Death, Deceit & Some Smooth Jazz

by Claudia Mair Burney

“What’s going on?”

  “You’re in the newspaper.”

  “In theBeat ?”

  “You know theCity Beat doesn’t come out until Monday. You made theMetropolitan Daily, girl.”

  I sat down, stunned. “Why would I be in theDaily ?”

  She thrust the paper in my hand. The front-page headline screamed, DEATH, DECEIT, ANDSOMESMOOTHJAZZ.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “It a riveting tale of how Detroit’sfinest weaseled the state’s potentially best witness into marrying him so she wouldn’t testify in court against him for the murder of his ex-wife.”

  I scanned the article. “Oh my Lord.” I thought about Dr. Fox calling me repeatedly this morning. “I’m going to lose my job. That rabid IAD officer has been chatting up my boss. This is just great.” I felt the walls of my self-deception crumble under the consequences of my choices. “This is my fault. This is all because I wanted him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I wanted him badly. It was like my sister said. I wanted him so much that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me. I let my lust blind me to the truth.”

  “I know I just got back into your life, so what do I really know? But I can’t believe you married him just to have sex.”

  “Maybe I don’t love him at all.”

  “Amanda Bell Brown, you couldn’t convince me if you had a million years that you don’t love Jazz.”

  “Oh, Kal. I don’t know why I married him. Maybe because I didn’t think he’d ask again when this is all over. Do you think he’d pine for me when he’s free and clear? He can have whoever he wants.”

  “Apparently, he wantsyou. ”

  “Or me to bow out of testifying because I’m his wife.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “I don’t know what to believe.”

  She cradled my elbow. “I need to write a story.”

  I snorted incredulously. “A story? I’m sorry, Kalaya. You missed your scoop. Somebody’s already got my story. It looks like they got the whole enchilada. Kate’s murder, Jazz charming me right out of my brand-new Victoria’s Secret panties, right here for all the world to see.”

  “You need help. What if you lose your job?”

  “There’s no way I can afford to live off of what my private practice pays.”

  “Let me help you.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll write another story. Front page of theBeat. ”

  “And how is your writing a story going to help me?” I shook my head. Laughed. “You just want what you want, exactly like I did. You never had any interest in me, and I liked you so much. I thought we could be friends.” I guessed sheep and the people who fed them weren’t meant to pal around.

  “Bell Brown, Iam your friend. You led me back to Christ, and I will be grateful for you for all of eternity. But I also happen to be a journalist and the one person in this world right now who will write a story that won’t make you look like the biggest fool in metropolitan Detroit.”

  “I married a man out on bond for murdering his ex-wife. Iam the biggest fool in Detroit.”

  “You’re a woman in love.”

  “I’m an irrational, crazy woman in lust.”

  She sighed. “You know what I’m getting at. Do you love him?”

  I paused. Chewed my lip. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know? It’s been all over you from day one.”

  “Maybe it’s just lust.”

  Kalaya slapped her hand to her forehead. “Be serious, Bell.”

  I put my head in my hands. “I think I love him. I don’t know. I’m so confused.” I looked up at her. “I’m so scared.”

  Kalaya looked at me in astonishment. “What do you think married love includes? No physical desire for each other? Doesn’t a great marriage include great sex?”

  “I don’t know. My sexual desires have gotten me in trouble in the past.”

  Kalaya sighed. “Okay. Let’s try a different tack. Do you think he played you? Did he marry you to keep you from testifying?”

  How well do we know anybody?

  The hurt in his eyes. His rage. All that was real. It had nothing to do with court and murder cases. I thought about what Jazz had said about letting God take care of us. Letting God do justice. He had seemed sincere. “I don’t think that’s why he married me.”

  “We’re going to write us a story, girl.”

  “I think it’s too late for that.”

  “No, it’s not, baby. We’re going to write ourselves a love story the likes of which the Big Motor has never seen. It’s going to be better thanRomeo and Juliet. ”

  “Romeo and Juliet.Now, that’s apropos. A tragedy! Jazz walked out on me when he caught me kissing my pastor last night. He never wants to see me again.”

  “He caught you doing what?” Kalaya stared at me, the idiot. “Why in the world would you do that?”

  I started to answer, but I didn’t know why, either. So I jumped to the end of the story. Tears gathered in my chest, behind my eyes. “It’s over.”

  “We’ll see about that. Now tell me everything, starting from the moment you met.”

  I told her everything, sparing no detail. I told her about the red dress and stiletto heels, the one minute of love, his being unavailable, and the call I made from Gabriel’s house of horrors to tell him good-bye because I thought that crazy man would kill me. How Jazz came for me and how he’d told me we’d just gotten started. I told her about sugar-glider CPR, Madonna lilies, sweetheart roses, and baby’s breath. About Jazz on his knees promising to honor me. About the tearful, angry confrontation when I stood between my two favorite people.

  Kalaya and I both cried.

  After our sniffles had subsided and I could speak again, I said to her. “I’m going away.”

  “Where?”

  “Far from Detroit. My friend Lisa has a little cabin up north.”

  “I think that’s a good idea. I’m gonna miss you, though. I got a copy ofThe Message. I was hoping we could study together.”

  “We will. Soon.”

  She looked a little sheepish. No pun intended. “Look, I know I just asked youway too much information about you and Jazz. And I know I’m a Christian now, and I’m so not supposed to ask you this question, but I have to know. And keep in mind that you owe me.”

  “What?”

  “How was the honeymoon, otherwise?”

  “It was smokin’ hot, girl.”

  She hit my arm. “Oh, I hate you for that.”

  We laughed like a couple of girls.

  Kalaya rubbed my arm. “God’s gonna fix this.”

  “I don’t think so. But thanks. Look out for him, huh?”

  “Don’t you worry about Jazz. God has his back.”

  “Kal, look into everybody. The Royal Oak police had pictures of Kate. She’d been strangled by Christine. I need to see them. Either the morgue or Souldier has pictures of Kate postmortem. I need to see the scars on her thighs. Christine said she’d carved the letterB . I have to see it. And I need to know if Kate carved the word ‘bad’ into her abdomen.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Look into any cops in Detroit or Royal Oak with B names. You might want to try politicians, too.”

  “I’m on it. Hey, that Souldier? Is he the CSI guy with the dreads?”

  “He’s the one.”

  “Girl, he’s kinda fine.”

  “He’s too fine. And he’s a Christian. ‘Souldier in the army of the Lord’ is what he told me.”

  “No way!”

  “Way, girl.”

  “Are you doing this on purpose, sending me to him?”

  “It’s not like you have a boyfriend. But take your time.”

  “I will. I’ll do my thing. He won’t know what hit him.”

  I laughed.

  Kalaya squeezed my hand. “He’ll be back, Bell.”

  “No, he won’t.”

  “He marr
ied you.”

  “He married Kate, too.”

  “But he loved you.”

  I nodded. The operative word being “loved.” Past tense. I stood up and stretched. “You’d better get out of here. You’ve got some writing and some sleuthing to do. And I’ve got to get out of town. If I’m estimating things correctly, my mother will be here in half an hour to end my life.”

  “Stay strong, Bell.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not strong at all.”

  chapter twenty-six

  THE SMALL VILLAGEwhere Lisa’s cabin was located had turned into a veritable winter wonderland. Christmas was in three days. I’d spend it alone again. Not so alone, actually. I had Amos.

  I unpacked us in the cabin, blasted the heat, and settled on the sofa with him. What a mercy. I let him roam all over my chest while I made phone calls. First to my mother, who screamed at me, told me I was trying to kill her, and took me out of her will. Again. I let her convey the news to Carly that I was safely out of sight. Next I called Christine. She’d phoned me that morning with news that she might have a lead on whom Kate had been seeing. She’d said it was just a hunch, but she’d get back to me. I called Kalaya to tell her what Chris had said.

  I wanted to call Jazz, but the thought of it pained me. What would I say to him? Worse, what would he say to me? I thought it best that I give Rocky some time. He’d know soon enough Jazz was not just my lover but my husband.

  Dear Lord, what a mess.

  I picked Amos up, stroking the fur on his back. His big black eyes stared at me. I smiled. Big, silly affecting eyes.

  Rocky.

  God, I’m sorry I hurt him.I should have just told him. Jazz had prompted me to tell him. Instead, I’d let him think I’d given up everything I’d worked so hard to accomplish spiritually by keeping myself until marriage. And I’d denied my husband like Peter had denied our Lord.

  Keep myself? Did I really do that? How hoochie could I get?

  I thought of the tantalizingly tight jeans I’d been wearing. Long, sexy braids, teeny-weeny sweaters. Siren-red lipstick. I’d done everything I could to pique Jazz’s sexual interest.

  He married you.

  I know, Lord. But did he rush me to the altar because he wanted to make love as urgently as I did? Or because he wanted the baby? Did he marry me because he loves me, like he said to me so many times last night? Or did he just say that in the passion of the moment?

  What made me angry was that I wouldn’t get to know the answer to those questions now. I’d let myself get so caught up in the heady rush of wanting him that I hadn’t bothered to hear what his heart was saying. Or my own heart. Or what the spirit of God was whispering in my soul.

  Read the Song of Solomon.

  Don’t you hate it when God asks you to do something you know will torment you?

  “You’ve gotta be kidding, right? I’m here to forget about what happened.”

  You’re here to heal.

  See what happens when you get into a relationship with the God of the universe? He speaks to you. Tells you things you don’t want to hear. Often. How am I supposed to punish myself and wallow in self-pity and self-hatred with God speaking tenderly to me and telling me to read biblical poetry?

  I gave Amos a little kiss. He didn’t destroy my lips. “I’m going to put you back in the cage, little buddy. It looks like the Lover of my soul is trying to get my attention.”

  I settled myself onto the sofa sans Amos, with my Bible and a cup of Harney & Sons cinnamon tea. Lisa always had Harney & Sons, the best tea around. They came in silky sachets instead of plain old tea bags. The scent of the Hot Cinnamon Sunset blend inspired worship. And speaking of worship…

  Jazz’s vows came back to me:With my body I thee worship.

  You vowed the same to him.

  So I did.

  “Do I have to read this, Lord?”

  I opened my sadly neglected Bible and turned to what Jazz called the Song of Songs.

  Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth——for your love is more delightful than wine.

  “Don’t make me do this, Lord.”

  I shut my eyes, recalling with all my senses the sweet nectar of Jazz’s kisses. To banish the memory, I read on.

  My lover is to me a sachet of myrrh resting between my breasts.

  I hugged myself, remembering our lovemaking. Over and over it played in my mind, my heart and body flowering like that last bloom in September. Like I’d blossomed the first time he kissed me.

  “I love him. I love him. I love him.”

  I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys…

  I delight to sit in his shade, and his fruit is sweet to my taste…

  My lover is mine and I am his…

  “God, why do this to me now?”

  You haven’t been honest.

  “Then help me, Lord.”

  One last passage jumped out at me:Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires.

  “I didn’t want to arouse love or anything else in me. I let him go. I let him go because he was too much for me. I’ve done so many terrible things, God. You know I have. How could someone like him come to me? I don’t deserve the love of my life. Jazz thinks he squandered his life being the murder police. I squandered mine living in sin with a man who despised me and caused my baby to die. I don’t deserve a good life. Why didn’t you just leave me alone? Why did you do this to me?”

  Now you’re being honest,I heard in my soul. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

  A strange sound awakened me. “Greensleeves”? My cell phone. I bolted upright, startled to be in a strange environment, and realized at once where I was.

  I felt in the dark for the phone. The number didn’t look familiar.

  “This is Amanda,” I said. My standard greeting, just in case the matter was business.

  “This is Chris.”

  “Who?”

  “Christine Webber.”

  I shook the sleep out of my head. “Chris. How are you?”

  “Not too good. I suppose the same could be said of you.”

  “You saw the story?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry about all that.”

  “It’s in God’s hands.”

  At that the woman crumbled. She sobbed for a full five minutes. When she’d calmed herself, she spoke. “I found out something.”

  “What?”

  “She was at a restaurant. She left something behind. It was the diary.”

  “What? Did you go get it?”

  “They called after hours. They said I could pick it up tomorrow.”

  “Christine, that’s great news.”

  “I don’t want to pick it up.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to know the truth. I don’t want to know. I liked the mystery. It left room for me to fill in the blanks with whatever I wanted.”

  “I understand, Christine, but we need to know who hurt her so badly. That person needs to be put away.”

  “I asked the person who called if she was with somebody.”

  “What did they say?”

  “He said she was with a man.”

  “Go on.”

  “He described him. He said he was a tall white man with brown hair. They described Jazz.”

  “Jazz isn’t white.”

  “He looks like he could be white. Anyone could mistake him for white.”

  Even I hadn’t been able to determine his race when I’d first seen him. “Did the person say he was good-looking?”

  “He wouldn’t say. He started some rant about not wanting to judge how another man looks.”

  “I understand. Still, it may not be Jazz.”

  She went on, “Then again, it may be. I told you it could be him. How could any man, any woman, resist a woman as fine as Katie? Maybe he wanted to get back at me.”

  “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. A lot of men fit that description. I’m out of town. I’ll come home, and we can go through the diary together.
I’ll be there for you.”

  She sniffled. “Okay. You’ll be here tomorrow? Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  “Okay, Chris. See you tomorrow.”

  Before I could set the phone down, “Greensleeves” chirped again. “This is Amanda.”

  “Bell. Do you have a fax machine there?”

  Kalaya.

  “I think Lisa has one on her computer. I may have to set it up, but it shouldn’t be a problem. What have you got?”

  “The pictures. Girl, that Christine is a beast. You should see these.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse. I think you might want to reconsider your theory after you take a look at these babies.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I got the autopsy pictures and a date for Tuesday night.”

  “You go, girl.”

  “On which count?”

  “Both. Did you see theB ?”

  “It’s hard to see, but I think so.”

  “What about ‘bad’ on her belly?”

  “Yeah. It looks like what you said.”

  “AnyB cops?”

  “Two first-nameB ’s and five last-nameB ’s, including your hubby.”

  “Who looks good?”

  “It’s anybody’s guess. All of these guys are different. The only similarity is that they’re male and cops. Their ranks are all over the place.”

  “I’m coming home.”

  “Bell, you don’t want to do that.”

  “Why not? There’s a restaurant I need to try tomorrow. I’ll call you when I get in. Send that fax.”

  “People are talking. What happened at the station house on Friday? You’re, like, public enemy number one with the Detroit boys. You don’t want to have enemies like that. It could get very ugly.”

  “They’re cops, Kal.”

  “Right. Like the cop you think killed Kate. You work with cops. You know they’re human beings, and humans have a way of failing, sometimes fatally.”

  I didn’t say anything. The Scripture came to me once again:The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it? Gold and silver shields certainly didn’t make men, or women, immune to wickedness.

  Kal went on, “Girl, you’re threatening to expose a killer among them, and people are getting nervous. Just stay where you are for a while.”