by Roy Glenn
“Sitting in this window makes me feel alive. Even if I can’t be out there, I can see my little piece of the world and be a part of it,” she told Olivia once.
If that woman was anything like her great grandmother, she would have seen everything and everybody that came and went from the area.
“How are you today, ma’am,” Olivia said as she approached the window.
“Doing just fine,” the woman said slowly. “Thank you for asking. How are you today? I know you must be hot as long as you been out in that sun.”
“Yes, ma’am. It is hot today.”
“Might get up to a hundred—that’s what they say. But you know half the time they’s guessing anyway.”
“Even if it doesn’t make a hundred, it’s hot enough out here,” Olivia said and laughed a little.
“What you been doing out there so long anyway? You been out there for over an hour—just about an hour and a half.”
“I have.” When the woman said that, Olivia knew she was talking to the right person. “Ma’am, my name is Olivia Wayne. I’m a private investigator looking into the death of a young woman that was murdered here in the complex.”
“Thought that’s what it was about.”
“Would you mind if I asked you some questions?”
The woman smiled. “No, not at all. Why don’t you come in outta that hot sun?”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t get around like I used to, so just be patient with me. I'll be there in a second or two.”
“You take your time,” Olivia said and started for the door.
When the door opened Olivia stepped inside the air-conditioned condo and found the woman standing with the aid of a walker. She even looked a little like Olivia remembered her great grandmother. “Say you a private investigator? You ain’t real police?”
“No, ma’am. I used to be real police though. But I quit to go into business for myself.”
“Well, I’m Maysa Brown,” she said with her hand out. “Why don’t you come in and make yourself comfortable. Would you like something cold to drink? I made some fresh lemonade this morning.”
“Well, Ms. Brown, how about you tell me where the kitchen is, and I’ll make a glass for both of us. How does that sound?”
“Sounds fine to me,” Miss Brown said and went into her living room.
“Have the real police talked to you, ma’am?” Olivia asked from the kitchen.
“No, they haven’t. Just like you, they stayed in front of her building asking questions. Never did make it down this far.”
When Olivia came out of the kitchen, she found the woman seated on the couch with a photo album opened on the coffee table in front of her.
Olivia smiled and sat down next to the woman. For the next hour, the ladies sipped lemonade and talked like old friends before Olivia got around to asking a single question. “I appreciate you sitting a while and talking to me. I know you got questions you need to ask me, but I just want to say thank you for taking the time,” Ms. Brown said, holding Olivia’s hand.
“You’re welcome, Ms. Brown. Do you have any family here?”
“Not really. Like I told you, my two sons have both passed. I got a daughter-in-law who lives in Covington. She come if I need her, and I got a little Mexican gal come by once a week to clean and do a little shopping for me, but she don’t like to talk much.”
“I enjoyed talking to you. I told you, you remind me of my great grandmother.”
“Yes, honey, but I bet she wasn’t as pretty as me,” she said, laughing. “So, what you wanna know?”
“Did you know the young lady that died?”
“Not personally, but like everybody else who live out here, I see ’em come and go every day.” Olivia took out a picture of Abril Arrington and handed it to Ms. Brown. “That’s her—pretty girl. Thought more of herself than she actually was, if you want my opinion.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know her?”
“I can tell by the way she carried herself. You can tell a lot about a person’s character by the way they carries themselves.”
“Were you in the window the night she was killed?”
“I saw the police and ambulances and whatnot.”
“Have you ever seen this woman before?” Olivia asked, handing Ms. Brown a picture of Panthea.
“No, never seen her before. She do kinda favor the other girl,” Ms. Brown noted.
Olivia looked at the two pictures. “You know they kinda do look alike, but you’ve never seen her?”
“Nope. This one didn’t have too many women visitors,” Ms. Brown said, pointing back to Abril’s picture.
Olivia handed her a picture of Scott. “Seen this man before?”
“He’s been a regular visitor last few months. Drives that pretty blue Jaguar.”
“How long would you say, Ms. Brown?”
“Last four months steady.”
“Any other men before that?”
“Before and during,” Ms. Brown said with a look of high moral disgust. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but since that one got here, there’s been a steady stream of men coming and going from there.”
“How many men are we talking about?”
“Counting this one, there’s four of them, but one of them slacked off here lately. And there was two others stopped coming around ’bout a year ago. You mind if I ask you a question, Olivia?”
“No, not at all.”
“What did—what’s her name?”
“Abril Arrington.”
“What did she do for a living?”
“I’m not quite sure, but she had a business call Venture Capital. Why do you ask?”
“I thought she was one of them call girls or something.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because she didn’t keep no regular hours like working folk do. And when she left that condo, she was always all gussied up, dressed up to beat the band.” Ms. brown laughed, and Olivia did too.
“On the night it happened, did you see anybody come or leave her condo?”
“Yes.”
“Was it a man or a woman?”
“I couldn’t tell. It was starting to get dark.”
“What time was that? Do you remember?”
“They got there at eight-fifteen. They come out ’bout a half hour later and left in a hurry.”
“You sure about the time?” Olivia asked.
Miss Brown pointed to the clock sitting on a stand by the window. “I sit here and look out that window and look at that clock all day.”
It was after six when Olivia finally said goodbye to Ms. Brown. But not before Olivia asked if she could come by some time, just to sit and talk. Ms. Brown said she would like that too.
As soon as she got in the car, Olivia tried to call Marcus and got no answer. She tried to call Garrett, but got his voicemail. “As usual,” she blurted out of frustration. And maybe that was a good thing.
She was anxious to share what she’d learned with somebody. Abril Arrington was seeing more than one man and there was definitely something not right about her business. Maybe if she spent the weekend digging a little more she just might find out what.
10
Marcus was at home late that same evening when he heard the phone ring. He was irritated by the interruption; Marcus tried to pull himself away from the file he was reading. He looked at the clock; it was almost ten. Who the hell could that be at this hour? he wondered as he glanced around the room searching for the damn phone. Once he spotted it, he rose from his desk and moved toward the cordless phone, which wasn’t on its base.
“Shit,” he grumbled as he grabbed the phone and put it to his ear without looking at the caller ID. “Talk to me,” he said hastily as he pressed the talk button.
“Marcus? Is that you?” the sultry voice asked, uncertain if she had the right number.
Marcus flinched when he finally recognized the voice. “Panthea?” he asked just to be sure.
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“Yes.” There was a second or two of uncomfortable silence. “You’re probably wondering why I’m calling at this hour,” she quickly offered.
“Well, yeah, the thought has crossed my mind, but I figure it’s important, otherwise you would have called in the morning.”
Sex instantly flashed through his mind—sex with Panthea to be exact—but he quickly shook the thoughts off and tried to focus on what she was saying. She, of course, was his client, and he didn’t want to go down that road. No, you have to handle a woman like Panthea Daniels with a certain level of professionalism and care.
“—So I was wondering if maybe we could just meet somewhere so we could talk,” she proposed.
“Meet somewhere?” Marcus looked at the clock again.
He really didn’t feel up to going anywhere at this hour. He had been engrossed in work, and still had plenty more to do before he’d be finished, but he had long since abandoned logic when it came to her. Marcus remembered the tantalizing fragrance Panthea wore that seemed to linger in the air and tease him long after she had left the room.
His mind quickly flashed to the dreams he’d had of her luscious pouty lips and full heaving breast. He didn’t feel like meeting anyone, but Panthea Daniels was far from just anyone.
“So will you meet me at Eleven 50?” she asked.
“That’s on Peachtree isn’t it?”
“Yes, you know the spot?” she confirmed.
The thought of meeting Panthea after hours heated his blood instantly. He wished he had time to shower, make himself more presentable, but he knew he didn’t. Then Marcus conceded that although Panthea was beautiful, she was still a married woman.
By the time Marcus had parked, Panthea was settling into one of the many comfortable lounging sofas. After looking around and taking in the elegant wood floors, plush sofas and gauzy curtains falling from vaulted ceilings, she was glad she had chosen the trendy bar as their meeting place. Its atmosphere would say things she wasn’t quite comfortable verbalizing just yet.
Marcus was impressed the moment he stepped up to the bar. He lingered at the massive reflection pool and fountain, which were lined with pearl white cabana's out front. The image gave him a sense of being in Miami instead of Atlanta. He walked into the open three-story theatre turned bar and was glad Panthea had called him.
“You made it.” Panthea smiled and got up the moment she noticed Marcus enter the room.
Their particular room was far enough away from the dance floor for them to speak in private and secluded enough for them to enjoy the music and each other’s company.
“This is really nice,” Marcus said, looking around the room and then back to Panthea. He tilted his head ever so slightly, noticing for the first time the massive shades she was wearing. “Why are you hiding that beautiful face behind those dark shades?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing really,” Panthea assured as she turned and reclaimed her seat. “I’m so glad you decided to meet with me,” she said.
And for the first time, Marcus noticed her voice was a bit shaky as if she was nervous, maybe even fearful about something. “Panthea, what’s going on?” he asked sternly. He eased next to her on the sofa.
“Would you like a lemon drop martini? They’re the best here,” Panthea quickly offered.
“What I want is answers, Panthea, the dark shades,” he shrugged one shoulder, “What gives?”
“Just one drink?” she pouted sweetly. “I promise you’ll enjoy it,” she sang.
“I’ll have a drink, but after that you need to start talking. Deal?”
Panthea sighed then nodded.
As if on cue, the waiter came over, took their drink orders and moved on to another couple. The instant Marcus’s attention returned to her, Panthea snatched off her shades, revealing the bruise under her eye, and then quickly cast her eyes toward the floor.
“What the fuck,” Marcus said and gently took her chin and raised her head toward him so he could get a better look.
“It’s Scott,” she began.
Marcus could feel his blood begin to boil. “He did this to you?” he frowned, speaking through clenched teeth.
“It’s really nothing,” Panthea said, hoping to calm his building fury and dismiss thoughts of the awful fight at the same time. “I mean, we started talking about the affair and Abril’s death. He is convinced that I killed her and well, he’s very distraught about it.” She shrugged. “Soon, things just went completely overboard.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what he’s distraught about. He had no right to put his hands on you,” Marcus said, his nostrils flaring. Something about the passion in his voice was turning her on, but she ignored the nagging feeling between her thighs.
“I tried to tell him that I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to her. By then things had gotten so out of control, I guess I just felt it best that I get out of there, you know?” She looked up at Marcus after replacing the shades to shield her black eye. “He was just so angry, and I’d never seen him so irate,” Panthea said shaking her head.
“I don’t care how mad he gets. He has no right to put his hands on you,” Marcus spat. “Do you want to press charges?”
“No. Nothing like that. I think I’ll be spending enough time in court; don’t you?” Panthea sighed harder this time.
The waiter returned with their drinks and skillfully placed them down on a small table. Before he could leave, Panthea grabbed the stem of her glass and with a trembling hand took the rim to her lips. She took a healthy gulp and squeezed her eyes shut as she savored the liquor’s taste.
For the next hour Marcus hung on her every word as she replayed the dreadful evening for him. By the time she swallowed the last of their third round, Panthea was ready to go.
“I’m not going back there,” she insisted. “I’m not. I just think he needs time to cool off.”
That’s when something took over and Marcus opened his arms for her. Without any hesitation, Panthea fell into his embrace and before she could control it, tears started to flow.
“It’s gonna be okay. I promise. It’ll be just fine,” Marcus said, consoling her.
Once they left the bar and had gotten to their cars, Marcus told Panthea to follow him. Behind the wheel of her car, Panthea struggled to keep up with him. She thought about what might be possible between the sexy lawyer and herself. But quickly scolded herself for even thinking such thoughts.
Panthea told herself sex should be the very last thing on her mind. First, she needed to beat the murder charge and get things straight with Scott before she started thinking about giving herself to another man, especially the man who could soon hold her fate in his hands. No, she didn’t even want to go that route.
At was after one o'clock in the morning when Marcus and Panthea pulled up at the Four Seasons Hotel and the valets took their vehicles.
“She’ll be staying overnight,” he told the parking attendant who passed claim tickets to him and Panthea.
“Yes, sir,” the young man answered.
“Why don’t you have a seat in the lobby, and I’ll take care of things at the desk,” Marcus offered as soon as they walked through the hotel’s doors, his hand at the small of her back.
Panthea did just that. She enjoyed the way Marcus had sprung into action to care for her. He was such a gentleman. When he approached her with the key card and motioned toward the elevator, she struggled to calm the butterflies swirling in her stomach. She had long admitted her attraction to him, but there was nothing like a good old fashion rescue to make a man even more appealing.
At that moment, she felt like a damsel in distress, and she didn’t mind the sappy role she’d taken on one bit. She smiled at the thought as they stepped into the elevator car and rode up to the twenty-first floor. For at least one night, he had put her mind at ease.
“I want you to call me at any hour if you need anything.” He insisted as he held the door open for her to step off the elevator.
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“Oh, I think you’ve done enough already,” she said sincerely.
“No, you let me be the judge of that. I’m serious. It doesn’t matter the time. You promise you’ll call me if you need anything, you understand?”
Panthea nodded as they stopped at the room door.
“Now, here’s your key. And remember, call if you need something, anything,” he again reminded.
Marcus didn’t want to be really forward about it, but he wanted her to call him and not to talk about her case. Everything about Panthea Daniels made him want her even more. He could tell that she wanted him, wanted him as much as he wanted her. And here they were, hot for each other, standing politely outside a hotel room. Marcus wanted her to unlock the door and invite him in. Once inside, he would peel that dress off her and devour every inch of her luscious body.
She didn’t miss the hidden meaning behind his words, noted it as a matter of fact. Panthea took the key and immediately slid it into the lock. Panthea grabbed the handle, but turned back to Marcus before entering her room. “Thank you,” she said and meant it.
“Don’t even mention it.”
“Wait,” Panthea said, before he could turn and leave. Marcus turned to her, just in time to intercept her soft and succulent lips. “Good Night, Marcus.”
“Good night, Panthea.”
“We’ll speak in the morning?” Panthea asked.
“Definitely,” Marcus said and watched the door close gently in his face.
11
Panthea moaned, unwillingly opened her eyes, and then squinted against the early morning sunlight that had crept through the slats in the window’s wooden blinds. She snapped her eyes shut and rolled over on to her side in the king-sized bed. After being unable to reclaim sleep, Panthea opened her eyes for good and looked around the room.
It was the picture of modern elegance, everything she didn’t see the night before. Decorated in gold and yellow tones, the room was quiet and simple, but classic. The layout was spacious. Panthea glanced at the desk and an armchair in a corner.
