by V. M. Burns
“Hmm, a British professor. Interesting.” Jenna grinned and sipped her tea.
“I barely know the guy. It’s just research. That’s all.”
“ ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’” Jenna quoted Shakespeare and took another sip of her tea.
I stuck out my tongue.
She laughed but then leaned forward and stared. “Where is he taking you for this . . . ah . . . research?”
I looked at my phone. “I don’t know.”
“I hope you’re going to do something about your hair.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Do you want it straight or sugarcoated?”
I stared at my sister. “Sugarcoated.”
“Well, it’s dull and lifeless. You’ve got split ends and the style does nothing for your face. Your eyebrows need to be arched. Most people have two. Yours are so thick and bushy you look like Oscar the Grouch. Plus, your makeup needs to come into the twenty-first century.”
“If that’s the sugarcoated version, I’d hate to hear it straight.”
“The truth will set you free.”
“The King James Version says ‘the truth will MAKE you free,’ not set.”
“Whatever.”
My feelings were hurt by Jenna’s comments, but my sister was honest if nothing else—brutally honest. I wanted to lash out and say something critical about the way she looked, but I couldn’t. Her hair and makeup were always flawless. Jenna never wore much makeup, but she always looked polished and professional. With no way to relieve the sting of her words, I resorted to sulking. “It’s not a date.”
“It doesn’t matter whether it’s a date or not. You don’t have to do your hair and makeup to impress a man. You should do it for yourself. You used to dress better and take care of yourself, but ever since Leon died, you’ve just let yourself go.”
“You’ve been talking to Mom.”
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” She smiled kindly. “Look, your birthday is coming up and I was going to suggest we do a spa day. Why don’t we do things a little early and see if we can get a little pampering. My treat.”
“Geez. I must really look bad if you want to send me on a spa day.”
“I’m pleading the fifth.”
Jenna picked up her phone and made a few calls. She got us both in for manicures and pedicures, plus a hair and makeup session for me and a massage for herself.
* * *
North Harbor Spa was a beautifully relaxing facility located atop the North Harbor Inn. North Harbor only had fifteen thousand people. The location on the shores of Lake Michigan and the addition of the new senior professional golf course had made the town a popular summer vacation spot, despite its economically depressed condition. Small boutique hotels dotted the coastline. North Harbor Inn was a newer building and this was my first time going inside.
On a rare instance when I splurged for a manicure, I went to a small beauty college. The technicians weren’t licensed, but prices were low. Results weren’t optimal, but I didn’t expect much for five dollars. According to Jenna, the experience of being pampered was worth the extra money. Here, soft music played in the background. No televisions were tuned to soap operas or Jerry Springer, and the pedicure chairs weren’t lined up against the wall like suspects in a police lineup.
Jenna exaggerated when she accused me of having the Oscar the Grouch unibrow, but it had been a long time since I’d last arched them. My brows were thick and in need of pruning.
Jenna introduced me to her hairdresser and gave her carte blanche to make me beautiful.
Marika laughed at the look of terror in my eyes. “Don’t worry. I take good care of you. I won’t do anything to you I wouldn’t do to myself.”
I was even more terrified since her hair was electric blue and cut into an asymmetrical bob and shaved on one side. I decided to trust her. Jenna’s hair looked nice. Marika permed, colored, conditioned, cut the split ends, and styled my hair. The dye hid my gray and she used caramel highlights. Between the brow waxing and hair change, my eyes looked huge. I barely recognized myself in the mirror and couldn’t help smiling. My hair had bounce and shine and was so soft I kept touching it.
By the time the makeup artist came by, I was excited. She asked me a few questions about my daily makeup routine and then went to work. She explained everything as she went along and by the time she’d finished, I looked ten years younger. Neutral foundation and lip gloss with a smoky eye shadow that made my brown eyes pop.
I looked like me, only better. Best of all, I felt beautiful. Both Jenna and I were pleased with the final results.
“You look awesome.”
I was in danger of bursting into tears, so I hugged my sister and whispered, “Thank you.”
She smiled. “Happy birthday. Now, you’re ready for your not-a-date research dinner.”
I felt guilty for taking a half day on pampering, but I kept looking at myself in the mirror and smiling as I drove to MISU.
Emma and I were scheduled to meet at the student union. I found her sitting at a table by the window.
“Wow. You look amazing. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
I laughed. “Thank you.” I sat down. “I think.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you—”
I held up my hand. “No need to apologize. Now, tell me about this half sister, Cassidy Logan.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know much.” Emma pulled out her phone. “I did what you suggested and reached out to the university about her belongings. They gave her my number and she sent me a text.” Emma pulled up the text message on her phone.
I read the string. “Doesn’t sound like she and Melody were very close.” I scrolled back and reread it, trying not to read tone into the sparse words.
“Nope. Sure doesn’t. I mean if my sister was murdered, I’d be a basket case. I don’t think I’d be asking for an inventory of her belongings so I can determine if it’s worth my while to come pick them up.”
“Well, she is a half sister,” I said weakly.
Emma shrugged. “So.”
“She said they weren’t close.”
“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
I pondered the question. “She’s in Chicago. That’s only an hour and a half away. Tell her you have a friend who will bring the items to her if she’ll send you the address.”
Emma picked up her phone and sent the message. We didn’t have to wait long for the reply.
“She sent her address.” Emma forwarded the message to me.
We went back to her dorm room and packed away Melody’s few belongings. It seemed sad that all of her worldly goods fit into an old backpack Emma said she didn’t need any longer. I thought about Melody and wondered where she kept her other belongings. Each time I’d seen her, she had on a different outfit and a lot of makeup. I put the backpack in my car. Since I was on campus, I decided to swing by the off-campus housing and pay a visit to Trammel Braxton.
Construction at MISU was never ending. Buildings were erected, renovated, or remodeled constantly. A few years ago, the off-campus housing for married couples and graduate students looked like a smaller version of Chicago’s Cabrini-Green housing projects during the 1970s. The last of those buildings were demolished in 2011 and the MISU buildings met the same fate a couple of years ago. The new buildings looked like East Coast brownstone row houses with brick fronts and porches.
I found the one I wanted, parked, and tried to come up with a plausible cover story. I finally came up with something and got out of the car. I was so focused on the story running through in my head I was oblivious to everything else. As I got to the sidewalk, I was blindsided by a child on a Big Wheel being chased by a golden retriever and a very pregnant woman.
I avoided falling over by holding onto the Big Wheel. I held on until the child’s mother caught up.
She was breathing heavily from hurrying down the street. “I’m so sorry. I hope he did
n’t hurt you. He just broke away from me and in my condition, I couldn’t catch him.” She looked extremely young, not more than eighteen with a dark olive complexion and dark hair and eyes.
“No harm done.” I smiled. “He’s adorable.”
The boy was extremely cute. He had dark skin and jet-black curly hair, dark eyes, and chubby cheeks.
She smiled. “Thank you.” She turned to the boy. “Now it’s nap time.”
He let out a howl and would have taken off again if I hadn’t bent down and scooped him up.
“You’re going to be a good boy for your mama,” I said in a soothing voice, which might have worked if the mother hadn’t reached to take him.
He immediately started to kick and squirm.
I gasped, afraid he’d kick her stomach, but she must have been accustomed to this behavior because she turned to avoid a direct frontal kick just in time. She grabbed him by the waist and pulled, but my new companion must have also known what was coming because he wrapped both hands tightly around my neck and refused to let go, regardless of how much the mother pulled.
I winced as he grasped my hair in addition to my neck. “Maybe it would be better if I carried him in for you?” I suggested. “You seem to have your hands full, and I think two heads are better than one in this situation.”
The little mother looked at me tentatively. However, I must have passed her scrutiny of not being a crazed child-napping serial killer because she nodded and gave a polite smile.
“If you’re sure you don’t mind?” She reached down and picked up the golden’s leash and the Big Wheel while she balanced a large diaper bag on her other shoulder.
“I don’t mind at all.” I looked around. “Just lead the way.” I stepped aside to allow her to get in front. I hid my surprise when she went to the wrought iron fence in front of me and walked up the stairs. This was the home of Trammel Braxton, just where I wanted to go.
She unlocked the door and stepped aside for me to enter. The living room was sparsely furnished with a cheap sofa in front of the window, two foldaway chairs, and a massive flat panel television with cords and controllers hanging off like tentacles on an octopus.
She put down the Big Wheel and released the dog from his leash and then tried again to get her son away from me. However, he still wasn’t ready to let go and let out a bloodcurdling scream, which would have the neighbors believing a murder was occurring.
An embarrassed flush rose up her neck and she had a determined set to her eyes and chin which wouldn’t bode well for the little guy if he didn’t release me soon.
“Perhaps you’ll let me put him to bed. I could read him a story.” I tried to pull away far enough to look into his eyes. “Would you like me to read you a story?”
“Yes.” He sniffed.
She nodded and led the way upstairs to a small nursery.
The nursery was decorated in a superhero theme with Superman soaring overhead through clouds which had been painted onto the ceiling. The room had a crib, dresser, rocker, and large rug. The floor was littered with toys. One wall had a small bookshelf and there were several books I remembered reading to my nephews when they were small. I turned sideways so my new appendage could see the books. “Which book do you want me to read?”
He looked up and pointed to a book which looked to have seen a lot of wear if the frayed corners and crayon marks were any indication.
“Panda Bear’s Paint Box. I remember reading this to my nephews when they were little boys, just like you.” I picked up the book and walked over to the rocker. I sat down. My companion turned so he could sit and see the pages of the book. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and leaned back against my chest as I read.
If the mother had hesitations about me, I think they evaporated as she watched me rock and read to her son. He was asleep before I finished the last page and I quietly got up and walked to the crib. I gently placed him in the crib and pulled the covers up over him.
“He’s out like a light,” I whispered.
She looked at her son and smiled. “He’ll sleep like the dead now,” she said in her normal tone. She turned to me. “Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure.”
We left the room and went downstairs.
“He’s normally so good, but lately, he has fits and tantrums.” She rubbed her belly. “Especially now he knows I’m slower and can’t react as fast as before.” She looked at me. “I do appreciate your help. I don’t even know your name.”
“My name’s Samantha Washington, but, please, call me Sam.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Sam. I’m Mariana Braxton.”
She walked to the door to let me out. “I hope we didn’t keep you.”
“Actually, I was coming to see you and your husband, Trammel, that is.”
She stopped and stared. “Do we know you?”
“No. I was hoping you could help me.”
She looked skeptical and folded her arms across her chest. “Well, Trammel isn’t here at the moment. Maybe you’d prefer to come back when he is.” Her voice and body language indicated all barriers were now up and in place, and if I didn’t do something quick, I’d be outside in less than two seconds.
“Mrs. Braxton, could I sit down for one moment? I just want to ask you a few questions and then I’ll leave. I promise.”
Whether it was the sincerity in my eyes or memories of me holding her son, it worked. She nodded and indicated I could sit on the sofa. She pulled over a folding chair and sat.
“Would you prefer—”
She waved away my protest. “It’s a lot easier for me to get up and down on this chair than it is on that sofa.” She patted her stomach. “Now, what questions do you want to ask me?”
I settled back down. “Well, I’m a friend of Dawson Alexander.”
She had a vacant look on her face that indicated she had no idea who Dawson Alexander was.
“He’s the football player accused of killing Melody Hardwick.”
Based on the way she pursed her lips and rolled her eyes, it was clear she recognized Melody’s name. “What do you want from me, a medal?”
“He didn’t do it. Dawson didn’t kill her. I was hoping you could help me figure out who might want her dead.”
“Other than me, you mean?” She rose from her chair. “If you think I killed that gold digger, you’ve got another think coming.”
“Please, Mrs. Braxton. I’m not accusing you of killing her.” I pointed to her stomach. “It’s pretty clear that would be impossible in your condition.”
That settled her down and she returned to her seat. I wasn’t so naive as to believe a pregnant woman couldn’t have killed someone, but Melody was in pretty good shape and would have put up a struggle.
“Well, I don’t know how you think I can help.”
“Just tell me what you know about Melody. I’m trying to understand her character and so few people know anything about her. No one was really close to her. I was hoping you . . .” I looked down. “Or your husband might be able to tell me something that might help prevent an innocent man from paying for a crime he didn’t commit.”
She settled back. “I only saw her once. If you’re here, someone told you what happened.”
I nodded. “Yes, but I’d like to hear your side of the story, if you don’t mind sharing.”
She took a deep breath. “Trammel and I dated in high school. That’s when I got pregnant with our son. Tray was a star basketball player, the best in the state. He got offers all over the country, but he came to MISU because it was close by. I was two years behind him in school and my parents wanted me to finish high school. He came home to see me almost every weekend when he didn’t have a game, especially after the baby was born. He loved little Tray.” She smiled. “We were going to get married as soon as he graduated. But his sophomore year he stopped calling and didn’t visit as much. I got suspicious. He said everything was fine. He was just tired or studying. But he was never that into books. All he ever wanted
was to play ball. So, I came to see for myself.” She paused. “At first his roommate didn’t want to tell me where he was, but he finally did. They were together and she was all over him.” Her face hardened. “I snapped. I tried to beat the crap out of her. How dare she think she was gonna come and take my man.” She took several seconds to recapture her composure. “I’d invested years into that man. He wasn’t about to leave me and our son for some no-account gold digger. Oh, no.” Her chest heaved and her eyes flashed. “So, yeah, I tried to kill her. It took Trammel and two other men to pull me off her.”
“What happened next?”
“I told Trammel if he thought he was about to leave me and our son for her, then he was next. I was so angry.”
“I can understand that.”
“Trammel apologized. He had a good thing and if he didn’t want to lose me, he better straighten up and fly right.” She smiled.
“That’s when you moved here?”
“He said he didn’t want anyone but me, and we got married a couple weeks later. I figured it would be better if I was here on campus in case anyone else tried to get their claws on my man.”
“And you never saw Melody again?”
She shook her head. “Probably a good thing too.”
I hesitated but decided I needed the truth. “Do you know if Trammel saw her again?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I told him if I heard he so much as looked at her again, I’d beat both of them next time.” She giggled.
“Do you know of anyone else that might have wanted to kill her?”
She thought for a minute. “Not unless she tried to take somebody else’s man.”
I thanked Mrs. Braxton for her help and left. It was getting late and I still needed to get dressed for my non-date.
When I returned to the bookstore, Chris and Zaq were closing up for the day.
Nana Jo stopped sweeping and stared. “Sam. You look amazing. I love the hair.”
Chris and Zaq seconded the compliments, which gave a huge boost to my ego.
