The Eternal Engagement
Page 26
How long was Nyle going to hold out without answering me? I refused to say another word. If he was done, so was I.
My father was a self-made multimillionaire. If Charles Singleton owned all the gold in Fort Knox, it wouldn’t be enough and it’d never make him happy. He was so driven by greed he didn’t know how to enjoy life or value people. Money was his god.
I still didn’t believe my mother accidentally fell down the stairs. Never saw her insurance policy but knowing my father he’d probably collected a hefty seven figures. My father told us he had our mama cremated. Her family begged for a memorial service. They had no legal rights. Jasmine Singleton had no funeral. Dysfunctional as we were, until the day Mama died and Siara was sold, we were a family. Shortly after Mama’s ashes were scattered over the Gulf of Mexico, my daddy became richer. My gut told me there was no wake because there was no death. Perhaps that was my wishful belief.
The man that I wanted couldn’t be bought. If I were more like my father, I’d pay Roosevelt’s wife to leave him alone. If she’d refused, I’d hire a hit man.
Nyle had ten minutes. If I stood, I was leaving and not coming back.
I was thirty. Ready to walk down the aisle and eventually breastfeed Roosevelt’s children. Unlike my father, I knew how to be happy. I think.
Tired of Madison Tyler-DuBois interfering with my getting her husband, I added her to Sindy’s shit list. I was about to strip that bitch of her last name like she’d lost an all-or-nothing game of poker. It was time for her to find herself another man. The horrible things she’d done, she should’ve petitioned for their divorce.
Madison was responsible for her husband having been shot, then she’d taken him off the respirator hoping he’d die. God had a different plan. Her soon-to-be ex-husband had survived. And rather than her letting him love me, she’d prefer to keep him and smother his generous forgiving spirit. Her having his baby was the last lucky charm I was going to snatch from her.
Roosevelt had no idea what to do with Madison. Keep her? Let her go? Stay for the baby? Men generally embraced the “Do as I say” philosophy. The women, “Do as I do.” Neither gave a damn about how the other felt as long as the other obeyed. Madison wasn’t the conforming type. Neither was I. I was a true Southern belle born and wrapped in a Republican cloak of cutthroat confidence.
I was soft, only on the outside.
Three minutes.
When I saw on the news that Roosevelt “Chicago” DuBois had been shot three times, I had to find out who wanted him dead and why. Granville pulled the trigger but that imbecile could never mastermind an execution. Right now, I was getting involved with every aspect. That was why I was sitting in this freezing room instead of being outside in the sunny eighty-degree weather.
Nyle stared at me. “Welcome back,” he said.
“Same to you.” I’d drifted into my own world but where had he gone?
“Granville is so dumb he’s actually smart. Tell me what I need to do to walk out of here. I’ll make sure it’s done.”
Nyle’s son was in my I’m Not Locked Up nonprofit program for kids with parents in jail. His son was an amazingly brilliant child. Landry was so impressive that six months ago I accompanied him on a visit here to the Federal Detention Center to meet his father.
I had to know what kind of man could have single-parented a brilliant child then end up behind bars. I’d learned that Nyle had an office downtown. He represented hundreds of clients for a decade. Problem was, he’d never passed the bar. His degree was real. His credentials weren’t valid. How could people retain a lawyer without certifying if the attorney was legit?
I agreed. “Granville is the smartest dumbest person I’ve witnessed as well. Do you know how many inmates represent themselves and get off? Almost none. Hearing Granville question Chaz, watching him get Loretta arrested, seeing him present that sex tape of Madison, made me realize we cannot underestimate this guy. When he degraded Roosevelt on the stand. Made a mockery of my man. That was it. We’ve got to get him to state and I’m not talking about a high school championship. Prison is where Granville belongs.”
“What do I need to do this time?” Nyle asked.
“Tell the guard to inform the warden that Granville Washington is attempting to kill Roosevelt again. Then—”
Shaking his head, Nyle interrupted. “How do you know this?”
“Trust me. I do. All I need you to say is Granville told you this in confidence before his release. Then you must insist that they issue a search warrant for all of his property. His apartment, his car, his mama’s house, and her grave.”
Leaning back, Nyle said, “Her what?”
I was the type of woman who believed in staying three steps ahead of all men. Perhaps Granville wouldn’t do such a thing but the gun hadn’t been found after the shooting. He either knew where it was or now that he was out of jail he had it in his possession. The guy had proven he wasn’t dumb. Playpens, cemeteries, cereal boxes, diaper bags were just a few of the countless places I’d discovered where criminals had hidden weapons.
“You heard me right. Her grave. Her services are tomorrow. If Granville has that gun, he’s going to get rid of it. Tell them to dig up Sarah Lee Washington, search the soil, and her coffin. Roosevelt’s life is dependent on you.” I’d make a few calls later today and have someone secretly videotape Sarah’s funeral from beginning to end.
Roosevelt was a good man. He was the youngest vice president/general manager in the league and we were blessed to have him for our football team. After all the wrong his wife had done to him, he did all the right things for her. A man that wonderful deserved a wife like me.
I didn’t disclose to Nyle the details of what the authorities would find. What my father had done, I was about to undo.
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Copyright © 2011 by Mary B. Morrison
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