“You have a crush on me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes, like now, I don’t think you like me.”
“I don’t like your views about the church, but that’s mainly because you don’t know any better.”
I looked at him. “Say what?”
“You don’t know everything, Evangeline Crawford.”
“But what if it’s true? We’re living in hard times right now. Gas is high, the price of eggs is high, jobs low, mortgages . . . Come on now . . . People need Jesus. So they go on a hope and a prayer that they’ll find him there, and what do they get? Some power hungry nut job squeezing the last bit of faith out of them all for some pocket change to hide in an offshore account on some poor island.”
“Where are you getting all this from?”
“At church. Why aren’t you getting it? What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?” He lifted my chin with his hand. His eyes blazed. “Is this what you used to do? Watchdog churches? These are men of God. I’m a man of God. That’s what’s wrong with me. I’m offended.”
“But I’m not attacking you, Justus. I’m not.” I stuttered. “I’ve seen the bad things that good people do to ministers. I saw my father lose his life trying to clean up other minister’s messes. I saw those same deep-pocketed ministers snicker at his grave. They made our daddy’s life a joke. They made God a joke. You don’t know . . .” I began to cry.
He pulled me closer into his arms. “I’m sorry for your father. Sounds like you and Ava are one in the same.”
“How?” I said between sobs.
“She’s trying to save her husband’s legacy because she wants to correct what happened to your father. While you were at the Sentinel, it seems more apparent that you were trying to hold churches accountable for their actions to correct what happened to your father. You both need to realize that only God can do that, and He will, if you back down and let Him.”
Just then my heart opened wider. It felt like an earthquake rippled through me. I trembled and held on to Justus until the pouring stopped. Granny would have said that it was the Holy Spirit moving through me. I don’t know what it was, but it felt good.
“Justus . . .” I whispered.
He released me a little and looked in my eyes. “I felt it, too.”
He leaned closer to my face. I relaxed in his arms before I caught myself.
“Good. At least I’m not entirely crazy.” I slid out of his hold. “Just light-headed.”
“So am I, but I know what’s wrong with me.” He blushed.
“Well, you’re going to think I’m very crazy when I do this.”
“Do what?”
I looked around the parking lot, caught Justus’s hand, and reached up toward his ear.
“What?” He jerked away a little, then grinned.
“Stop moving.” I leaned closer and whispered, “There’s someone else in the Biscuit Depot watching us.”
He grabbed me in another embrace that felt really yummy. “I know. I saw a shadow in the men’s restroom earlier.”
“Did you see who it was? Could be an employee. Right?”
His warm breaths caressed my neck. “No, It’s Terry, Devon’s bodyguard.”
I shuddered. “Why didn’t you say something?”
He held me closer. “What was I supposed to say? Potential suspect in the restaurant with another potential suspect? I was trying to keep you out of trouble.”
“So you think Terry and Elvis are suspects? What motive?”
“Don’t know.” He released me and took my arm. “That’s why we need to leave this place right now. I need to take you somewhere.”
“You can’t. Remember, you’re hosting the armor bearers of Greater Atlanta tonight.”
23
Saturday, 2:00 PM
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Angel began. “How well do you know Detective Dixon?”
Justus replied, “Not before you tell me what was in that box you brought to my office? I’ve been waiting on an answer about that since yesterday.”
“I’m not going to lie to my pastor, but I’m not telling you either.”
“I thought I was more than your pastor by now.”
I stopped writing. “Turn the car around.”
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t working.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t think straight. This thing between you and me has got to stop. Do you realize I almost kissed you outside Elvis’s parking lot.”
He smiled. “Now you tell me.”
“Well, I’m not done.” I ran my hands through my hair. “You’re a fine man, Justus. Whew, you’re fine. But the way I feel is beginning to make me feel like some bad girl from the Bible. And I need to focus on my dead brother-in-law.” I sighed. “I can’t take this kind of pressure.”
I threw my head in my lap. I couldn’t breathe.
Justus pulled the car over, then shut off the ignition. “Sit up, Angel.”
I sat up, gasping for air. “I’m losing it.”
“Well, find it, catch it, grab it, because we need to clear some things up. Right now.”
The power in his words made me feel like I was five years old. I folded my arms over my chest, stuck out my lower lip, and wouldn’t look at him. “’Kay.”
“Look at me, Angel.” He took his hands off the steering wheel and ran his hand down my arm. “I need to know you hear me when I say this.”
I shook my head. He must be crazy. I wasn’t looking at him.
“Evangeline?” His voice was stern, but the way he said my name made me want to melt.
“Nope, go ahead and say it. So I can wash the embarrassment off my face and we can get this show on the road. I can take it.”
“Obviously you can’t, since you’re not giving me your undivided attention and your panting episodes are cracking me up a little. Come on. Let’s be adult about this . . . Let me talk to you like a man, not your pastor, not your friend, a grown man.”
I took a deep breath and looked at him. His eyes were set right on me; his gaze clutched my heart. I shivered. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”
“I don’t want to hear an apology from you.” He touched my cheek. “We’re attracted to each other. Let’s admit that and move on. Okay.”
My cheek tingled at his touch. “I knew I shouldn’t have worn that dress the other night.”
“It wasn’t that ripped-up thing you had on in the emergency room, woman.” He chuckled.
I still couldn’t look at him. “Then what was it?”
“The question you need to ask yourself before we go any further is, how do you feel about me?”
“Up until a few days ago I thought I was the one with the crush.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“I’ve never liked a man so much in my life, too much to make good sense. Don’t you agree this thing is a little too much, too fast?”
“It’s only moving fast because you won’t slow down.”
“That’s the thing.” I lowered my head. “My life is fast. It’s not the life you want.”
“Don’t tell me what I want. I know what I want . . .” He gripped the steering wheel. “This doesn’t seem like divine intervention to you?”
“Nope, or love at first sight either. That’s romance novel crap.”
He turned my car on again. “You could be right. I don’t read those, by the way, but what if you’re wrong? What if my coming to Sugar Hill was also to find you?”
My heart raced. He was saying all the right things, but I was a coward. All I could see was Ava holding Devon’s bloody body in her arms, me holding Bella’s father’s breathless body in my arms, and Mom dressed in widow black for the umpteenth time. Although I said before I don’t believe in superstitions, I didn’t want to take another chance. Not on any man, and definitely not on Justus. I needed to do a better job at prete
nding to be unaffected by him before I hurt him any more than I already had.
I reached for my shades in the glove compartment and put them on. “Then you would take your sidekick duties more seriously instead of having us now behind schedule.”
If my car could fly, it would have. He drove so fast down 95 South back to Sugar Hill, I couldn’t feel the wheels touch the highway. I knew he was upset about my reply to his love confession, so why wouldn’t he just go home?
“How do you know Ava?” I asked, hoping he would slow down when he answered.
“I met her a few months after I came to Sugar Hill.”
“I don’t believe you. That’s too much of a coincidence, if you ask me.”
“I’ll put my money on divine intervention.” He smiled. “We met at Gospel Fest. She attended my class about race and reconciliation, and I caught the end of Devon’s workshop on guilt-free leadership.”
“Did she mention me at all?”
“No, but I have to admit I knew she was your sister when I saw her, so I was a little curious.”
“Why didn’t you ask her about me?”
He smiled. “Isn’t that obvious?”
“Oh.” My heart fluttered. “So what did you learn in Devon’s workshop?”
“That my post here wasn’t a punishment.”
I gasped. “Why did you ever think that it was?”
He shook his head. “I’m not as perfect as you think.”
“I never thought you were perfect, but the church has definitely grown from the inside out since you’ve been here. That’s pretty good.”
He frowned. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Compliment me. When a man likes a woman who obviously doesn’t share the same sentiment, compliments hurt.”
“I do like—” I huffed. “Let’s get back home. I’m missing my child.”
24
Saturday, 3:30 PM
“It’s about time you got home.” Whitney sat on one of the kitchen stools nibbling on a stack of leftover cupcakes Sugar Hill’s grief care team brought over for the family yesterday.
“Where are the kids?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Mama has them around here somewhere. You know she took them to the Suwanee Water Park soon as you left this morning.”
“She what?” I gasped, thinking about how dry Bella and Taylor’s hair would be by now.
Since Mama had been sporting wigs and weaves for the past quarter century, she must have forgotten that our hair kinked and twisted like cotton caught in an April wind after a good head soak.
“Did you oil Bella and Taylor’s hair?”
“Do I look like Fraulein Maria?” She smacked her lips and rolled her eyes. “No, I did not. I was hoping you were bringing Ava home with you, so you two could fix your own children’s hair.”
“I wish.” I slapped my purse and flopped on a stool next to her. “She may come home tomorrow.”
“What are we going to do if she doesn’t?”
“Don’t worry. Willis is going to fanagle Ava onto some judge’s docket, so she’ll be going to court first thing in the morning. I’m sure she’ll be released.”
“Good.” She sighed, then turned to me. Her eyes made mine water.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Some funeral home called here, soliciting to handle Devon’s funeral.”
“I don’t need this crap.” I laid my head on the table.
“If Ava gets out tomorrow, then you won’t have to.” Whitney brushed my hair with her hands. “It’s okay.”
As she continued stroking my hair, I realized how Ava must have felt when I combed her hair with my fingertips. Thankful.
Justus said he would meet me in two and a half hours. That was thirty minutes ago, and I still hadn’t changed my clothes or snuggled with Bella. I rummaged through my closet for the tenth time. There wasn’t anything remotely close to an outfit Ava would wear to a prayer meeting. Now I wished I had snuck around the McMansion and yanked a few things out of there like Ava’s purse—which reminded me, I needed to call Salvador. He should have combed my old case file by now. I hoped I hadn’t left anything that would hurt Ava’s chances.
I plopped on my bed and sighed. Would these women tell me anything relevant tonight? I looked down at my clothes. Not with me in jeans and a dirty T-shirt, they wouldn’t.
I walked into my bathroom and turned on the shower. Mama had returned my cologne, but placed it on the sink. I shook my head and put it back in my medicine cabinet. She hadn’t been a young mother in years, so she had forgotten the lifestyle.
Then I gasped. Mama! She had clothes befitting a Black American Queen. I headed toward her room.
I popped into Bella’s bedroom, but she wasn’t there. I shrugged. She and the kids could be out in the backyard playing. But I didn’t have time to run outside and check. I checked my watch and sighed. I craved a pudgy kiss on my cheek. I wondered if she was missing me at all.
I reached my guest room and knocked on the door.
“Why are you knocking on your own door, Angel?” Mama shouted from the other side of the door. “Get in here. Your child needs you.”
“Bella?” I opened the door.
“Hey, Mama.” Bella waved.
She sat on the bed next to Mama and barely glanced at me. She didn’t jump up to greet me like she usually did.
“Can I get a hug?” I asked.
She nodded, slid off the bed, then ran toward me and buried her head in my stomach. I leaned down and kissed the top of her head, but shot back up. I blinked. Her Powerpuff Girl-inspired ponytail had been replaced by cornrows with gold beads dangling at the end circa 1990s tennis pro princesses, the Williams sisters. It complemented her summer bronzed skin. I didn’t want to act too surprised, but I was. She looked beautiful.
I looked at Mama. “When did this happen?”
“I took the girls to the salon. They needed to look presentable.” She lowered her gaze at me. I knew exactly what she meant. The girls needed to be properly coiffed for Devon’s funeral.
I nodded. “What salon did y’all go to?”
“Halle’s.” Mama picked up some magazine she was reading. “You know she’s the only one in Atlanta that I let in my hair.”
I smirked. Her hair was buried under all those weave extensions.
She looked up at me. “You would look good with a fresh new look, too.”
“I know, but I don’t have time.”
“You’d better make time,” Mama said.
“Oh, I will. Halle and I have some matters to discuss anyway.” I returned my attention to Bella. I stood back. “Is that a new dress?”
She nodded. “It’s for tonight, Mommy.”
“Tonight?” I frowned and looked back at Mama. “What’s going on tonight?”
Mama touched my shoulder. “I’m taking the kids to meet their new granddaddy.”
“Oh,” I nodded. “Maybe I’ll meet up with you guys later.”
“No, you won’t, Mama.” Bella shrugged and walked off.
Mama watched Bella, then me. “That baby will take your bad ways, if you don’t stop her.”
“Long as she don’t have the ones you and I share, then I’m good.”
“I pray she never develops your inability to know when you need to make a hair appointment.”
“You’re right!” I spun around toward her. “I just forgot. I need to go to Halle’s right now. Kiss the kids for me. I’m out again.”
I ran out the door. I hoped I could get down there on time, find out what I needed to know, and get back before the armor bearers arrived.
Saturday, 4:30 PM
Halle-Do-Ya Spa & Salon, Stone Mountain
Halle scheduled me for an emergency wash and set. Perfect. If anyone living in Dekalb County wants to know the latest scoop and the gospel truth of a matter, then book an appointment at Halle-Do-Ya Spa & Salon on the corner of Hairston and Memorial Drive. Halle’s salon sat in a Kroger Shopping Pl
aza sandwiched between the grocery store and an AMC movie theater. It was a great location for her.
Seven years ago, Halle and I met while judging the Miss Black Atlanta Pageant. She had migrated here from Louisiana when her husband, Constance Capers, took on a job as a music minister for Atlanta Faith’s rival—sister church—World Faith. Then Constance got a gig producing musical scores for Perry David’s Movie Studios. Now she styles hair for some of the top Hollywood actresses, singers, and first ladies in Atlanta. Because of that, the woman knew news long before it became news. It didn’t take long for her to become my informant and I her reliable Monday, 10-o’clock wash and set, until three years ago when I didn’t think I needed her or anyone anymore. That was the worst decision I ever made.
“I thought you retired?” she asked, as she began to oil my freshly shampooed hair with something that smelled of peppermint and coconut. My head tingled. I liked it. Then she massaged my head with her hands. I thought my spirit was about to sour.
“So did I,” I mumbled.
“Honey, it’s a good thing, if you ask me.” Her fingers continued to work their anointing. “Maybe you’ll go back to the Sentinel, ’cause, child, they don’t know what news is anymore.”
“Neither did I when I was there.”
She reached for the wrapping lotion. It was a pink foamy texture that smelled of strawberries. No wonder Ava’s head smelled so good.
“You know, Ava said that that place had stolen your soul. You think she was right?”
“No, no one can steal your soul. You give it away.”
“Amen, honey.” She nodded. “Especially if he’s fine.”
The other ladies in the salon giggled. “Amen.”
Halle began wrapping my hair around my head with a brush and more of that strawberry foam. Her process had me so calm I couldn’t remember what I came to ask her.
“Not disrespecting the dead . . .” She leaned down and whispered, “Bishop McArthur was fine enough to lose your religion. It’s a sin and a shame that man was killed like that.”
A Good Excuse To Be Bad Page 20
