.” Sean shook his head. “But I knew she had been kidnapped.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Because Ariana was just six and her father Paul and I played football together in high school and college. He’s a good man and a great father. There’s no way that little girl ran away.”

  “So, you know her family well?”

  “I know all of the families, although we all don’t spend time together anymore, not like the days when we were in school.” He finished his beer.

  “Your mother and church can confirm your whereabouts on Palm Sunday?”

  “Of course. I’m sure my mother and sister took hundreds of pictures and posted them all over social media. If you check her Facebook page or the church, you’ll see me in there somewhere.”

  I nodded. “Let’s go back to Fanny’s restaurant. You know the property well?”

  “I do.”

  “Any back doors or secret passages?”

  “There are two hidden doors that go to the wine cellar under it. Long ago, it was used to hide slaves for the underground railroad. Tom Fullbrooke’s baby sister Betsy owned the place and would hide her own brother’s slaves right there. She would sneak them off his property and do it.” Sean crushed the can and rose. “You sure you don’t want a beer?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I’m getting one.” Sean walked off and headed to the kitchen.

  Maybe, you can put on a shirt too.

  I checked Haven.

  She’d been watching him walk away and it looked like she didn’t mind the lack of a shirt. When she caught me studying her, she widened her eyes. “What do you think?”

  “I think he’s still in love with you.”

  She blinked. “And. . .um. . .what about his alibis?”

  “Good ones. I’m sure they check out, but he knows a lot about the properties. His friend Buddy could be a part of this or even his father.”

  “I hope not.” She held a sad expression. “It would hurt him.”

  Sean returned and ended our conversation. He sat down with another beer. This time fury dotted the edge of his eyes. Apparently, he didn’t appreciate our whispering in the living room.

  Are you jealous? Or is this all directed at Haven?

  “I didn’t kidnap those girls.” Sean opened the second beer and took a swig.

  I looked at the date Melody was taken—Victim 6. “Where were you the first Sunday of last month?”

  “With my mother, then we went to church. Afterwards, I had dinner with my family. It was Trinity Sunday.”

  “So, the Sunday before that?”

  “Mom, church, and dinner. That was Pentecost.” He laughed. “Mom always said that being in church was the best place a person could be on Sunday. I guess she’s right. Keeps me out of being a suspect, huh?”

  “It sure does.” I wrote notes down. “So, Trinity Sunday was the first of the month?”

  “That’s right. It’s a big celebration for the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. All of that jazz.”

  “And then Pentecost was the Sunday before Trinity Sunday?”

  “Yes. It’s when we celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit.” Sean drank some of the new beer. “Christians like celebrating things.”

  I wrote everything down. “We’re done here. I’ll let you know if we have more questions. Can I use your bathroom?”

  “Sure. It’s in the back and on the right.” Sean returned his view to Haven.

  She sighed.

  I rose and walked to the back, listening to their hushed conversation behind me.

  Sean kept his voice low. “Are you staying with your mother?”

  “No.” Haven’s words came out calm. “I’m on official business. I’ll be at a hotel.”

  I walked down the hallway.

  “Which one?”

  “I’m not here on vacation, Sean.”

  “You know it’ll only take me a few hours to find out what hotel. Just tell me.”

  “None of your business. We’re done.”

  I opened the door on the left, hoping it was his bedroom. I’d been correct. I slipped inside for a few seconds to check it out.

  Sean’s words sounded off in the distance. “You look beautiful as always, Honeybee.”
>
  “Don’t call me that.”

  Sean’s voice went weak. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Looking so sweet and sexy in my living room? You know I can’t touch you, or can I?”

  Don’t touch my agent, Sean. I would hate to arrest you.

  Sean’s bedroom was as neat and clean as his living room. The only shock that came was the framed picture of Haven and him on his nightstand. I walked that way and picked it up. It was a selfie that he must’ve enlarged. He held Haven in his arms and kissed her cheek. She beamed in the picture, wearing a red sweater with white hearts on it.

  Yeah. She may be off, but he is still on. She thinks he just wanted her for sex, but it was much more to him.

  I set the picture down and opened the drawer. Around six porno magazines of black women and a bottle of lotion filled the space. It must’ve been his spank section. Every man had one. Due to my living out of my suitcase, I kept my trusty bottle of lotion in the side of my bag. There was no need to bring erotic visuals. I had enough one-night stands of gorgeous women imprinted in my mind.

  He's a regular guy. Doesn’t seem like a psycho so far.

  The only problem with Sean was that he didn’t own his true self. While he had a half-naked white girl on his fridge, he jacked off to curvy black women in his bedroom.

  I checked his drawers, did a quick look in his closet, and under the bed.

  Their hushed conversation drifted from the living room.

  “Why not, Honeybee?”

  “I told you to stop calling me that.”

  “A little meal and movie can’t hurt anybody. You know you miss the macaroni and cheese from Fanny’s.”

  “I can’t and besides, I’m not on vacation.”

  “But you have to eat.”

  I quietly closed his bedroom door

  Annoyance dotted Haven’s words. “Wouldn’t your mother and father see us?”

  Sean groaned. “I could figure something out. Rent the back room or maybe go when they’re in Colesville or—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Honeybee, please.”

  I headed down the hallway. “Thank you so much, Mr. Thompson.”

  Sean reluctantly rose.

  Haven stood and rushed to the front door as if her life depended on it. Beating Sean and I both to it.