Deadly Charm

by Claudia Mair Burney

  God, I’m awful. A woman has lost her child, and all I can think about is taking her behind the house and giving her a beatdown.

  While I continued to plot Nikki’s destruction, Rocky poured a Diet Pepsi into an ice-filled glass. He didn’t offer me one. “May I have a Diet Pepsi, too?”

  “You don’t need any soda. You’re pregnant.”

  I don’t know why my husband chooses the most inopportune times to interrupt Rocky and me.

  “Excuse me?” he roared.

  I was momentarily silenced by the horror engulfing me.

  Rocky, however, happily obliged Jazz. “I told her she couldn’t have any pop because I don’t think it’s good for the baby.”

  “What baby?” Jazz shrieked.

  “Du-uh. The baby Bell is pregnant with.”

  The news must have flabbergasted Jazz so much, he didn’t even knock Rocky out for “duhing” him. I had to get the situation under control.

  “I’m not pregnant.”

  Jazz stared at me, mouth open.

  “I said I’m not pregnant.”

  “Yes, you are,” Jazz said slowly. “That’s why your body is changing.”

  “I only gained a little weight.”

  “Your Chihuahuas are bigger. I felt them.”

  “Whoa,” Rocky said innocently. “Babe, did you get some puppies?”

  “No. And don’t ask.” I glared at Jazz. “You said you didn’t touch me!”

  “I did it for scientific purposes. They looked bigger, and I wanted to make sure.” Jazz crossed his arms, putting his armor back on. “I knew it. I could tell as soon as I saw you.”

  “You could not.”

  “I got the gift! Just like my mother. I can spot a pregnant woman like that.” He snapped his finger. “How in the he—”

  “Dude,” Rocky said, settling a hand on Jazz’s arm in a pastoral gesture. “Watch the language, please. Bell is pregnant. The unborn might hear.”

  Jazz narrowed his eyes, and the general area of his jaw tightened noticeably. “He’s touching me, Bell.”

  Rocky slowly removed his hand.

  But Jazz’s rant wasn’t over. “And how did Boy Toy find out before I did?” He started giving me that Niagara Falls look. “Bell, if you tell me you told him first…”

  Rocky tried to save me. “I’m not her—um—boy toy anymore, and even if I was, we’d be holy and stuff.”

  Jazz stared at Rocky in the way I do when he astounds me with something he thinks is perfectly fine to say. Rocky, remaining oblivious, continued. “I’m her friend, Jazz. That’s it. She didn’t tell me—”

  Just then Ezekiel Thunder walked into the kitchen. He still had the smooth television-personality demeanor, but grief had left cracks on the surface of his façade. He must have sensed the tension sizzling between us like bacon frying in a cast-iron skillet. “What’s going on here?”

  Rocky answered. “We were just talking about Bell’s baby.” He pointed at Jazz. “Ezekiel, this is Bell’s husband, Jazz.”

  Jazz didn’t respond.

  “There’s no baby,” I said. “And I’m sure Reverend Thunder can figure out who Jazz is since you’ve already told him about him.”

  Jazz opened his mouth as if to protest. Rocky hit me with the eyes. “Babe, I’ve never talked to Ezekiel about Jazz.”

  “Oh, really? Then how did he know my husband’s name at the crusade?”

  “I’m telling you. I’ve never spoken to him about Jazz. You can ask him.”

  I looked at Thunder. He shrugged. “Not a word,” he said, his seductive Southern drawl calming me despite my anger.

  Thunder put his hand on Jazz’s shoulder, as Rocky had moments earlier. Like spiritual father, like son, I supposed. But Jazz recoiled.

  “I don’t know who you are, but I suggest you get your hand off me.”

  “I’m Ezekiel Thunder, son. God told me who you are.”

  Jazz shot an angry glance at me. Shouted, “He’s touching me, Bell! Can you tell your spooky friends to keep their hands to themselves? And why do they all do that creepy, I-know-all-your-business-because-God-tells-me bit?”

  “Ezekiel Thunder is not my friend. And I don’t know why they do that. Maybe God really does talk to them! Which I’m all for, except for when God gets chatty about my personal life.”

  I felt a little salty with God.

  Ezekiel kept touching Jazz. “I feel your pain, Jazz. But God only gives us insight so that we can pray for you. It’s not creepy, son.”

  “Yes it is,” Jazz said. “And I’m not your son. Move your hand.”

  Ezekiel Thunder took his hand away.

  Rocky came to Thunder’s rescue. “I know Ezekiel. God does speak to him. And you’re my friend, Bell. So are you, Jazz, whether or not you know it. I’m sorry about what happened that night in Bell’s apartment, but we lost a beautiful little boy today. This isn’t the time for fighting, especially about something as joyful and blessed as a new baby coming into the world.”

  He had a point, even though he looked rather silly giving his speech while holding sweating glasses of diet cola. And then there was the fact that I wasn’t pregnant.

  Jazz looked at Thunder. Sighed heavily. “I’m sorry for your loss, Reverend Thunder. I see the kids are really taking it hard.”

  Thunder’s face sobered. “They blame themselves for this awful thing that has visited us.”

  “Sir,” Jazz said, “how about if I take Zeke and Zekia out of the house to Cold Stone Creamery to get some ice cream and a little fresh air? The press isn’t out there right now. And the kids have to be exhausted from all this. I just spoke to Nikki a moment ago. She thinks it’s a good idea, and she’ll accompany us. If that’s okay with you.”

  For a moment Ezekiel hesitated, then he nodded briskly.

  “Good. I could use some ice cream,” I said.

  “I’ll bring you back some. Want some pickles with that, baaaaaaybeeeeee?”

  “I’m not pregnant, Jazz.”

  Ezekiel Thunder nodded. “You’re pregnant, darlin’.”

  “What do I have to do to convince you people I’m not pregnant?”

  Thunder flashed his blinding smile. “You could take a pregnancy test.”

  “It’d be a waste of time and money.”

  “I’ll pay for it,” Jazz said.

  “Then it’d be a waste of time. And don’t you have to pay for ice cream, Jazz?”

  “I can handle it, baaaaaaybeeeeee, and surely you have time to make pee pee for a pregnancy test, since you go to the bathroom all the time.”

  “Maybe I have a small baby,” I said, defending myself.

  Jazz jumped all over it. “Aha! A slip! You said ‘small baby.’”

  “I said I have a small bladder.”

  “You said ‘a small baby,’ darlin’,” Thunder said with a shrug.

  Jazz scowled at Thunder. “Hey, don’t call my wife darlin’.”

  Rocky set the Pepsi down on the kitchen counter. He turned back toward us. “That’s it. Everybody hold hands.”

  We so didn’t want to hold hands.

  “Do it,” Rocky commanded, even though he sounded about as threatening as Keanu Reeves in Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure.

  Jazz and I grumbled but clasped hands. Ezekiel and Rocky did the same and reached for Jazz and me. We became a circle of unity. At least we looked the part.

  Rocky said, “I want you all to let go of anger, pride, fear—everything. Just quietly release and go catatonic.”

  Rocky went catatonic. This seemed to fascinate Thunder. It embarrassed me and seemed to amuse Jazz. Still, Thunder followed suit, and I figured if Jazz and I didn’t go catatonic, we’d look silly standing there conscious. I started letting go, in the order Rocky suggested: anger first.

  I took a few deep breaths, and honestly, it felt good. Pride was a little harder, but after a few moments I began to feel it go. Fear? That would really be a challenge. But I focused on staying absolutely still. Breathing softly,
in and out. I thought of Psalms 46:10: “Be still, and know that I am God.” In that brief stillness, I began to sense God’s presence—His “I AM”-ness in the midst of all my turmoil. Maybe Rocky was on to something with contemplative catatonic after all.

  When we’d all gone quiet and still, Rocky’s voice broke through our collective silence. “Can we just be kind to each other?”

  We all released hands. The rest of us nodded.

  I looked at Jazz. “Can I go for ice cream with you? Please?”

  “There isn’t enough room in the car, Jane.”

  I recalled what he’d said, earlier, Me, private investigator. You, psychologist. He was assuring me he was on the job. I sighed. “Okay.”

  Rocky looked confused. “Babe, did you change your name to Jane?”

  “Just for Jazz,” I said. “It’s kind of like on the television show Joan of Arcadia. Remember how her boyfriend always called her Jane instead of Joan?”

  Rocky had no idea what I was talking about. He was more into The Sopranos than the late, great Joan of Arcadia series that I now could only enjoy on DVD.

  Jazz interrupted. “Stay here and chat with Reverend Thunder. I’m sure he’s having a hard enough time.”

  I looked at the old slickster. His sorrowful eyes. Beneath that smooth exterior, Thunder hurt for his little boy.

  He spoke. “I certainly could use some good conversation.”

  “I guess that settles it,” I said. “I’ll stay and chat with Ezekiel.”

  Man!

  Jazz couldn’t exit without a snarky comment. “What kind of ice cream do you want, Ma Bell?”

  “I don’t want any, thank you,” I said. I did want some. But I wasn’t about to give him any pleasure by letting him win this round.

  “Aw, don’t be shy. Think of little Jazz in there.” He knelt and talked to my tummy. “If you weren’t in there, son, I’d put your mommy over my knee and spank her big, blossoming behind for keeping you from me.”

  I crossed my arms over my belly. “I would never keep a baby from you, Jazz. And my butt isn’t blossoming. It’s merely…”

  “Getting really big?” Rocky offered.

  Jazz stopped still. Obviously another man talking about my butt had a Niagra Falls effect on him. Slooooowly he turned.

  I snatched his wrist and yanked him to me. Stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “I said no hitting. And I’m sure your girlfriend Nikki in there wants something sweet from you. Get going.”

  Jazz played along. Put his arms around my waist and yanked me closer. He grazed my ear with his lips and whispered, “You just make sure you get all the information you can out of Thunder, your other boyfriend. Pay attention to everything.”

  “I’m not pregnant,” I said when Jazz released me, hoping it would make Rocky and Ezekiel think that’s what we were talking about.

  Jazz pulled away from me. “I’m from Missouri, baby. Show me.”

  He waltzed out the door, leaving Ezekiel smiling at me.

  “He’s not from Missouri,” I said, at a loss for anything else to say. “He was born in Detroit.”

  “Ain’t love grand,” Thunder said.

  I seriously doubted it.

  chapter ten

  JAZZ HUSTLED—and I do mean hustled—Nikki, Zekia, and Zeke out of the house. Rocky had some administrative work to do, which left me with the task of prying information out of a man I considered my spiritual nemesis.

  Thunder helped me into the living room, my ankle still smarting. He placed his hand at the small of my back the way my husband does, emphasis on the way my husband does. I froze.

  “I don’t bite, darlin’.”

  “It’s not your bite that concerns me.”

  He chuckled, seated me as if he was a perfect gentleman, then, smooth as silk, eased himself down beside me on the sofa. “Isn’t this cozy,” he said in a voice that could make a fortune in late-night radio. “Now we can get to know one another.”

  “That’s what concerns me.” I didn’t want to know him. I needed information, that’s all.

  “We’ll just talk. I promise not to do anything to offend you.” He cocked his head and looked at me with a bemused expression.

  “Let me pray for that ankle, Bell.”

  “Sir, I don’t think—”

  Too late. Thunder placed his hand on my swollen ankle and began an earnest intercession. Odd. His hand felt warm. Something akin to peace flooded me. It felt nice. Too nice! I pulled away from him.

  “Thanks,” I muttered. We sat for a few moments until he broke the uncomfortable silence.

  “You know,” he said, crossing his legs, “I’ve known Rocky since he was a boy.”

  I crossed my arms, legs, too. “I know. He told me he came to Christ at a Thunder Kids Bible Camp.” I imagined the young towheaded boy Rocky must have been. Smiled at the thought. “What was he like back then?”

  Thunder took a deep breath and lowered his gaze. Another heavy sigh and a shake of his head. Then he smiled. I could tell he’d gotten caught up in the kind of nostalgia that could conjure both joy and pain. “Rock was a good kid, even then, but he had it rough.”

  “Really?”

  I uncrossed my arms. After all, besides angering me with his false prophecy about me being pregnant and his true one about the growth on my belly, he hadn’t done anything to me. And Rocky loved him. Couldn’t I give him a break for that alone?

  “His parents practically let the television raise him.”

  I thought about all of the television shows Rocky loved and the classic TV T-shirts he often wore. “He never told me that. I always thought he just loved television.”

  “TV was his friend. His family. He was a lonely kid. And a bit silly.”

  I laughed and echoed what Rocky had said to me earlier: “Some things never change.”

  Thunder laughed, too. “The boy craved love. Made quite a pest of himself to get my attention.”

  “You must have been good to him.”

  “I liked him. A lot. He just wanted to be loved, like all of us. I saw a lot of myself in him.”

  I thought about that statement. All of us want to be loved, and some of us make such a mess of things seeking it. “Rocky is one of the most loving people I know.”

  “He loves the stranger, all right, but he’s broken, too.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so, Bell. That’s why he clung to you. He knew you’d never love him back the same way he loved you. He repeated his childhood with you. He kept trying to win you over like he did with his parents. Never worked, did it, darlin’?”

  For all my astute knowledge of psychology, I’d never known Rocky’s parents ignored him like that. When we dated, and even before that when we were friends and comrades in ministry, he preferred to talk about me or God rather than himself. When he spoke of his parents, he never breathed a word about any emotional neglect. He described them as hardworking and good providers. Busy, he said, but never anything worse.

  That’s my Rocky.

  I’d met his folks a few times and could tell they didn’t care for his being with an older black woman, but I’d always thought the awkwardness I experienced in their presence was more about me, my age, and my color than the fact that Rocky didn’t have a great relationship with them.

  I shook my head. My heart ached for my friend. “I do love Rocky, but I was never meant to be his wife.”

  More silence. I pondered my sweet friend’s heart. “How did he become such a love bug?”

  “He wanted love, so he gave it freely. God rewarded him.”

  “But not with me.”

  “Bell, we all try to right our past wrongs with the new people in our lives. As a psychologist, you know this.”

  I filed that bit of info: we try to right our past wrongs.

  “You know, Rocky always tells me I don’t know how to be loved.”

  “He has trouble with it himself, darlin’. That’s why he could recognize it in you.”

&
nbsp; I went ahead and let him call me darlin’. “Anybody ever tell you that you’re a good psychologist, Reverend Thunder?”

  He placed his hand on mine, briefly, and pulled it away. “Call me Ezekiel.”

  We sat for a while, and I wondered if he’d lost himself in the thought of how hard simply loving is. When I could stand no more of my own reflections, I brought up what I wanted to know all along.

  “What happened to your son, Ezekiel?”

  “I don’t know, darlin’.” His soft, velvety voice could lull me to sleep. “They said he was having a bath when something went wrong.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Nikki.”

  “What did you think?”

  He gave me a quizzical look. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at. She told me my baby was dead. That’s what I thought about.”

  His defenses went up like Jazz’s blood pressure does when I say, “Rocky.” I needed to play this cool. Way cooler than I was. This time, I breached my own defenses and reached out to touch his hand.

  “Of course that’s what you thought about. I’m so sorry, Ezekiel.”

  Silence spread out between us once again. Ezekiel broke it this time. “Well,” he stretched “well” out to two syllables. “I did think it was a little strange that Zekia had bathed him. Sister Joy usually does.”

  Bingo! “Who is Sister Joy?”

  “She’s like our nanny. Really she’s been a lifelong friend. Stays with us.”

  “Is she the woman who was holding him at the crusade?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She watches him while Nikki sits in the pulpit with me.”

  “Where was Sister Joy when Zeekie drowned?”

  “She was in her room reading. She didn’t know Zekia was giving him a bath.”

  I settled back in the beige sofa cushions to think. So the nanny was otherwise occupied when he died. “And you say Zekia didn’t usually bathe him?”

  “No, she’s not a real motherly kind of girl. She’d never showed interest in giving him a bath.”

  Something struck me. “How often did Nikki bathe him?”

  “Not often, as far as I know. She’s not the motherly kind, either.”

  How could a perfectly healthy mother rarely bathe her own baby?

  Maybe she’s not perfectly healthy.