by Lolah Lace
Table of Contents
Bonus book >> ZEBRA CROSSING
Click ro read >> HEART OF GLASS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
Authors Note
ZEBRA CROSSING
By
Lolah Lace
Published by Lolah Lace
Copyright © 2016 by Lolah Lace
http://www.lolahlace.com
Cover Design by
JB Logics Covers & Graphics
Edited by
Melissa Harrison
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Lolah Lace is no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians, public figures or artists mentioned in the book.
All rights reserved.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted right is illegal. No part of this book or its text may be reproduced or transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews or without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
CONTENT WARNING:
This novel is considered romantic fiction. This is for mature audiences only. This book contains adult profane language, violence, strong sexual content and criminal elements.
*****
zebra crossing
noun
:an area of road painted with broad white stripes, where vehicles must stop if pedestrians wish to cross; a crosswalk.
CHAPTER 1
There was a distinct calmness that filled the air of suburbia. Hinsdale was an affluent place where the newly rich and old money laid their heads comfortably together. The selling point of the community was the liberal acceptance of all people. There was a wealth of diversity and a general tolerance of all cultures—as long as you could afford to live there.
Two teenage girls walked in sync down the flawless, newly paved sidewalk. Old Victorian style homes lined the background. The girls were dressed in identical cheerleader uniforms. The word Raiders stretched tightly across their ample bosoms. Their uniforms were red, white, and black, just one color off from good old Americana blue.
The taller girl was White with blonde hair, blue eyes, and an all-American, girl-next-door look. Her friend, at first glance, appeared to be Black, but on closer look had an olive complexion. Her eyes were hazel, a mild shade of green. She was undoubtedly mixed race with long, raven-colored hair pulled back into the traditional cheerleader’s high ponytail.
Although the girls were complete opposites in physical appearance there was something more than the uniforms that made them alike. Their walk, their mannerisms, their matching giggle, made it clear they were best friends, and it had probably been that way for a very long time.
“What if I get fat?” The racially ambiguous teen asked. Her ponytail swung from side to side brushing her shoulders.
“Christy, you will never be fat but your ass, I don’t know. I mean—Amber Rose better watch out.” The blonde joked.
Her bestie was rail thin. Not scary or anorexic just regular thin with a little more ass than the norm. Hailey wondered why this was even a topic of conversation. She also noticed her friend seemed hurt by the joke, although that wasn’t her intention.
“Whatever.” Christy pouted.
“OMG, I was just kidding. You are way too sensitive. Look at your mother, and then look at mine. Every time I put a donut in my mouth I hop on a scale. You will be genetically slim, like forever.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
Hailey decided to change the subject. “Did you see Jason Kramer hanging around at the beginning of practice?”
“Yeah, he reeks of cigarette smoke. Who smokes in this decade? That’s so twenty years ago.”
“I have never gotten close enough to smell him. He is a weirdo. And nail polish on a guy? I can barely deal with two earrings.” Hailey was repulsed by anything or anyone she considered different.
“Yeah, he’s weird, but he’s kind of cute.”
“Do you have molly in your backpack? Cute, never!”
“No, really … in an Edward Scissorhands—Jack Sparrow kind of way.”
“I have never seen those movies. My mom tried to force that crap on me. I refuse to watch those cry baby movies from the eighties and nineties. They’re not filmed in HD. I can’t deal with that blurry crap and the clothes, hideous.”
“Hailey, you are a trip.”
“I like to think of myself as an excursion.” Hailey giggled. “Honey, everyone can’t be as nice as you. You like everybody, and everybody likes you. Someone has to be the mean girl in this relationship, and I am Regina George.”
“I would agree.” Christy’s eyes scanned over to the house they were walking past. She noticed the shadowy figure of a man lurking through a sheer curtain on the second-floor window of the house. She looked away, dismissing it. She couldn’t think about the outside world at the moment. She had so many things on her mind. Her problems were life changing. She wished she could share them with her friend, but she knew this wasn’t the right time.
“Did you know Jason Kramer knew that girl that got murdered at the Oakbrook Mall?” Hailey seemed excited to gossip.
“Well, my sister said the police came to her job to question him.”
“Really?”
“Nothing ever happened.” Christy peered back up at the window. The man behind the curtain was gone.
“Seriously, your sister isn’t afraid he will kill everyone at work, you know go postal? That stuff does happen.”
“Hailey, seriously?” Christy rolled her eyes.
“He’s a psycho troublemaker. I think he deals drugs. You have to admit he’s really weird.”
“Weird yes, psycho killer, I think not. The girl at the mall was killed two months ago. If Jason was the killer they would have arrested him by now.”
“Maybe they didn’t have enough evidence to build a case. That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.”
“Maybe they didn’t have any evidence because he didn’t do it. My sister works with him, and she thinks he’s harmless.”
“Whatever. I will remember this conversation when it’s all over the news.”
Christy was sure Hailey would remember. She had the memory of a horde of elephants. “I’m sure you will.” She smirked.
“They kept putting pictures of the dead girl on the TV. I really feel bad for that girl’s family. She was so young and so pretty.” Hailey paused. “She kind of looked like you, a lot like you.”
They stopped w
alking when they reached an empty driveway. There was silence as Christy realized it was true. The murdered girl from the mall did look like her.
“I will text you in a few.”
“Okay,” Hailey smiled and winked. “Don’t have too much fun. You still have your English paper due tomorrow.”
“Yeah, okay bye.” Christy waved as she walked backward up the driveway of the house. Hailey watched her for a few seconds and fished her cell phone out of her book bag.
Hailey strolled down the sidewalk scrolling down the many open pages on her cell phone. Christy looked over at the house next door. She glanced up at the same second-floor window, and the lurking man had not returned. She punched the code into the box on the garage and waited for the two-car garage door to rise. She ducked under the moving door before it could go completely up to the top. She disappeared inside the garage. With her palm, she hit a button that made the garage door descended back down to the ground.
CHAPTER 2
A large hand wiped the condensation from the bathroom mirror. An extremely handsome, White teenage boy was staring at himself in the water-streaked mirror. He was wet and still shirtless from his recent shower. His ash-blonde hair was damp and unruly. His body was athletic and toned, more in the perfect form of a man instead of a teenage boy. His hairless baby face conveyed his youth, but his body defied that fact.
Matt Mathers put deodorant under his armpits as he sang the words to rapper Drake’s song “Hotline Bling” as it blasted from his adjoining bedroom.
Matt inspected the mustache he wished was existent. He flexed his impressive chest muscles and noticed a large cut on his wrist. The blood had started to bubble to the surface of his tanned, flawless skin. He opened the medicine cabinet above the sink. Matt inspected the bleeding wound before reaching into the cabinet for a box of empty Band-Aids.
No Band-Aids? He was pissed. A few drops of blood fell into the sink as Matt tossed the empty box into the wastebasket beside the toilet.
Grabbing the medical gauze from the top shelf, he wrapped it around his wrist. It barely covered the oblong wound. He cut the gauze with the scissors that were on top of the sink and slammed the cabinet shut. Matt turned to exit the bathroom, and the bath towel around his waist fell to the tiled floor.
Matt entered his bedroom. As he dressed, he danced and continued to rap the lyrics word-for-word. He was happy again. He grabbed his shorts and t-shirt and quickly dressed. Matt slid his feet into his expensive, fluorescent yellow and blue Nike Air Max tennis shoes. He laced them up and grabbed the remote off his unmade bed. He pushed one button on the remote, and the music stopped along with his hip-hop bravado.
He bolted out of his bedroom and down the second-floor hallway of his home. Matt went down the back staircase and out the backdoor of his house. He closed the door behind him and jumped down the deck steps that led to the yard. He hurried across the lawn to climb the wooden fence that separated his home from his neighbors.
Almost as soon as his feet hit the ground, he was at his neighbor’s back door. Matt swiftly turned the doorknob and entered without reservation, or the courtesy of a knock. This was a familiar route for him. He didn’t hesitate when taking it. He knew what was in store.
Accustomed to his destination, Matt ventured up the back stairs. His blissful state caused him to start rapping the words of Drake’s song. Once at the top of the staircase, he made it to the first room on the right. He opened the door and stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes scrutinized what lay before him.
“Christy,” Matt whispered faintly as his eyes adjusted to the scene.
His eyes grew large and his mouth gaped open. He took a brave step inside the room.
“CHRISTY!”
Matt stared down at her lifeless body on the hardwood floor. She was lying on her back still dressed in the bottom half of her cheerleader uniform, a short pleated skirt.
Matt was startled. His shock forced him to rush farther into the room. He knelt down at Christy’s head. It was covered with a bloodstained white blouse. Matt’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest. His hand crept toward the bloody blouse, and he slowly removed it from her face.
Christy’s dead eyes glared up at him. The sight of them thrust him backward onto the floor. He clumsily stumbled back falling on his butt. Fresh blood seeped out from underneath Christy and saturated the floor.
Matt staggered back onto his feet. Horrified, he realized he was still holding the bloody white blouse in his trembling hand. The blouse drifted from his hand and glided down to the floorboards.
He stood frozen as tears welled in his blue eyes. Matt reached down to touch her body. He gently shook her shoulder. He raised his hand to see it covered in her blood. Realizing his panic had taken over and delayed a practical sense of rationale, he then instantly backed through the bedroom door. Matt sprinted down the hall and down the stairs missing the last five steps and tumbling onto his rear end. He unlocked and opened the front door. His heavy feet raced out the door and tripped over a flower pot knocking it on its side.
Matt darted across the grass. The severity of the situation started to sink in, but he was still just a kid. He abruptly halted in the middle of the street. He didn’t know what to do.
“PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP ME!”
CHAPTER 3
Within minutes, the police descended on the property. It was now a crime scene. An unmarked Hinsdale Police car pulled up in front of 151 Briar Lane. The entire front yard was roped off with yellow crime scene tape. A small group of onlookers had formed on the sidewalk around the house.
Homicide detectives, Tami Johnson and her partner John Turner, emerged from the unmarked, late model Chevy Impala.
Tami was thirty-two but looked no more than twenty-four on the days she got a good night’s rest. She looked too young to be a detective. She dressed older than her age to make up for it. She knew her looks could be a downfall in the male dominated career she chose.
She was a stunningly attractive, honey colored Black woman even under her basic disguise. No make-up, no flash or jazz, just straight dark brown hair pulled away from her face. Her gun and her badge completed her daily ensemble. Tami used only her intellect to get the job, and she wanted to make sure that everyone knew it.
Her partner, John Turner, was a tall, older Black man with a medium build. The other officers on the force said he had a strong resemblance to actor Samuel L. Jackson. Detective Turner thought of it as a compliment.
Tami knew it was rare to have two Black cops partnered up on an affluent suburban police force that was predominantly male and Caucasian. She often wondered how she got so lucky with a seasoned vet like Turner. They were paired up after John’s partner retired. Tami was elated because she respected Detective Turner. She knew she would have the least amount of problems with her own kind. She knew he would never hit on her. He had always treated her like a daughter.
Detective Johnson and Detective Turner walked up the long driveway to the well-kept house. A uniformed rookie police officer stood next to a patrol car.
“Detectives.” The rookie officer greeted them as they approached.
Detective Turner stopped. “Are you first on the scene?” He asked the rookie officer.
“No sir, I got here a little …”
Tami continued walking up the driveway leaving Detective Turner with the rookie. She reached the entrance of the home, and there was a Black lady officer guarding the door. Tami liked seeing more diversity on the force. There were only a few African American police officers, and although she didn’t fraternize with this Black officer and couldn’t remember her name she still smiled at her every time they crossed paths.
“Hey.” Tami greeted the young female cop.
“Detective Johnson.” The cop formally greeted her. “It’s real bad in there. It’s a young girl.” The cop leaned in towards Tami. “She’s Black.” The rookie breathed in a faint whisper.
Tami proceeded through the doorway and into the house with the sho
ck of the officer’s revelation on her mind. The victim is Black. The race of the victim shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did and she had her reasons why.
The Hinsdale suburb only had a fifteen percent Black population. You had to have money to live here, and judging by the size of this huge, old house this family had money, more than enough.
The foyer was large, and there was a staircase at its rear. There were a few officers milling about. Tami glanced to her left and in the distance spotted a bloody teenage boy. Matt was sitting on a couch next to a uniformed police officer.
Tami’s boss Lieutenant Meyers walked up and almost startled her. Lieutenant Meyers was a balding Irish man in his fifties. He was gray in the places where he still had hair. He could stand to lose a few pounds, but he may have been slightly handsome back in his heyday.
“Johnson, you got Turner with you?”
“Yes sir, he’s right outside.” Tami questioned her lieutenant’s attire with her inquisitive eyes.
He noticed her scowl. “I was at Target when I heard the sirens. I followed them over here. Good thing I did.” He explained. “This is big.”
Tami preferred to see him in his suit and not this ugly Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts. She wasn’t really feeling his flip-flops either. Her boss was just too swimming pool causal for her taste.
Tami looked back over at Matt. “Who’s the kid?”
“Matthew Mathers, he lives next door. He found the body. The victim lives here, a seventeen-year-old girl.”
“You got her name?”
“Christy Toliver.”
“Did they locate her parents?”
“Not yet. This thing just happened. The body was still warm when the officers arrived.”
Tami glanced back over at Matt. This time he looked directly at her. He placed his head in his hands as he rested his forearms on his knees.
