“Aw, come on, Uncle Marvin. I can take care of myself.”
He sighed. “All right.” Marvin positioned reading glasses on the edge of his nose and looked at the notes. “First, the cemetery. There have been no complaints. At least none to the police. Cornelius Manross was convicted of forgery and gambling-related charges about ten years ago and spent three years at Jessup. He’s been clean ever since. For the past seven years he’s worked at the cemetery. He’s lived at the same address for six years.”
Marvin looked up from his notes. “That’s all I’ve got on Manross. The truck is registered to Calvin Plant.”
“What? Who’s that? The truck doesn’t belong to Cornelius Manross?”
Marvin shook his head. “Nope. Says here Calvin Plant.”
Jonelle stared at her uncle. Who the hell is Calvin Plant?
CHAPTER 5
Before she left the office, Marvin gave Jonelle Manross’ last known address. She knew the area; the bar where Del was killed was about a mile and a half away in the same general direction.
Muttering two fifty-seven Poplar over and over, Jonelle drove through an area where the one-story houses all looked the same, except for different colored siding. Many older communities had houses like these. They were a throwback to a time when the government built them quickly and cheaply and sold them to veterans of some war or other as a thank-you for their service to the country. Now most of the homes Jonelle passed were littered with toys and old cars. Garbage spilled from overturned trash cans onto the narrow streets.
At Poplar Street, she turned left and slowed to a crawl. She squinted at the house numbers and pulled up to the curb across from “257”. The urge to just forget the whole thing weighed on her mind, but she’d already come this far.
She turned off the ignition and sat a moment, thinking of where this mess with Del could take her. Del’s accident occurred in the parking lot of a bar not far from here. Jonelle didn’t trust coincidences, nor did she give up easily. Her mother always told her she was too stubborn for her own good. And now here she sat, parked in front of Manross’ house. “Better get it over with before I lose my nerve,” she said as she unbuckled the seatbelt.
Jonelle got out of her car and stood next to her vehicle. She glanced at the rear where her 92FS was kept unloaded in a lockbox. For a moment she considered taking it out, putting in the clip, and moving it to her glove compartment where she could have easy access. She shook her head and shuddered. Uh uh, no way. That she would even consider doing so sent shivers down her spine.
Jonelle approached the powder blue house. A rusted chain link fence surrounded the property. The gate creaked as she unlatched it and she entered a small yard covered with a thick emerald carpet of grass. The yard contrasted sharply with the bare patches of dirt dotting the ground of the house next door. A narrow concrete walk led straight to the house. Jonelle went up the steps and paused on the landing. She took a deep breath, opened the screen, and knocked on the door, half hoping no one was at home. No response. She pressed her ear against the door, but couldn’t hear anything coming from inside. Jonelle looked around to see if anyone was watching, then peered in the two front windows. Everything was dark. Jonelle turned and walked back to her car.
Back inside her Jeep, she started the SUV and looked at the clock on the dashboard. Though the days grew shorter, about an hour of daylight remained. She was exhausted, hungry and just wanted to go home. Still, it was only a slight detour to the cemetery.
At this late hour the possibility remained that the place would be deserted. Starting the Jeep, she decided to take that chance.
CHAPTER 6
Jonelle felt frustrated and depressed. “Can’t deal with Manross now,” she said out loud. “The cemetery will have to wait.”
Jonelle lived southwest of the city in an old Victorian home converted into four apartments. Six years ago, Jonelle and the other residents heard the owner wanted to sell the building, so they got together and offered to buy their units. Eager to leave the area, the owner readily agreed. Over the years, the occupants decided to split the cost of erecting a secured privacy fence in the back and to install a buzzer system for the front entrance.
Jonelle parked in her assigned spot on the side of the building, took the gun from the lock box, and put it in her purse. She punched in the security code, waited for the green light, and entered the tiny foyer. One of her neighbors had retrieved the mail and placed the items on the small shelf against the wall.
She quickly sorted through the mail, putting aside copies of People, Gun Digest, and Essence magazines, along with a few bills. She glanced at the notice offering her the opportunity to join the NRA, frowned, and tossed it, along with advertisements for housecleaning services and satellite television, in the recycle bin next to the door.
The sound of high heels tapping on the wooden stairs came from above. “Hey, Jonnie, how’s it goin’?” Jonelle’s neighbor from unit D squinted down at her. “You okay? Don’t usually see you at this hour. Had a hot date tonight?”
“Not a date, but I guess hot would just about describe all that’s been going on. At the very least it’s been an interesting few days, Sheila,” Jonelle answered.
Sheila MacIntosh was Jonelle’s neighbor’s real name, although she frequently changed it for work purposes. Jonelle managed a wan smile as Sheila, dressed in a black leather mini with silver studs ringed around the hem, red knee-high leather boots, and a black and red striped leather bustier, descended the steps. Her blond hair was held back by a black leather headband.
“Thought you usually waited ’til you got to work before you wore that stuff. You know, so as not to scare the neighbors,” Jonelle teased.
Sheila worked part-time as a hostess at the Old Ball and Chain Pleasure Palace and free-lanced when she felt like it. When Sheila first moved into the building, the other occupants didn’t know what to make of her flamboyant clothes and odd night-time hours. They quickly learned that Sheila kept her profession separate from her private life and never brought work home with her. Plus, she frequently baked homemade bread and pastries. “Helps me relax,” she often said when asked how she found the time to bake. The wonderful, sweet aroma of the baked goods permeated the entire building, making the place feel warm and inviting. She always claimed she could never eat all that pastry and shared the loaves and buns with the others, forever endearing her to most of her neighbors.
“I have an appointment with a private client before work, so I gotta run. But if you want to talk when I get back around six tomorrow morning, I baked some cinnamon rolls earlier so we can dish the dirt before you go to work. Okay?”
“We’ll see. And thanks, Sheila. You be careful tonight.”
Sheila smiled. “Always am, darlin’.”
As Jonelle inserted the key in the lock of her unit, the door across the hall creaked open. She sighed, turned toward the sound, and forced a smile.
A pair of soft brown eyes peered from the narrow opening of the door across the hall. “Hi, dear. You’re a little late tonight. Frank! Jonnie’s home! We were getting worried about you. Those students giving you any trouble?”
Mathilda Brobish and her husband Franklin made it their business to know about everyone’s comings and goings but were so considerate that no one seemed to mind, least of all Jonelle. In fact, the couple told Jonelle many times they considered themselves lucky that Jonelle, being in the security business, made them feel safer.
“No, Mattie, I’m fine. Just a long day and I’m really tired, so—”
Franklin joined his wife and stood beside her at the door. His angular body contrasted sharply against that of his wife’s rounder, softer frame. White wisps of hair flew out from all directions on his small head. It reminded Jonelle of those old pictures she’d seen of Albert Einstein, though Franklin had considerably less gray matter.
“You got time for a little wine?” he asked, waving a wine bottle in the air. “We were just getting ready to have a glass. It’s a M
albec. Your favorite.”
“Thanks, you two. But I’m exhausted. How about I take a raincheck for some other time.”
Jonelle waved goodnight to her neighbors and let herself in the two-bedroom unit. She stood in the small entranceway and looked around the place. She’d been a homeowner four years before she married Del. Though he had wanted to move, saying he was uncomfortable with “those nosey old bitties next door,” Jonelle resisted the idea, and made a home for them both, surrounded by people she liked. No matter what obstacles the day threw at her, whenever she crossed the threshold, she usually felt better. But not tonight. Tonight she felt tired and restless at the same time.
She threw the mail on the hall table purchased from a Swedish furniture store near the mall. At the time, her mother had chastised her for buying cheap, but she’d liked its pale wood and simple lines. Jonelle had splurged on the blue, tan, and white striped sofa and the two navy blue wingback chairs but saved on the solid wood oval coffee table and cherry wood dinette set bought at an upscale consignment shop. She covered the hardwood floors with area rugs purchased from a Pottery Barn catalogue.
Jonelle ignored the answering machine with its red message waiting light blinking its incessant demand to answer, answer, answer. Instead, she trudged back to the master bedroom and slipped out of her clothes. She neatly folded her uniform and put it away and placed the gun in the nightstand. Donning a thick cotton robe and fuzzy yellow slippers, she shuffled to the kitchen.
From the freezer she took out a low-calorie frozen entrée and put it back. Instead, she opened a can of tomato soup, poured it in a small pot, added milk, and set it on the stove to heat. Next, she grabbed a loaf of sourdough bread, courtesy of Sheila, and cut two thin slices. She took some mild cheddar cheese from the fridge and sliced a bit of sweet onion. After adding some butter to both sides of the bread, Jonelle placed the sandwich in a skillet.
While the sandwich browned, Jonelle padded over to the cupboard, retrieved the fish food, and headed back to the living room where the twenty-five-gallon tank sat occupying one wall.
Weary of disposing several dead goldfish, she and Del decided to purchase a real aquarium. Sprinkling some fish flakes on the top, she said, “How’s it going, guys? Hope your day’s been better than mine.” She checked the thermostat and pump, a habit she’d gotten into lately, to make sure both were functioning properly. Jonelle didn’t think she could stand the thought of anything else dying on her at this point.
The sharp smell from the kitchen reminded her of the sandwich and soup. She turned off the burner under the soup and flipped the sandwich over to brown the other side. She poured herself a large glass of milk, grabbed a tray, and took her dinner to the living room.
After setting her meal down on the coffee table, Jonelle removed a pair of CDs from the rack—Joe Sample and Etta James singing Billie Holliday.
As she sipped soup to the soft tinkling sounds of jazz piano, the kitchen phone rang. A quick glance at the clock revealed it was only eight thirty.
“Hey girl. It’s me, Adrienne. You get my other messages? Pick up, willya? Look, I’m sorry about earlier today. Hell, you know me. It’s like you always say, ‘open mouth, insert foot.’ C’mon, Jonnie, pick up… Well, okay then. Guess I’ll see you on campus tomorrow. G’night.”
Jonelle finished the meal, washed the few dishes by hand, and put them away. She turned out the lights and headed to the bathroom. She ran a bath, threw in some bath salts, and soaked for a while, thinking of nothing but the music coming from the living room. After her bath, she put on the oversized T-shirt she always wore to bed, and opened the medicine cabinet.
After she’d buried Del, she’d wondered what to do with the little things he had. Most of the stuff she gave to friends or charity stores. But she still kept a bottle of the cologne he always wore. She unscrewed the top, closed her eyes, and sniffed. Woody fragrance, laced with spice and a hint of jasmine. She always liked the smell. It was masculine without being overpowering. Jonelle opened her eyes, put the top back on, and held the bottle over the trash basket. But she couldn’t let go.
“Not yet,” she said to her image in the mirror and placed the bottle back in the cabinet.
Jonelle walked to the bedroom and pulled down the covers. She shook her head and grabbed a pillow, took a cotton blanket from the chest at the foot of the bed, and walked back to the living room. She placed the pillow at one end of the couch and settled in as the sounds of Etta James filled the air.
As she gazed up at the ceiling, her face bathed in the blue-green glow of the fish tank, Jonelle thought about what she’d say to Cornelius Manross. Maybe he’d tell her about Calvin Plant. Either way, Jonelle had to tread carefully.
With those thoughts weighing on her mind, Jonelle drifted off, lulled to a fretful sleep by the aquarium’s gentle gurgling.
CHAPTER 7
The next day after work, Jonelle entered her supervisor’s office and asked for a week’s vacation.
“I know I probably should have asked yesterday, but I thought maybe I could handle some, uh, personal issues. Looks like I can’t. So,” she said, “if it’s no problem, I’d like to take the rest of the week off.”
Terrence Carter smiled at Jonelle. “Frankly, Jonnie, I was wondering if you’d planned to take any vacation at all. You still have time left over from last year.” He looked at her closely, a frown on his face. “Everything good at home?”
Jonelle nodded. Unlike most of the others in Security, she had no problem with Carter. The burly man with the gruff demeanor leaned hard on those who slacked off and rewarded those who gave their best.
“Go ahead. Take the rest of the week off and the following week as well.”
“Thanks!”
Jonelle rushed to the ladies room. She wasted no time changing out of her uniform and into jeans and a sage green T-shirt. Since she hadn’t talked to Adrienne all day, she decided to stop by the Medical School Admissions Building to say she held no hard feelings against her best friend. After that, she’d head out to the cemetery.
Once outside, Jonelle glanced up at the dark clouds forming to the north. She hurried across the courtyard and nearly collided with Adrienne, coming from the opposite direction.
“Well, look what the wind blew by,” Adrienne said. “Since I didn’t hear from you last night, I figured you were still mad.” She peered closely at her friend. “So, are we good?”
“Sure, we’re good,” Jonelle said. “I did some thinking last night, and right now I need to concentrate on finding out where Del’s body is and not worry about stuff that doesn’t mean much at this point.”
Adrienne’s deep brown face lit up in a big grin. “Atta girl,” she said. She pointed at Jonelle. “Listen, you want me to help you shake up this guy… what’s his name again?”
Jonelle shook her head. “His name’s Cornelius Manross, and right now I don’t wanna ‘shake up’ anybody. I just want to ask him a few questions is all.”
Adrienne started moving. “Okay, girlfriend,” she said, beckoning Jonelle to follow. “Walk and talk. I need to get these forms over to the Medical School Admissions Building. The stupid computer kept spitting out the wrong grades for these premed students, so I had to use the Main Admissions computer. I gotta run them over to the office.” She glanced up at the sky. “Shit, wouldn’t you know it? Hurry up, gotta make it between the raindrops.”
The wind kicked up, causing tree limbs to sway and blowing around bits of paper. Although Adrienne was wearing her usual four-inch heels and Jonelle her after-work cross trainers, Jonelle jogged to keep up as Adrienne scrambled up concrete steps and plowed through the department’s glass double doors.
She followed Adrienne to a long wooden counter. The room overflowed with students and faculty dressed in more white coats than she’d ever seen outside of a hospital.
“Hey, Liz,” Adrienne said, walking up to a frazzled-looking woman behind the counter. She plopped the stack of files down. “These are all the grad
es we have so far on the premed students who have registered.”
Liz took her gaze from the computer screen, a worried frown on her face. She looked up at Adrienne and pushed a lock of wavy red hair out of her eyes.
“Thank goodness,” she said. “If I didn’t think I’d lose my job, I’d throw this damn computer out the window.” Liz squinted at Jonelle. “Help you, Ms. Sweet?”
Jonelle pointed at Adrienne. “No thanks. I just walked over with her. Looks like you guys are kinda busy.”
“As always.” Liz smiled at Adrienne. “You wouldn’t be willing to work a little overtime today, would you?”
Adrienne shook her head. “Not today, Liz. Remember, I’m doing double-duty the rest of the week.”
“Right. Forgot about that. If you’re going past gen admin on your way home, I need you to take something back.”
“Yeah, okay, but hurry. It’s gonna start raining any minute now.”
Liz shuffled through a stack of printouts and removed several from the pile. She stood and motioned to two men. “Excuse me,” she said, raising her voice over the din. “Doctors Nouri and Hammond. I’ve got your preliminary class lists here now.”
Jonelle watched the two men approach. She always thought doctors looked so distinguished and figured it was the long white coats. Even Mike Tyson in a white coat would look somewhat intelligent. The short, dark complexioned doctor had thick black hair and was quite good-looking. He carried a thin, black leather bag slung over his shoulder. Jonelle looked at the name stitched above the pocket—Dr. Nouri. The white doctor stood over six feet tall, with gray hair balding a little at the top. He wore gold-rimmed glasses. Though older looking than Nouri, he still had the shape of someone who worked out on a regular basis. The name on his jacket read Dr. Hammond. Hammond noticed Adrienne and winked. She waved back.
“So,” Adrienne said, nudging her best friend. “I see you’re eyeing all the good doctors and good doctor wannabes. Whaddya think?”
Burial Plot (A Jonelle Sweet Mystery Book 1) Page 3
