Land of Shadows

by Rachel Howzell Hall

  Macie forced her lips upward and waved back. “Auntie Jolene and my baby cousins,” she said to me with tears in her eyes. “Monie was supposed to watch them on Tuesday night and … Who’s gonna tell them that she…?” She watched the Camry race to the end of the block, then dropped her head back between her knees.

  I leaned against the 4Runner’s tailgate, pen and pad ready. “Macie, I need to ask you some things that I didn’t wanna ask in front of your parents. I’m old, but I haven’t forgotten that young women have private lives, and so I need you to speak as freely as you can, okay?”

  She sniffled, then said, “Okay.”

  “How old are you again?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  Macie had been born the year I had learned to dissect a baby pig in Honors Biology.

  “Do you work?” I asked.

  She blinked—work, as in the verb?—then blurted, “I’m a tutor.”

  I had only known Macie Darson for thirty minutes, but in that short time, I knew that this girl was no Madame Curie. What subject did she tutor? How to Get Over 101? Advanced Methods in How to Get Paid? If so, maybe I would sign up for lessons.

  “So Von and Derek,” I said. “Let’s stop the bullshit. What’s really going on?”

  The veil lifted from Macie’s face and she gazed past me, checking to see if her parents were standing at the front door. “Monie was datin’ both of them. But Mom and Daddy would never believe that their princess was sneakin’ around with a banger. Church in the mornin’ with Von, freaky-deak in the evenin’ with Derek. Ain’t nuthin’ new,” she said with a flick of her hand and another cautious look at the door.

  “The difference between Monie and me,” she continued, “is that I never hide my shit. Monie, though … That girl is a shadow. Von thought he was talkin’ to the church girl cuz she was actin’ all sweet, but little did he know that she was fuckin’ Derek while talkin’ on the phone with him.” Her shoulders slumped as any remaining lightness left her body. “Is that what you wanted to know, Detective?”

  “For starters? Yes. How old is Derek?”

  “About twenty-two. Von just turned nineteen two weeks ago.”

  “He like cheerleaders?”

  “What man don’t like cheerleaders?” she asked with a smirk.

  “What about Derek? Did she wear her uniform whenever she saw him?”

  Macie tilted her head. “Think about it.”

  And so I did. “Her uniform has blue in it,” I said, and Macie nodded. A tried-and-true Blood would never fancy anything blue, cute girl or not.

  “What type of guy is Von?”

  She faked a yawn. “A guy who thinks cheerleading is a sin. A guy who hated that she was the squad captain.”

  That made me pause. How much did Von hate it? Did he detest cheering enough to ask her to wear that uniform on Tuesday night so that he could show her just how much he hated it?

  “Did Von know about Derek?” I asked.

  “He knew Derek and Monie are friends. Just not how close. He figured cuz he has some ends and goes to church that he don’t have to worry. Every nigga gotta worry. He’s kinda cute in that buttoned-up-music-minister way so he thinks he has a lock on Monie. He don’t suspect nothing. And Monie likes that.”

  “When did you last see your sister?” I asked.

  She squinted at the sky, then slowly shook her head. “I’m not even sure … She was always runnin’ behind me. She’d always pop up outta nowhere.”

  “Were you home on Tuesday?”

  “No. So I must’ve seen her on Friday cuz me and my boyfriend drove to Pechanga Casino in Temecula. So yeah, I saw her on Friday. But she called me all weekend and then on Monday and Tuesday.”

  “Why?”

  “Random sister stuff. ‘Can I wear your shirt?’ or ‘Do you have so-and-so’s number?’ Stuff like…” A sob burst from her chest, and then another. Her shoulders shook as she hid her face in her hands and wept. Through her tears, she kept apologizing, kept wiping her face with a tired paper towel until the hurt ebbed. “This is hard,” she said, offering me a weak smile. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “I know. You’re doing good. Just a few more questions, okay? Did she mention seeing either Derek or Von this past weekend?”

  “Umm…” She inhaled but didn’t release, bit her bottom lip to keep it in. She hugged herself, forcing out the air, then said, “She was plannin’ to break things off with Derek on Tuesday. She was tired of only hangin’ out in BPS territory. Can’t go here cuz you’ll get shot. Can’t go there cuz you’ll get shot. She wanted a regular boyfriend like Von but not so … boring.”

  “So she wanted a yuppie thug,” I confirmed. “Was she scared what Derek’s reaction would be when she told him that she wanted out?”

  Another cry broke from Macie’s chest like a clap of thunder.

  The suddenness startled me, and I almost dropped my binder.

  “I told her to hold off,” the young woman said between tears and hiccups. “I told her that Derek would probably be in jail before the summer ended, and that she’d have a better chance at breaking up with him then.” She hid her face in her hands and cried, “I miss her so much.”

  I patted her back, remembering my mother’s hands lost in my hair as I had cried, “I miss her,” and “I’m sorry, Mommy.” I remembered never feeling better afterward, and sometimes, never feeling forgiven.

  Macie dried her face with the front of her fancy tank top. “I’m sorry. It’s just…”

  “You don’t have to apologize,” I whispered, staring at the makeup smeared across the Chanel logo. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

  She exhaled and jiggled her arms, shaking it off. “I gotta be strong for Momma.”

  Familiar words.

  “What about your dad?” I asked. “He’ll need you, too.”

  “But he’s … weak. Always a little jittery, know what I mean? Momma’s the backbone of the family. If she goes down, we all go down. My dad, he’s not a man like that.” She clamped her hand over her mouth, then squeezed her lips. “I didn’t mean … I shouldn’t have said … It’s just…” She groaned, then hugged herself. “I love my dad, but my mother…” Her nostrils flared as she fished for the right word. “You know what I mean, right? Please don’t tell him what I just said.”

  I nodded.

  “Ain’t strangulation a crime of passion?” she asked. “I saw an episode on CSI where this stripper was strangled, and the murderer was her ex-boyfriend.”

  “It can be,” I said, “but not always. Do you think that’s what happened here? You think Derek killed Monie? Tell me the truth.”

  She squinted at me, then lifted her mouth into a stingy smile. “That’s a nice ring you wearin’.” She nodded at my princess-cut diamond engagement ring. “What’s that? Like three carats?”

  I nodded. “Your appraisal skills are impressive.”

  She gave me a fake smile. “Your man a true baller or is he just nigga-rich?”

  “A true baller.”

  “He black?”

  “That’s the box he checks.”

  She gave a side of fake chuckle to go along with the fake smile. “You don’t know what it’s like,” she said, a sneer forming on her lips. “You ain’t from around here.”

  “Actually, I grew up on Hillcrest, over in the Jungle. Went to Audubon and Dorsey.”

  “So you know,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t snitch and you don’t drop dimes on niggas. Especially if that nigga is BPS.”

  I leaned closer. “But I’m already looking at Derek for this. All I need from you is an endorsement, a ‘Yeah, that fool is crazy, he coulda strangled my sister cuz he didn’t want her to leave him.’ That’s all.” I offered a conspiratorial smile and whispered, “Derek was on my list—and I’m sure his phone number is in Monique’s phone directory. And I’m sure there are pictures of him, too, on that phone. He was a part of her life, Macie, and your family wouldn’t be the only source for me to
find that out.”

  She swiped at her forehead, nervous now, eyes darting up and down the street as though a hooptie filled with twenty Black P Stones toting forty Tec-9s was two houses away.

  “Time is passing, Macie,” I said. “Your sister’s killer is getting farther and farther away.” And the type on the reports was already degrading.

  Finally, the young woman whispered, “Yes. He could’ve strangled her. Yeah. He coulda killed her.”

  “Okay. What about Von?”

  “Church boy?” Anxiety lifted enough for Macie to roll her eyes. “That boy goes to confession every time he has a wet dream.”

  “Did she say where she was going to meet Derek on Tuesday?”

  “She said something about going to Kingston’s.”

  “The Jamaican restaurant over in Ladera Heights?”

  She nodded. “She didn’t wanna be alone with him. Not that crowds ever stopped Derek from actin’ a fool.”

  “How do you think she ended up at the condos?”

  Macie tried to square her shoulders, but her lips quivered and gave away the show. “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me about Butter.”

  A smile as bright as the sun washed across her face. “Monie takes Butter everywhere. She loves Butter. We all love Butter. She’s the sweetest dog in the world.” But the smile dimmed as she closed her swollen eyes. “And now, she’s gone, too. Miss Butter was the nicest gift Derek ever gave my sister.”

  “I have a more difficult question,” I whispered. “What was your relationship with Monique? Any competition? Any jealousy?”

  Macie folded her arms, but then rubbed her hand over her heart. She bit her lip, conflicted by what she needed to say.

  “Please be honest with me,” I said. “That’s the only way I can solve this.”

  She jammed her lips into a grim line and breathed loudly through her nose. “You got a sister?”

  My tongue thickened in my mouth. “Yes, I do.” Dead? Alive? Don’t know. Please don’t ask.

  “Then, you know how it is,” Macie said. “We fight over triflin’ shit all the time now. She eats up all my strawberries or won’t put on a new paper towel roll. She calls me all day, literally all day. Sometimes, she needs advice. Sometimes, she wants me to be the referee between her, Mom, and Dad. Sometimes, she wants me to drive her and her girls places. And she gets mad if I tell her no. Like I’m a bitch for not wanting to be a chauffeur for some high school kids.”

  “My sister—” Was I gonna do this? “My sister was five years older than me and she was a cheerleader and she hated me most of the time.”

  Macie laughed. “Cuz little sisters are freakin’ annoying. Mom keeps sayin’ that we’ll be friends once we’re older—”

  “My mother said the same.”

  Her smile dimmed. “But I’ll never know that, huh?”

  I shook my head. Nor would I.

  “Your parents say they gave Monie a lot of attention.”

  Macie stared at her shaking hands. “I was cool with that as I got older. She was the baby, the hope of the family.” She tugged at her soiled, damp tank top. “Me and Mom used to be really close when I was a kid. She used to take me to Baskin-Robbins over by the mall for ice cream every day after she picked me up from school.”

  “No more ice cream dates after Monie was born?”

  Macie shook her head. “She was sick so she cried a lot. It just got too stressful. We stopped doing a lot of stuff cuz Monie couldn’t deal with the situation and Mom couldn’t deal with Monie.”

  “If she was the hope of the family, what were you?”

  Macie pointed to her chest, then pushed out a laugh as hollow as a PVC pipe. “I’m the one who needs to marry a rich man. Whatever.” But sparks had flown from her eyes, so not “whatever.”

  “I’m used to my parents treating us different,” she said, eyes softening again. “I mean, I’m sure your parents do, too. One kid is always difficult and the other kid is Little Miss Perfect. Except Monie ain’t perfect. She likes being two people. All presto-chango, today I’m nice, tonight I’m nasty.” Macie frowned and her eyes turned dark and hard. “No. She ain’t perfect. Guess being a shadow is catching up to her.”

  15

  After Cyrus signed a consent form to allow Colin and me to search Monique’s bedroom, we followed him and Angie up the stairs and down the hallway. This part of the house still smelled of hot water and soap from a recent shower, and a tinny laugh track from The Nanny drifted on top of the steam. The sound was coming from a bedroom with a queen-sized mattress and rumpled blue comforter.

  We reached a room at the end of the hallway.

  “This is her…” Angie moaned, collapsed against the wall, then staggered back to the staircase.

  Cyrus stood there, staring at his daughter’s bedroom door.

  “We’ll let you know if we have any questions,” Colin told him.

  “And we’ll also let you know if we need to take anything,” I added.

  Cyrus said, “Okay,” but didn’t move.

  Colin and I doubled down and didn’t move, either.

  Cyrus’s eyes widened. “Oh. Okay. Sorry.” He crept back down the hallway, throwing one last glance at us before descending the stairs.

  Colin and I gawked at each other—was that as strange as it seemed?—then stepped into the bedroom.

  It could have been the room of any well-achieving teen girl in America, with dark brown ceiling beams and pink walls covered in posters of Ludacris and Jay-Z, puppies and Black Jesus holding a lamb. The bed had been made, and folded laundry sat atop the pink-and-blue comforter, waiting to be put away. A vase of wilting white roses sat on the nightstand and made the room smell like a funeral home. A deflating foil “Happy Graduation” balloon had floated to the corner near the window and now bobbed on an air current. Blue and yellow pompoms and yellow honor cords, still stiff and bright, hung from a white board filled with a to-do list for the week of June 10. Go to dry cleaner. Get vacc. for Butter. Smile—Jesus Loves You!

  My head swirled and my heart felt pinched in my chest. Tori’s room—our room—hadn’t been as nice as this. On the day she never came home, a Right On! magazine had been left on her bed, turned to the centerfold: LL Cool J. A bag of green apple Jolly Ranchers sat on the pillow, and a half-eaten can of Pringles sat on the milk-crate nightstand. For days, weeks, Mom and I had left it all there. Then, one day, I came home from school and the magazine, chips, and candy had disappeared. And I cried.

  And now, here I stood, in another girl’s room, tugging at my ear as though it would give milk, my sister still a question mark … Did she know that LL Cool J and Ice Cube were now respectable men, actors and daddies?

  I chuckled.

  “What’s funny?” Colin asked.

  I shook my head. “Just remembering.” My gaze on that lonely balloon, I said, “Ready?”

  Colin, his eyes on the roses, said, “Yeah.”

  Then, we both took deep, deep breaths.

  He started searching the closet.

  I turned toward the desk.

  A pink netbook sat on a tray crammed with photos, paper clips, and a small ferret desk calendar. Beneath it was a yearbook for the St. Bernard Vikings.

  I opened the pages and in just minor browsing saw that Monique had been class president, cheer squad captain, and Most Likely to Save the World. The slick pages had been filled with well-wishes from friends. Never forget me. K.I.T. LAYLA. BFF. The quote beneath her senior portrait: “The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong … but time and chance happeneth to all.”

  Time and chance: What would Tori be if she’d had the chance to fully run her race? Would she be a psychologist today, like she had planned? Or would she be a stay-at-home mom with lots of kids and photos of her days as Most Popular on mantels and key chains?

  Someone had turned off The Nanny, and now the only sounds in the house were Angie Darson’s muffled cries.

  I opened the desk drawer.


  A phone charger, pens, cherry ChapStick …

  Where is it? There has to be one …

  My eyes swiveled from the lamp to the mattress, from the bedside table to the … bed.

  I grabbed the purple unicorn Pillow Pet that lay against the headboard.

  It was heavier than what a purple unicorn Pillow Pet should be.

  I unzipped the cushion and stuck my hand into the stuffing. Yep.

  I pulled out a pink satin–covered journal.

  The lined pages were filled with neat cursive and stuffed with ticket stubs, scraps of paper, pressed flowers, a picture of a handsome kid with a big smile standing in front of a church van, and another picture, this one of a naked man, all muscles and menace, tats and scars.

  Back to searching the desk.

  An enrollment packet from Cal State Dominguez Hills. Random sticky notes, store receipts, and gum wrappers. A framed picture of newborn Monique strapped in a carrier with a five-year-old Macie dressed in panties, kissing her little sister’s forehead while placing her hand over Baby Monique’s mouth.

  I searched the dresser drawers next.

  Underwear, shirts, shorts … nothing unusual.

  My stomach muscles relaxed, and I let out a long breath. In another investigation and search of a thirteen-year-old’s room, I had found a vibrator in the girl’s nightstand, along with pictures of her and her father doing shit that was illegal in every galaxy on this side of the sun. And after my sister had disappeared, Mom had found rubbers and two unsmoked jays in Tori’s hope chest. The condoms and joints didn’t make Mom cry as much as the framed picture of our deadbeat dad, also discovered that day.

  “Any luck?” I asked Colin.

  He had pushed hangers from one end of the closet to the other and was now searching the top shelves. “Nope. I gotta say, though. Girls own a lot of—” A Timex watch box fell from the shelf to the carpet. The top popped off.

  Colin plucked a cloth from the box and fluffed it out. “Just a handkerchief.” It was all white … except for a large yellow stain in the middle.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why put a dirty handkerchief in a box?”