A Good Excuse To Be Bad

by Miranda Parker

  “Are you protecting him, too? Come on!” I shouted. “What about your children? Why aren’t you protecting them?”

  “I brought them to you and Whitney for protection.”

  “So you knew something bad was going down the night you came over?”

  She nodded. “I knew that Devon was in trouble, but he wouldn’t come to me about it. I begged him to leave all this trouble behind and choose us over the church for once.”

  “Wow.” I hadn’t heard her sound like her old self in a really long time. “So why did you go back?”

  “Because he’s my husband. I didn’t expect all this to happen, Angel.” She looked around. She began to cry again. “I didn’t expect to lose my husband.” She whimpered. “And I didn’t get to say good-bye to him.”

  “But if you told me or Salvador any of this—”

  “I couldn’t. Besides, it wouldn’t have mattered. I didn’t think this would happen. Rachel’s death. I thought the real killer would repent and confess. I prayed and believed it. I still do.”

  “Did Rachel kill Devon?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t know.”

  “Again, is the baby Devon’s?”

  “I don’t know.” She sobbed. “I’m afraid to know.”

  “Ava . . .” I paused. I didn’t know what to say. “I have to find the truth now, even what you’re too afraid to know about.”

  “No!” she screamed. She looked at me and dropped her head.

  I could tell she was exhausted.

  “Yes . . .” she whispered. “Do whatever you have to do. Get me back to my children, Angel.”

  “Everything will be fine. I’ll come to see about you after I make sure Big Tiger is okay. “

  “Please, don’t leave me, Angel,” Ava cried.

  I saw Salvador coming toward me. I knew it was against procedure, but if this was our last time alone together, I thought I would give it a shot. “Can I come along this time?”

  Salvador nodded. “Of course. I just got off the phone with the DA’s office. And according to her, you’re the best witness I got. I need you to answer a few questions. Francine will talk to Mr. Jones at the emergency room. I’ll have one of the guys park Mr. Jones’s car in the detention center parking lot, as a courtesy to you. “

  He looked at Ava. “Mrs. McArthur, unfortunately you are being charged with . . .”

  Salvador read Ava her Miranda Rights again, while another officer escorted me to Salvador’s car. I watched Ava roll away again, but I wasn’t sure if I would see her again this time.

  After Ava was booked and back in lockup, I told Salvador my account of what happened tonight, which wasn’t much. I walked out of the jail with no clue where to go, what to do, or how to get it done. Big Tiger was still at Dekalb Medical having that bump on his head nursed, and Justus was waiting for me on the other side of those squad cars.

  He stood in front of the revolving exit doors, leaving me no choice but to speak to him.

  I didn’t want to. I wanted to tell him off.

  He walked toward me. My chest and lips tightened. I couldn’t move. For the second time tonight, my body and my mind weren’t aligned.

  “I’m so sorry, Angel,” he said. “I had no clue Ava would be there.”

  “So you wanted me to get arrested, then, or worse, killed?”

  “I wanted you home in bed, taking care of your child like you promised.”

  “My sister is facing double murder, triple murder charges maybe. She’ll die in prison, and you knew where Rachel was all that time. How could you?” I shouted.

  “I didn’t know this would happen. I was trying to protect you.”

  “How did you know where Rachel was?”

  “I called Francine and gave her Rachel’s name. I thought she could find her faster than us, and I thought that this Rachel person could be the suspect we needed to help Ava’s case, just like you thought.”

  “Francine? Detective Dixon? You told her? I should have known.” I shook my head and began to walk away.

  He caught my hand. “You have no need to be jealous of her.”

  “Jealous?” I scoffed. “You need to get over yourself. The last thing that I need in my life right now is to be caught up in a love triangle between a dumb detective and the sanctified superhero. I’m not jealous. I’m pissed off.”

  His eyes widened. He frowned. “Insulting me won’t make things better.”

  “I disagree. I feel pretty good. Now let me go.”

  “Are you going home?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Angel . ..”

  “Angel, what?”

  “Tell me you’re going home.”

  “I’m sorry, Pastor, but I have to help my sister.”

  “Forget about your sister for a minute and think about someone else. Rachel is dead. Her baby is dead. You could have been dead. Had I not told the detectives about this, you would have been dead, too.”

  Whap! I slapped him. “This is your fault.”

  He stumbled back. “Go ahead and blame me if that makes you feel better, but I protected you tonight.”

  “You ruined me tonight.” I was glad it was raining, because I didn’t want Justus to see my tears. I turned and ran into the storm.

  Have you ever found illumination sitting on the back pew? Sure, you can slip out of service if you think the sermon is full of crap. Or ogle that fine usher standing beside your pew holding the church program, but you can’t get your soul fed back there or any food, for that matter.

  By the time you reach the Communion table, only a drop of grape juice and a few crumbs of pita bread remain for you to swallow. It’s almost embarrassing to bend your head back and take of the Body when the body was now crumbs. The only good scraps you’re sure to ingest sitting on the back pew are all the rotten business going down within fifteen miles of your church. Whispers, scandals, smells—every peccadillo—float to that back pew. Believe me. I’ve digested them all. It’s what I do, and something told me I wasn’t the only one who did that, too.

  Big Tiger was too weak to drive home, so I dropped him back to his house, stitches and all, and hopped in my car. Justus had called me more times than I cared to count. I didn’t want to see him or hear anything else he had to say. However, I needed to see Elvis.

  I knew Elvis had heard the news about Ava by now. I needed to beg him to protect Ava and Devon’s kids. For the first time in a long time, I needed Greater Atlanta Faith Church.

  Elvis lived in a late Victorian bungalow off Candler Drive in historic Winnona Park district. It was a beautiful place: cute little houses with bright red doors, azaleas, and dogwoods dancing on the lawns and people who looked you in the eye with smiles as bright as the sun. When I went to college, I would pass through this district and dream. I prayed that God would give me a decent job and a sweet man so that I could live in Winnona Park. It was the closest thing to heaven to me back then.

  As I pulled into Elvis’s driveway, I thought I saw Justus and Bella bouncing down the steps coming toward me. I blinked. They disappeared. Suddenly, I felt overwhelmed. What was happening to me? Guilt, or worse, dread? Should I apologize to Justus again?

  Elvis stood outside waiting for me. The storm had cleared and the world around me felt strangely calm. He came to my car door and opened it. He took my hand and helped me out of the car. I was so tired, and he felt so strong and steady. I let him hold me outside in the only other version of Eden I knew.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I told him.

  “Come inside. I’ll make you some breakfast. We’ll figure it out.”

  Elvis’s home was immaculate. He had bookcases everywhere, modern furniture, very Ikea. There were pictures of his family, his sisters, and his parents. His father wore a priest’s collar. I wondered if he were Anglican or Orthodox Christian, although neither answer would explain why Elvis worshipped at a nondenominational church.

  I sat back and picked up a magazine o
n his coffee table. I opened the magazine and noticed something on the floor by the sofa. It was a handkerchief. I picked it up, then dropped it again. It was my handkerchief. The last time I’d seen it was at the crime scene, Rachel’s crime scene. Oh no, he couldn’t be. I scooped up the hankie, put it in my back jeans pocket, and hopped up.

  “Elvis?” I scurried to the door.

  By the time I reached the door, he was already out of the kitchen. “Yes? Where are you going?”

  “I have to go. My family is calling and wondering where I am. I’m thinking they heard the bad news.”

  He had a look of concern on his face. I couldn’t tell whether he knew I now suspected him of killing Devon and framing my sister or what.

  “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

  I was so scared. I didn’t want to give myself away, but I needed to get out of there. “No, well, I don’t know. This is all too much for me right now.”

  He nodded. “You do look very out of sorts. Maybe I should take you home.”

  “I can manage.” I reached for my purse and keys.

  “No.” He snatched the hankie out of my pocket. “I don’t think you’re well enough to drive at all.”

  30

  Sunday, 3:30 AM

  A good woman can’t be both an investigative journalist and a mother without failing the other. Both took enormous amounts of time, energy, and patience. And both—whether we wanted to admit it or not—provided a private, immeasurable satisfaction that made the long hours, incessant prying, and obsessive need to know everything pleasurable enough to do it again, if the opportunity presented itself. However, being carried down a dark hallway was not one of those satisfying moments.

  I could say that I knew Devon’s killer days ago, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. There were so many variables and twists. I didn’t see this coming. But now I saw things clearly, even in the dark. Actually, I saw things clearer, because Elvis was carrying me to my death.

  We reached some cold room somewhere I assumed was the Biscuit Depot. I had no clue how he knocked me out or how I’d gotten here. I did know that I shouldn’t have pushed Justus away. I regretted never kissing that man.

  Elvis laid me on a table, checked my pulse, and walked away. I listened to his footsteps; then the door opened and closed. I couldn’t quite understand why I wasn’t dead yet, but I thought that maybe I had a chance to live for another day. I slivered off the table. It was too dark to figure out where I was, but I knew I shouldn’t be here, and I began to suspect that we were not at the Biscuit Depot either. The kitchen was too big.

  My head throbbed. I touched my forehead. It felt swollen. That fool must have hit me on the head. Since I still had that slight concussion, it wouldn’t take much to knock me out.

  I staggered toward the doorway. Girlfriend had no clue how to open a locked door. I scrambled and scrambled until my mind told me to just touch the knob like Justus did the night we found Devon and Ava. I did and the door opened.

  I dropped to my knees and crawled toward darkness. My weak knees had me sliding around on the ground. When I finally made a decent move, I found another opening. I pulled myself up, opened the door, and slid through it before I heard Elvis’s voice.

  “Where are you going, Evangeline?”

  I scrambled off the ground and took off. I had no clue whether I was running away from or running toward him.

  I had always wanted to live in Mama’s shoes, until right now. Her Prada slingbacks caught no traction on the slick carpet. I knew I shouldn’t have taken them out of her luggage. They clickety-clacked and made too much noise for someone running from a hellraiser. I was running stupid, scatterbrained, and without direction. I couldn’t find the exit doors to save my life, literally. I wanted to turn around to see where Elvis was, but I was too scared.

  I heard footsteps. The dude was gaining on me. I huffed and tried to pick up speed. Mom was going to kill me if I didn’t make it out of here alive.

  Thank God for the moonlight. I saw another sliver of a doorknob to my right, caught it, slid inside, and exhaled.

  Oh my gosh! I looked around. I was in Devon’s office. I was in Greater Atlanta. Are you kidding me?

  I heard someone coming. I hid in Devon’s coat closet and held my breath.

  Deep inside, behind coats, boxes, and the night’s darkness, I held my breath, but I couldn’t stop breathing. Someone behind the door wanted me dead. I needed to stop breathing in order to save myself. How ironic.

  While waiting and praying for a miracle, I thought about my relationship with Ava. Why did I work so hard to not be like her? For obvious reasons, I wouldn’t wear her clothes. I had a problem with being in the limelight as she had done most of Devon’s ministry. And I feared the possibility of falling in love again. I didn’t want to admit that, but if I was on my last leg, I might as well be truthful with myself.

  Justus was a great guy that my low self-esteem and lack of faith in myself had pushed away. And now I was in some obscure closet in Devon’s former office. I was alone and probably going to die. I wished I could have told Justus the truth, that I cared for him, too.

  If Ava were me, she would have told him that she loved him as soon as he called her into his office and asked her for a favor.

  Then I heard another noise.

  I would’ve fainted if I knew that it wouldn’t get me killed. So I held my breath again, but I couldn’t stop breathing—again, to save my life.

  I sobbed without sniffling. There was mucus all in my nose and I thought I would drown. I wanted to wipe my nose with my sleeve, but Elvis would hear me if I did that.

  The floor creaked closer to where I hid. My heart attempted to jump out of my chest.

  Granny’s voice spoke to me, “Girl, get your gun.”

  I have a gun? Oh yeah. I remembered.

  After I took Tiger home, I took my gun out of my purse and hid it in my waistband. I didn’t want to be caught off guard again. It was the wisest decision I made tonight. I could feel her, but I couldn’t find her. Where was it?

  The creaking turned into footsteps. My heart bounced up my throat now. I fumbled all around my waist. Where was that little gun?

  Thud. I found it. It hit the floor just as the moon somehow found me, too.

  The door opened and the moon placed his spotlight right on my head. I cursed.

  “Angel, the pain in my side,” Elvis said. “You shouldn’t have come in here.”

  My whole body shook. There was no place to hide. I felt the floor for my gun.

  The lights came on and Elvis stood in the entrance of the closet. It was a good thing this closet was a packed-to-the-gills walk-in closet. I heard him moving Devon’s junk, searching for me. “We’re not playing hide and seek, are we?”

  Then I saw his eyes. I gasped.

  He laughed. “You can’t hide from me.”

  When he grabbed my hand, I sucker punched him in the nose. “I wasn’t hiding.”

  He stumbled back. He paused, smoothed his tie over his chest, then smiled. I didn’t want to think Elvis was a tad touched, but he had that crazy look in his eyes.

  “Come out of this closet, please. We need to talk,” he said.

  “No.” I stepped farther back in the closet. “I want to stay in here.”

  He stepped forward. “We always want what we can’t have. Isn’t that true, Angel?”

  “It depends. What do you want that you can’t have?”

  “I want you to not be here.”

  I couldn’t show fear. I had to look him in the eye and ask, despite the fact that I wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing with his hands. “You brought me here. Why?”

  “Cut the crap, Angel. Shall we? Let’s not reenact a bad episode of Miss Marple.”

  “Who?”

  “It’s a British television show.”

  I shook my head. “What?”

  “BBC? Oh, you wouldn’t understand.” He sighed. “Let’s not reenact a bad episode of Law & Order. Reality is
much darker. Is that a better metaphor for you?”

  “Yes.” My legs weakened. “But I don’t watch those shows, Elvis. I watch New Detectives, the First 48, and repeats of The Closer.”

  “That’s not the blooming point. You know bloody well why you’re here.”

  “Because you killed my brother-in-law and Rachel.”

  “What can I say?” He snickered and scratched his head. “I’m a fool in love, but you wouldn’t know what that’s like, now would you, especially since your non-boyfriend /pastor dimed you out?”

  “If you killed Rachel, I assume you’re not in love with her, which means that you’re not her baby’s father . . . Are you the father?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then who else could it be?” My mind raced. “Terry?”

  “Bingo,” he sang.

  “But you’re in love with someone. I can tell.”

  He smiled again.

  I caught my breath. “You’re in love with my sister.”

  His clapped his hands and grinned. “Now you’re on to something. I thought you would have figured it out sooner.”

  “I didn’t see that one coming at all. Why?”

  “You should understand, since you have experience falling for someone you can’t have. As I recall, the bishop was your man first.”

  I shook my head. “No, he was always hers. Still is.”

  “The bishop is dead now.”

  “Yes, and you killed him.” Mama’s spitfire surged through me now.

  Elvis’s face darkened, reddened, changed to something uglier than I could have ever imagined. “It was my duty to kill him, and if I recall, you’ve wanted him dead for a while. Is that why you came to my house, to thank me?”

  His steady voice and stare scared me. I had hoped that Devon’s murder was a crime of passion, but not this. Elvis had problems. I didn’t think I could talk him down. My teeth chattered so hard, I bit the inside of my jaw. I winced from the pain, blinked, and the tears fell fast, which kind of relieved me. If I was going to die, I didn’t want to see it coming.

  His head cocked to the left. “Can you answer me? You always have a very colorful retort. Where’s your smart mouth now?”