He lunged at me. I jumped back, but he was fast. He slapped me, hard, across the face. If I hadn’t been so scared, I’d have been salty at God. Every time I tried to help some poor, innocent soul, I ended up getting pimp-slapped. And worse.
Archie grabbed a handful of my braids, twisting them around his hands. He banged my head against the wall. Pain exploded in my head and nearly knocked me unconscious.
“Please,” I whispered.
He commenced to call me several names that you wouldn’t hear in church. He snapped my head back again, and I did a little business with God.
Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
I’d been here before. Adam nearly killed me. Gabriel nearly killed me. And now I was about to be beaten to death by a different man——if my husband didn’t get here soon. Jazz flashed through my mind. God had given that beautiful man to me, exactly whom I wanted, and I had messed it up.
Archie slipped his hands around my neck. Slammed my head against the wall. Tears spilled from my eyes as the onslaught of pain assaulted me again.
I’m so sorry, Lord.
I’d made such a mess of my life, even after I’d come to Christ. Even after I’d gotten through being with Adam and even after I’d survived Gabriel trying to kill me. I still didn’t love people as I should——not my friends, not my family, not my husband, and not myself. I still lived my life cut off from the very goodness——the veryGodness ——that makes life worth living.Relationships.
Mercy, Jesus.
If Jesus could remember the dying thief in His kingdom, maybe my quick prayer would grant a sinner like me a little space in heaven.
“How did you know?” Archie hissed. His hands went to my braids again. He snatched my head back and pulled my face close to his. “How did you figure it out?”
“You had to prove yourself in the end. You had to show her that she meant nothing to you——that you were in control. That’s where you went wrong.”
“But you couldn’t know it was me.”
“You’re right, but you know crime scenes: you leave something. You left your hair, but when you realized it, you removed it from the evidence.”
“Nobody knew it was my hair. How did you know I killed her?”
“You took something, too. A piece of Jazz’s mother’s pottery, probably on your shoe. I’m her number one fan. I’d know that glaze anywhere.”
He tightened his grip around my neck. “Poor you. This is the best part. I get to kill the woman Jazz really loves. I read Kalaya Naylor’s story this morning. Very touching. Too bad it’s over for you. For both of you, because no one will know this wonderful tale you’ve woven. You’ll be buried underneath my lake house up north, never to be seen again.”
Man, I’d just left up north. I sure didn’t want to turn around and go right back. The police hadn’t come. Jazz wasn’t my hero after all. I took a deep breath and thought,You’re going to have to be your own hero, Bell. God help me. If I could just get more time.
I yelled out, inasmuch as I could with what was left of my voice, “You won’t get away with this.”
The clown actually stopped.
I looked at him. “I have to tell you something important before you kill me.”
“Haven’t you told me enough?”
“What’s another thirty seconds? As it is, you’re going to kill me.”
“What do you want to say, Bell?”
“First of all, don’t call me Bell.”
“Is that it?”
“No. They’re on to you, Dandridge. They know about the gloves.” I had made this part up. “Expensive gloves.”
“They don’t have my gloves.”
“No, but they’ve got trace evidence of the leather. They’re not your garden-variety gloves, are they, Archie?” I remembered the gloves he wore. I had mistakenly thought they were fashionably distressed. Kate must have clawed at them. “Was that calfskin?”
I caught the glimmer of fear in his eyes.
“They’ll never know.”
“They already do, Archie.”
“Liar.” His hands went back to my neck. The pressure was unbearable. I could hardly breathe. I thought about how long it would take to die. Four eternal minutes. I needed more time.
“Wait,” I barely squeaked.
The nightmare waited.
I drank air into my lungs. “Archie,” I said, my throat raw from the battering. “God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life.”
It was all I could think of. I didn’t happen to have a copy ofThis Was Your Life! on me.
“The Four Spiritual Laws, Bell?”
I coughed. “You know them?”
“We used to give those tracts away at Bible camp in middle school.”
I managed to croak out, “You have to know God isn’t pleased. Murdering people can really interfere with His wonderful plan for your life. Did you kill Christine? Do you have the diary?”
He sighed. “Yes and yes. Now I’m going to destroy you like I did the diary. Good-bye, Mrs. Brown.”
“Wait!” I said.
“What?”
“It really hurts to be choked like that.”
He sighed. “Is that what you wanted to say?”
“I just wanted to know if you would like to accept the gift of salvation God has to offer. It’s not too late, Archie. You don’t have to do this.”
God, forgive me, but frankly, I didn’t really care if Archie burned in hell or not. He was about to murder me, and let’s face it, the idea of my own eternal destiny compelled me more. I just needed more time. If he actually converted, well, that would be cool, too.
“Good-bye, Mrs. Brown.”
“Wait!”
“Your time is up, Bell.”
I hated that he called me Bell!
Again his vice-grip hands got to work. I tried to wriggle away, but I could hardly breathe. Heat rushed to my face. I could feel blood vessels bursting near my eyes. I couldn’t bite him. My kicks were ineffective.
All the commotion forced Amos out of his Snugli. I hoped Archie wouldn’t kill my poor sugar glider, too.
Still no police. No Jazz. But I couldn’t give up. I grabbed Archie’s hands and clawed like a sugar glider. I figured if they ever found my body, I’d give them all the evidence I could.
But Archie kept squeezing. His hard, dead eyes bulged in anger as much as mine did in dying. I closed my eyes as tightly as I could. I didn’t want his face to be the last thing I saw before I died. A rush of endorphins flooded my body, and I began to relax. I stopped clawing at Archie’s hands. Everything went fuzzy and beautiful, and an odd sense of peace enveloped me. I got ready to meet the Lord.
That is, until a weird screeching sound nearly pierced my eardrums.
I felt Archie let me go. He must have thought I was dead. And by now I was inclined to agree with him. But the pain had returned. It was worse than the time I had strep throat so badly that an abscess formed and almost suffocated me to death.
I slumped in a heap on the floor. I ventured to open my eyes just a slit, and I saw something that utterly amazed me. Amos had made the crazy noise. I hadn’t heard that one in his repertoire. From the floor, my sugar-glider baby took a flying leap and went airborne. He looked like he had a furry little superhero cape built right into his body. He sailed right onto Archie’s head.
Shazam!as Kalaya would say. I didn’t know Amos could fly! The saleslady hadn’t said anything about flying. No wonder they were called sugargliders.
Archie Dandridge screamed and started tearing at his head, where Amos hissed, scratched, bit, and madeWhen Sugar Gliders Attack: The Sequel.
I didn’t have much strength, but Archie was quite engaged in trying to keep Amos from killing him. I knew Amos could be persistent, so I took the opportunity to try to escape. I said a quick prayer,God, help me get out, and tried to drag myself out of the room.
I didn’t get very far, but I made it to the living room. That was okay. I didn’t
have to go any farther. The sweet sounds of sirens and a battering ram forcing open the living-room door played like music in my ears.
Bobby Maguire burst into the room. “Girl Columbo,” he said as the door flew open.
“It’s great to see you, Bobby.” I looked around for my husband.
“He’s not here,” Bobby said. “I told him he’d better not show up. If he did, we’d have to put him in jail for Dandridge’s murder. And as you know, Lieutenant Brown ain’t no murderer.”
“Amen to that, my friend,” I said. Then I fainted.
chapter thirty
CHRISTMASEVE.
Kalaya and I listened to sappy, incredibly depressing Christmas music while we decorated the tree Jazz had brought me. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” played mournfully on the radio.
All I wanted for Christmas was my husband and his Ricky Ricardo imitation.
The lights twinkled all around the living room. We’d decorated Amos’s cage with a sprig of mistletoe, though Kalaya wouldn’t kiss him to save her life. I did, thanking Jesus that I was alive. “Kalaya, would you read Matthew 2:10?”
“Yeah, girl,” she said. She plopped down on the couch and grabbed my Bible, her long braids swinging across her shoulders.
Kalaya had redone my hair, this time in loose, crinkly “zillions” braids, though my head was still sore. I even got a dye job and sported the same honey-blond mane as Mom Addie’s. I looked just as fierce, except for the brace around my neck.
Kal began to read: “‘When they saw the star, they were overjoyed. On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold and of incense and of myrrh.’”
When they saw the star, they were overjoyed.
“Thanks, Kal,” I said. We sat quietly for a few minutes, and I thought about the star that I had asked for, coming as a sliver of my mother-in-law’s Starry Night mug. I wondered about the irony of that. What I loved had revealed the truth and ultimately saved me. I wished it were that simple for everyone I loved. Then I felt sad. I didn’t love nearly as much as I should. The meager love I doled out wouldn’t save anyone, least of all me. I silently promised God that I would change. I’d find my husband and get my friend Rocky back. I’d love in a whole new way. Starting now. “Kalaya?”
It must have been something in my voice. She looked serious. “What’s up, girl?”
“Thanks for writing ‘In Love and Trouble.’”
She’d named the article aptly, giving a nod to Alice Walker’s book of stories of black women by the same title. “In Love and Trouble” had created the biggest buzz in the city, especially since Archie Dandridge was arrested the same day for the murders of Kate Townsend and Christine Webber and for assault on the object of Lieutenant Jazz Brown’s “love jones.” The story had even gotten mentioned on broadcast news. We watched the anchorwoman gaze starry-eyed at Jazz, who’d said, “My wife makes every moment we have together unforgettable.” I couldn’t decide if he meant that as a good or bad thing.
North Stars really do lead people to freedom. And love is that North Star.
“I love you, Kalaya,” I said.
“I love you, too,” she said, her eyes misting. “Thanks for spending Christmas Eve with me.”
“You’re my friend.”
“You’re just saying that because I made you famous.”
“Hey, go ahead and open your present.”
She went over to the tree and unwrapped my elaborately wrapped present. “What?” she exclaimed. “You got me a box of Jack Chick tracts!”
I laughed.
“You big kook.” She cracked up.
“That’s for putting all my business in the streets. I got you several copies ofThis Was Your Life! ——in case you want to share the love.”
We both laughed.
I heard a knock, not a pounding, at my door. “Who could that be?”
“Maybe Santa Claus came to town,” Kalaya joked. “Or maybe somebody will be home for Christmas.”
“Cut it out,” I said. “It’s probably carolers.”
But I never got carolers.
I unlocked all three locks and swung open the door. My husband stood there, scowling at me. He didn’t give me a chance to be happy to see him. “How many times do I have to tell you to ask who it is before you open the door?”
“Hello, Jazz.”
“You didn’t have the chain on, either.”
Kalaya disappeared into my bedroom.
“Come on in, Jazz.” I moved aside for him to enter. “Can I take your coat?”
“I won’t be staying,” he said, but he unbuttoned the black cashmere coat, revealing suit pants, as usual, and a white button-down shirt.
I smiled at him. I couldn’t help it. It was so good to see him. “So, what brings you——”
He exploded. “You’re hurt. Badly.”
“I noticed, but——”
“You could have beenkilled. ”
“I know.”
“Do you understand the concept of ‘dead’? That means you aren’t breathing, your vital organs aren’t working, your spirit has gone to God, and you decompose with that awful smell.”
“I understand dead, Jazz.”
“Didn’t I tell you not to sleuth?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Say this with me: ‘Columbo is a television character.’”
We said in unison, “Columbo is a television character.”
“Archie Dandridge cannot strangle Columbo to death, Bell.”
He’d called me Bell.
“I know.”
“I mean it, woman. If you get yourself killed, I’m gonnakill you.”
“That’s a bit redundant.”
“You are going to give me a stroke. My blood pressure goes up every time I think about you. You’re trying to kill me. I don’t know if it was God who sent you to me, or the other guy.”
“I think it’s hopeful that you’re still engaging the question.”
He looked at me. “You just have to win the argument, don’t you?”
“We weren’t arguing. You were just raging.”
We stood staring at each other until he looked away. He spoke first, still looking toward the wall. “Thank you. For everything.”
“You’re welcome.”
He looked back, taking me in. “I like your hair. You make a very sexy blonde.”
“My mother said I look like Casper the Friendly Ghost.”
“My mother would like it.”
“I know.”
I wanted to tell him how sorry I was, to tell him I loved him, and to tell him everything Mason and I had talked about, but my heart pounded, and I felt afraid and kept it all inside.
“Merry Christmas, Jazz.”
“Merry Christmas, Bell.”
“Take care of yourself.”
His gaze swept my body. “He’d better take care of you.”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
Rocky.
“There’s no he and I.”
“There will be.”
“No, there won’t.”
“I thought maybe that was true until Friday.”
The hurt in his eyes was too raw and real for me to minimize. I let him hold on to his grief, as I would hold on to mine. I put the matter ofus in God’s hands as we stood facing off once again.
He looked like he was debating with himself, but he finally spoke. “I didn’t marry you to keep you from testifying.”
“I didn’t really think you did.”
“I did it for love. I didn’t even do it for the baby.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’m so mad at you.”
“I know you are, Jazzy.”
He turned to walk out the door again, not bothering to say good-bye. I didn’t say it, either. I couldn’t.
I locked the door behind him, then rested my back against the door.
“God, that was hard.” I closed my eyes. “Please bring him back to me.” I took a deep breath.
Maybe God would. Maybe not.
I should have asked for ten million dollars and a Rolls-Royce. Someone knocked at my door. I unlocked all three locks and opened it again.
Jazz said, “You didn’t ask who it was.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re going to drive me crazy.”
“It would seem so.”
He sighed. He looked like a sad little boy. “I need to ask you and Rocky to forgive me.”
“For what?”
“For this.”
That man scooped me into his arms and kissed me to the moon! We nearly singed the carpet. He released me. “Good-bye, Bell.” He turned to walk out again.
“Wait!”
He turned back to me.
I had told God I’d do a little better about love. I grabbed that man and put a kiss on him that he’d tell his great-grandchildren about. No love and trouble in that kiss. It was all love, baby. When I let him go, he panted. He shook his head, surprised, but I wasn’t through. I snatched the collar of his shirt and ripped it open from neck to navel. Buttons flew like bullets in the air.
“Giiiirl!” he said. “What did you just do?”
“I ripped your bodice.”
His mouth dropped, and he laughed like a loon, gathering the fabric together with his fist. He walked out the door, still laughing and shaking his head.
“I’ll see you later, baby,” I called behind him.
And I would. I’d make sure of that.
what it’s like to own a pet sugar glider
By Dr. Amanda Bell Brown
PEOPLE ASK MEall the time what it’s like to have a sugar glider for a pet, usually following the question “What in the world is that thing?” Let me answer the most compelling question first: “What is a sugar glider?” And no, it’s not a kitchen accessory.
This furry little friend is a mammal; infraclass: Marsupialia. Marsupial. Sugar gliders hail from Australia or Indonesia. Adult sugar gliders are ten to fourteen inches long, with six to eight of those inches being their tails. Some people find them awfully cute, with their round black eyes, soft gray fur, and black stripe running down their backs. Others find them bizarre-looking, with their opposable fingers, squirrelly appearance, and the winglike membrane that, when spread, resembles a furry little cape.
Death, Deceit & Some Smooth Jazz Page 30
