Death, Deceit & Some Smooth Jazz

by Claudia Mair Burney

  I still couldn’t decide how much I could trust her, but I needed her. She was my only real ally in trying to find information. Even the Browns weren’t being helpful. “Let me feed you.” Just like Jesus told me to.

  “The kind who’s trying to lose twenty-five pounds.” I got up and headed into the kitchen. “I have Christine at the crime scene.”

  Kalaya shot up off the couch like fireworks. She zoomed into the kitchen. “Forreal ?”

  “For real.” I opened my snack cabinet and found a box of Nabisco 100 Calorie Packs Cheese Nips. I held them out to her.

  She groaned. “Those are so lame.”

  “Not to big girls.”

  “You’re not big.”

  “The only other snacks I have are Oreo Thin Crisps.”

  “Like these things?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re so not friends anymore.”

  I put the box back in my cabinet, leaned against the counter, and thought a minute. “I can grill you a chicken breast.”

  “We’re friends again.”

  “You’re awfully high-maintenance, Kalaya.”

  “Is that why nobody hangs out with me?”

  I went to the fridge to pull out the chicken breast I’d thawed for dinner. Fortunately, I’d planned on having stir fry the next night and had an extra one. I grabbed the chicken, a bowl, and the spices for a marinade. I mixed the whole thing with a little olive oil and lemon juice and let it sit on the countertop.

  “Nobody hangs out with you, probably because they think you’ll write about them in your scathing political pieces.”

  “That was a rhetorical question.”

  “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

  “I’m overrated, you know.”

  “Glad to hear it. What do you want to drink?”

  “You got margarita fixin’s? Lots of tequila?”

  “Nope. I’ve got bottled water, Crystal Light, and Diet Pepsi. I used to have wine, but I got rid of it for Amos.” I padded into the living room.

  “Amos? You got a new boyfriend?”

  “Not quite.”

  “I’m intrigued. Tell me about this Amos.”

  “Anybody ever tell you you’d make a good therapist? Three-fourths of my job is asking some variation of ‘tell me about that.’”

  “Mine, too. Maybe you should be a journalist. I’ll take a Pepsi.”

  “Pepsi it is.”

  “Don’t try to distract me with career choices. I haven’t forgotten about Christine. Or this Amos.”

  “I know you haven’t.”

  “So which do you want to tell me about first?”

  “Amos, since he’s standing right behind you.”

  Kalaya turned, looking confused, until her eyes went to the floor. Then she let out a scream that could pierce your eardrums. “What is that thing?” She pointed wildly at him.

  He hissed, which made her scream again and run out of the kitchen.

  Amos scurried out of the room behind her. The poor thing. People kept having bad reactions to him. I’d be unfriendly, too, under those circumstances.

  I calmly called out to the living room, “It’s a sugar glider.” I didn’t mention his homicidal tendencies. I returned to my chicken marinade as if a screaming reporter tearing out of my kitchen was normal. “I’m surprised you don’t know that. You’re a journalist. You’re supposed to have all kinds of arcane knowledge.”

  “I have a fact checker,” she yelled. “He knows everything.Shazam! Did you see its crazy, beady eyes?”

  I laughed. “Shazam” must have been her toned-down version of an expletive.

  I washed my hands in the kitchen sink. “He doesn’t have beady eyes. His eyes remind me of my pastor Rocky’s, and Rock has the kindest eyes in the world.”

  “Remind me not to meet your pastor.”

  I walked back into the dining area. Kalaya stood flush against a wall as if Amos were the size of a mountain lion instead of a Beanie Baby. The poor woman was shaking like one of my clients on Haldol. I said, “Have a seat. You look like you can stand that Pepsi right about now.”

  “I don’t want a Pepsi. I need that margarita I talked about. A strong one. A pitcher, in fact.”

  “You’ll be okay in a minute. I’m a psychologist. I can help you process this experience.”

  “I need more help than you can offer. I may need to hear that ‘go back to Jesus’ pitch sooner than I realized. That thing scared me to death.” She fanned herself. “And speaking of death…”

  Always the reporter. “Have a seat, Kalaya.”

  She peeled herself off my wall and dropped cautiously into a dinette chair. “What’s this about Christine being at the crime scene?”

  “She saw something. She won’t admit it, but I can tell.”

  “How?”

  “She lied. I talk to liars all day at the jail. Bad ones. That’s probably why they’re in jail. If I could gain her trust, I think I could weasel a confession out of her.”

  “You think she did it?”

  “Anything is possible. I think she did something, for sure. It’s what I saw at the scene. A big clue says someone who loved Kate was at that scene.”

  “You’re my new best friend, Bell.”

  “You’re just saying that to get at my chicken.”

  “The chicken I don’t smell cooking?”

  “It’s marinating.”

  “So why would Christine be there?”

  “Maybe Kate called her and told her Jazz beat her up. She said she was at her mother’s. I wonder how close that is to Jazz’s loft.”

  “I can find out.” Kalaya drummed her fingers on the table. “Do you know Kate’s ETD?”

  “Carly estimated Kate had been dead a few hours or less. We went inside for Carly to pronounce her at eleven-thirtyP.M. Maguire said she’d called the police at nine-oh-nine. Kalaya, Jazz came here that night. He showed up no later than nine-thirty.”

  “Wait. Who called the police in that short amount of time?”

  “Kate Townsend did, if you can believe that.”

  “Holy Moses!” She took furious notes. “You’re sure about the time Jazz got to you?”

  “Pretty sure. I purchased Amos from Exotic Petz that night. I was there until right before the store closed at nine. It’s five minutes from my house, and as soon as I got home, I took a shower and put on my pajamas. Jazz came right after that.”

  “Did he call you before he came? There would be phone records.”

  “Unfortunately, he just showed up.”

  “Did you look at a clock?”

  “No, but——”

  “So you really have no proof of what time he arrived? No stand-up-in-court proof?”

  “Well…”

  I didn’t have to finish my statement. She’d stopped listening. I could practically see her mind working. Her fingers tapped on the table. “Did Maguire pull phone records for Kate and Jazz?”

  “He’s not telling me anything.”

  “Maybe Kate called Christine and she went to Jazz’s place mad because her woman was at her ex’s loft. She easily could have killed her. She’s an intimidating woman. Don’t let those fly African clothes fool you. Did you see her hands?”

  “I saw them and her fists. But I don’t think she strangled Kate. Just because Chris is a daunting figure and a liar doesn’t mean she killed her partner, even if they used to fight.”

  Kalaya shrugged dramatically. “Then again, what do I know? I don’t kill people.”

  “At least not physically.”

  “Ha, ha, ha. I don’t kill people with my words, either. I happen to be an ethical journalist. Mostly. If I weren’t, I’d be scooping every paper in the metro area right now. What are the stats for domestic violence in same-sex relationships?”

  “What, am I your fact-checker now?”

  “Come on, Bell.”

  “It’s just as prevalent as in hetero relationships, only the gay victims receive fewer protective services.”
r />   “Do you think Chris abused Kate?”

  “Here’s the thing. Of the two, Chris was obviously physically stronger, but that doesn’t tell me about anything except their body types. I’ve been gathering information, and from the picture I’m putting together of Kate, she could very well have been the dominant partner——especially emotionally——and the dominant partner is the abuser across the board.”

  “Kate abusing Christine? I don’t see it.”

  “Think about it. Kate was a serial cheater and, to judge from the psychological profile I’m gathering, probably a pathological liar.”

  Kalaya nodded. “Yeah. I did find out that she’d filed several reports that Jazz beat her up——none of which could be verified.”

  “She was also a cutter. She slashed her arms with razor blades. What do all these behaviors have in common?”

  “You mean besides being nutty?”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘nutty’ is quite a clinical term. Try again.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know. They could be a cry for help, but they could also be manipulative.”

  “Exactly. She was unstable, couldn’t keep a job, was unpredictable, hated rejection. I think Kate had a personality disorder.”

  “Like what?”

  “I think she was borderline.”

  “What’s that? I don’t have my fact-checker available.” She winked at me.

  “Borderline personality disorder is a severe psychiatric condition that presents as extreme emotional instability.”

  Kalaya gave me a deadpan stare. “I’m not a doctor, I just play one on TV. You wanna break that down for me?”

  “I’m saying, this is what borderline personality disorder looks like: A person would have all those characteristics I just described in Kate, and more. She’d be an interpersonal-relationship nightmare.”

  “No wonder Jazz swore off dating. That is, until——”

  “Shut up, Kalaya.”

  “I’m just sayin’——”

  “Stop saying. Now, I’m only speculating, but if Kate was borderline, she’d have had the potential to make a lot of enemies.”

  “That’s obvious. The question is, which enemy killed her?”

  “Chris wouldn’t give up information about the diary.”

  “Darn it.”

  “Are you toning down your language for me?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I think the Holy Spirit is after you.”

  “Leave it be, Bell.”

  “You know I’m not going to do that if you’re ripe for the harvest.”

  “If I’m ripe, I’ll take a shower. How are we going to find out who she was seeing right before she died?”

  “Whoever it is——and I think it’s a man——he had to leave some kind of trail. He couldn’t very well take her home with him if she was a secret. They had to have their little rendezvous somewhere, and probably not the house she shares with Christine.”

  “True.”

  “There has to be a trail. Somebody knows who he is. I think Christine is going to talk to me again, maybe after the funeral tomorrow. I think she wants to unburden herself to a nice psychologist.”

  “Oh, yea-ah! Coolness!” Kalaya put up her hand to give me a high five, which I heartily returned.

  “So, how is Jazz?” she asked.

  “What makes you think I’ve been with him?”

  “Who said I thought you’ve been with him? You’re telling on yourself.”

  “Busted. He’s fine.”

  “I know he’sfine, but how is he doing?”

  “I couldn’t tell. I was too busy looking at how fine he is.”

  She giggled. “You’re silly.”

  “Seriously, he’s doing okay. How’d you know I’d talked to him?”

  “I got a friend who works for Channel Seven. I saw the footage of you at the house. I told her you weren’t significant.”

  “You did that for me?”

  “Who knows? I may need a favor someday.”

  “A real altruist, eh?”

  “I’m working on it,” she said. She grinned and rubbed her tummy. “And next time dinner is on me.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a feeling we’ll be sharing a lot more meals.”

  “Do you mind?”

  “It will be my pleasure.”

  I was going to trust God that sheep weren’t vicious animals.

  Sometimes a girl just has to have a pampering day. After I extracted Kalaya from my couch——my goodness! That girl needed friends——I hustled over to African Essence and let the sistah braiders work their magic on my hair. I got Kalaya-style cornrows that boldly cascaded down my back. I may have looked like an over-the-hill Alicia Keys, but I could do worse.

  Next stop, my friend and former prayer partner Lisa Kane’s downtown pampering paradise, the Lady Day Spa. She fluffed, primped, and primed me as often as I let her, which was not nearly as often as she would have wanted. And she let me know it, complaining every time I saw her.

  I’d talked Lisa into staying open after hours to give me the works. She took one look at me, and her blue eyes registered surprise. Then the petite dark-haired cutie, draped in a white lab coat and scrubs, grinned. “Wow!” she said in her faint Kentucky-by-way-of-Maryland drawl. “This is a different look for you.”

  “A new friend inspired me. I think it’s kinda sexy.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Sexy! Uh-oh. Come on in here, Mandy Bell. You’re gonna get the works, all right. And we might just have ourselves a little Bible study, too.”

  “What? Did I say something wrong? Come on. I just want to be cute today.” Nobody else in the world had permission to call me Mandy Bell. But it sounded great when Lisa said it.

  “You didn’t say ‘cute.’ You said ‘sexy,’ and what’s worse, you do look sexy. What’s going on, girlie?”

  “Lisa! You’re a sexy woman. You make women feel beautiful every day. It’s what you do. I’m just here so you can do what you do for me.”

  “Mandy Bell. You know I don’t have any problem with women looking sexy, but I’ve known you for ten years and have never seen you try to look sexy. Have you changed your style or what?”

  I blushed. I didn’t dare tell her I’d changed my style since the night Jazz showed up at my door with scratches on his face and a dead wife in his bed.

  “Well?” Lisa persisted. “Where are your boring blue suits and too much black?”

  “In the closet. I can’t wear them to a spa day, can I?”

  Lisa sighed. Although it looked like she’d given up, I knew she’d bring the topic up again later.

  I distracted myself by taking in the sounds and the sights of the place. The walls had soothing, soft greens and blues painted in waves and swirls, like the ocean. Scattered about was soft sand-colored furniture that you could imagine adorning a summer house in the islands. CDs pumped out nature sounds, chanting, or jazz, especially Lady Day. It smelled like heaven in there. I went right to the dressing room in back, peeled off my clothing, and put on the fluffy white robe Lisa had waiting for me. In the massage room, I disrobed and climbed on the massage table, tight as a drum, smelling Nag Champa incense.

  Lisa opened several bottles of essential oils and her special signature-blend massage oil. “I want to begin with an aromatherapy massage. You need calming, healing oils right now, the emphasis being on ‘calming.’”

  Lisa got started trying to work the kinks out of my shoulder. “Relax, Bell.”

  “I am relaxed.”

  She worked in silence for five minutes or so. “You’re seeing him, aren’t you?”

  “Who?”

  “Jazz. Of television fame this week.”

  “When did you start watching the news?”

  “When Rocky told the whole church to pray for the two of you. And what do you think you’re doing, young lady?”

  Lisa and I are the same age, but somehow, she’s older. “I’m being a friend. They’re in short supply for him right
now.”

  “You, a friend? Friends are always in short supply for you.”

  That stung. I got quiet.

  She stopped working and stroked my hair. “I didn’t say that to be a meanie. But you’ve gotta admit, you haven’t made much of an effort to spend time with those of us who love you. And now this guy is in trouble, and you show up talking about being sexy. How could I not be concerned?”

  “I know I won’t win any awards for being a friend in deed, but I’m working on it. Jazz needs me. More than you. More than Rocky. I just want to help him.”

  “You’re in love with him.”

  “People say that like it’s a crime. What’s wrong with loving somebody?”

  “What if he’s a murderer?”

  “I don’t think he is.”

  She stared at me until I wilted. “Okay. I’m not one hundred percent sure, but there are some things——”

  She smacked my back, hard, then continued to knead my muscles. I could tell she was trying to be objective, even though she hadn’t been since I’d walked through the door. “You can’t do anything for him all knotted up, you know.” We didn’t speak for a few more moments, while Lisa kneaded my shoulder muscles. She broke the silence. “Are you prayingThe Divine Hours with us?”

  “No, but does saying ‘Oh my God’ count as prayer?”

  “Yes, but you could add to that, you know. When was the last time you came to church?”

  “Uh. Two weeks?”

  “Try again. We’ve been doingThe Divine Hours since the end of October.”

  The Divine Hourswas a modern prayer book based on the Book of Common Prayer. Compiled by Phyllis Tickle, it had changed Rocky’s life, so he’d gifted the Rock House with it by implementing a churchwide practice of the spiritual discipline of fixed prayer four times a day. I’d been at church when Rocky had announced we’d begin. But I hadn’t returned since then? “Has it been that long?”

  She karate-chopped my neck. “I’ve never seen you this tense. You can’t be his savior, Bell.”

  “Whose?”

  “His.”

  I huffed. “What? You suddenly can’t say ‘Jazz’ now? You said it a few minutes ago. You’re playing it on your CD player.”

  “And you’re snooping, aren’t you?”

  “Sleuthing.”