Was that a Dodge Magnum parked across the street from the Tudor?
I wanted to stop and look, but Alexandra was already in the process of retrieving the to-go bag from the passenger side of her car. If I took the time to pull into the driveway across the street to check the make and model of the car parked there, she’d be inside by the time I caught up. And then it might be too late.
I pulled into the driveway behind her and jumped out, as quickly as the stomach allowed. It tends to get wedged between the seat and the steering wheel these days, so everything takes a little longer.
“Wait!”
Alexandra sighed, but stopped. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to Jamal,” I said. “Just for a minute.”
She headed up the flagstone path to the front door, and I followed. “Is that his car across the street? In Maybelle’s driveway?”
Alexandra’s steps slowed, and she turned to glance across the street. “No. I picked him up. He didn’t want his car sitting here, in case any of the neighbors noticed, and told Dad.”
“So whose car is it? Is something going on at Maybelle’s house?”
“I don’t know,” Alexandra said, shifting the bag with the hamburgers to the other hand to fish for her keys in her bag.” It wasn’t there when I left. Looks like it belongs to one of the Sopranos.” She grinned.
Or another gangster type. “Is that what a Dodge Magnum looks like?”
Alexandra shrugged. “How would I know? Do I look like I care about cars?” She pulled the keys out of her bag and turned to the door.
“Wait a second,” I said.
“Why?” But she waited.
“I’m not sure I like this.” Correction: I was quite sure I didn’t like it. “Jamal must have heard us drive up. Why isn’t he opening the door for you, so you don’t have to juggle both the burgers and the keys?”
“He’s asleep?” Alexandra suggested, jingling the keys. I winced, and she added, “What’s wrong, Savannah?”
“I have a feeling,” I said. “A bad feeling. And it might be my imagination. But I don’t think so.” I told her about the black car I’d seen driving away from my house around the time gang banger number 2 had been put out of his misery, and the car that had been seen driving away from the duplex after the firebomb. “Rafe said it was a Dodge Magnum. A black Dodge Magnum. If that’s a Dodge Magnum over there, it could be the same car.”
“What’s it doing here?” Alexandra asked, eyeing it.
“Well, if it is the same car, I assume the guy in it is looking for Jamal.” And at this point we had no idea whether he was inside the car—the windows were too dark to see anything—or whether he was in Maybelle’s house, keeping an eye on us from across the street, or whether he was already inside Alexandra’s house.
“Why would he want Jamal?” Alexandra asked.
“Because he’s eliminated all three of the guys from the rival gang who weren’t arrested on Friday. And Jamal’s still walking around.”
“But Jamal didn’t do anything!”
I shushed her. For all we knew, the guy was standing just inside the door listening to us. “Put down the burgers for a second and get away from the door.”
Alexandra rolled her eyes, but she did as I asked.
“Come on.”
I herded her away from the door, toward the corner of the house. There were no windows there, and if we whispered, maybe he wouldn’t be able to hear us.
If he was inside, that was, and wasn’t taking aim at us from the house across the street.
Did these types have long range rifles, or just pistols? Could a pistol hit us at that distance?
Maybe we’d better get behind the house, just in case. A bullet couldn’t go through brick; I did know that much.
I led the way, hugging the side of the house, until we were safely tucked away behind the chimney, half hidden by a couple of holly bushes, in a spot where I felt pretty certain that no one inside the house could hear us talk, and nobody could shoot us, at least not from across the street. The leaves were prickly where they touched my bare arms and legs, but being safe felt good.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” I said, keeping my voice just above a whisper.
Alexandra nodded.
“I’ve only been here a couple of times, but there’s a patio on the back of the house, right? One where we can see in?”
“There are French doors from the family room,” Alexandra confirmed, “and a single door from the kitchen. There are windows in both.”
Good. We’d easily be able to see in. My days of climbing trees and walls are long behind me, and in my current condition, I’m not sure I could, anyway. What if I fell?
And since Alexandra was in the same condition I was—even if her baby was a bit more padded than mine—I didn’t want to risk her health on climbing, either. If she decided not to keep the baby, that was her business, but I wasn’t going to make her risk losing it before she’d made up her mind.
“The first thing we need to do, is see whether the guy is inside.”
“Shouldn’t we call the cops?”
We could. But if the car in Maybelle’s driveway belonged to some innocent relative going through Maybelle’s filing cabinet looking for information on her mortgage lien, nobody would thank us for wasting taxpayer money. I have no problem calling in reinforcements when I need them, but I do want to be sure it’s not a false alarm before I do.
“If we see him, we will. But let’s make sure first.”
We made our way carefully out from behind the holly bushes and crept along the wall to the corner of the house. There we surveyed the backyard for any sign of activity—there was none, apart from a squirrel hopping across the grass with something in his mouth—before we ducked around the corner.
The patio was up ahead: a beautiful half-circle of stone pavers inside a hip-height brick wall. Heavy planters sat at intervals, brimming over with late-summer flowers.
“Your dad probably uses a landscaper,” I muttered.
Alexandra shrugged. I took that to be a yes.
Not that I have any room to talk. My mother does the same thing. It’s just us plebeians who have to mow our own lawns and water our own flowers.
I hoisted myself up and over the wall. Alexandra legged it after me, and we hugged the wall again, up on the patio this time.
The double doors to the family room were ahead. We crept forward. Once we arrived safely, we carefully extended our noses past the edge of the glass and peered in.
I remembered the room. Once upon a time—just about a year ago—I had sat in that room while Alexandra confessed to her father that instead of spending the night at her friend Lynne’s house, she’d gone to a party at her boyfriend’s place. Her very unsuitable boyfriend, whom Brenda had tried to buy off.
I wondered whether Steven would be any more taken with Jamal. Had he even known about Maurice Washington until that night? Knowing Brenda, she probably wouldn’t have told him. She’d been the kind of woman who just had to control everything and everyone around her, and handle everything herself.
Although Jamal did have the benefit of gainful employment, even if he had quite a lot of other strikes against him.
As long as we could keep him employed, that was.
“I see him,” Alexandra breathed.
I pulled my wayward thoughts back. “Jamal?”
She nodded.
“Alone?” I couldn’t see him. Not yet. “Where is he?”
“Dining room table,” Alexandra said softly. “Through the door.”
Ah, yes. There was a door on the other side of the family room, and through it, we could see a sliver of the dining room. And a sliver of Jamal. He was sitting on a chair, half hidden behind the wall. I could see his profile, his nose and mouth and forehead, but most of his face wasn’t in view. Most of his body was gone, too, save for his hands and arms. They were conspicuously folded on the table, as if someone had told him to keep his hands in sigh
t.
Or maybe I was just imagining that. But he wasn’t doing anything. Not reading a book or manipulating his phone or even fiddling with something. Just sitting, with his hands folded.
Most people don’t behave that way naturally.
“At least he isn’t dead,” I said.
Alexandra drew in a quick breath, and I added, “Sorry.”
She shook her head.
“Where can we go to see more of the dining room? Can we see another part of it from over there?” I glanced at the kitchen door, up ahead by another fifteen feet or so.
She nodded. We moved forward. Passing in front of the glass double doors was a little scary, but I figured if we couldn’t see anyone else, he couldn’t see us, either. And nobody tried to shoot at us, so it was all good.
A few seconds later we reached the kitchen door, and repeated the process with the noses.
The kitchen was big and fancy, filled with dark wood cabinets and marble counters. Very ostentatious. Very Brenda.
Very empty. There was a butler’s door between the kitchen and the dining room—the kind that swings but doesn’t latch—and it had been pinned against the wall with what looked like a cast-iron dachshund. I guess someone had gotten tired of it swinging a million times a day.
A man was sitting at the dining table with his back to us. And he was a big man, so it was hard to see past him. Jamal was tall, so we could see the top of his head above the crown of the other guy, but that was pretty much it.
The guy was black, I could see that much. Short and squat, with a shaved head, wearing an oversized sports jersey. And I could see the gun in his hand. It was pointed at Jamal.
I could see something else, too. My own face, reflected in the mirror above the sideboard behind Jamal.
Twenty-One
“Shit!”
I ducked and pushed Alexandra away.
“What?”
“Mirror! Move!”
She shot a startled glance through the window, and then she moved. We scrambled across the patio again, basically flinging ourselves over the low wall, and ducked behind the corner of the house. And there we stood, trying to catch our breath and pricking our ears to hear if the patio doors opened.
Nothing happened.
“Now can we call the cops?” Alexandra asked after a minute.
We’d better. I reached for my phone, only to realize I’d left it—along with my entire purse—on the passenger seat of my car. “Damn. I mean... darn.”
“I have mine,” Alexandra said. She reached for her back pocket, and that’s when we heard a click behind us.
My heart stopped for a second, before it kicked into double-time.
We both turned around, slowly, raising our hands. There’s something automatic about it, when someone has a gun. And I was pretty sure that click I’d heard was the safety coming off a pistol.
It was. The guy from the dining room was standing behind us—or in front of us now—with his weapon pointed squarely our way.
So much for thinking he hadn’t noticed our faces in the mirror. Obviously he had, but instead of coming out through the patio doors, he’d gone through the front instead. A pincer movement, or whatever Rafe would call it.
Alexandra squeaked and ducked behind me. I held my ground and looked him straight in the eye. His were small and beady black, deep-set in a face as round as the moon. “What did you do to Jamal?”
I got the immediate feeling my lack of fear frustrated him. That he expected me to cower and cringe at the sight of the gun. And it wasn’t like I particularly enjoyed having it pointed at me. But to be honest, I’d had a lot of guns pointed my way, and I’d only been shot once. Chances were I’d make it through this with my life, too. He had no reason to shoot me. It was Jamal he was after.
“Is he OK?” Alexandra added, her voice shaking. “Did you kill him?”
I glanced over my shoulder. “He didn’t.”
We would have heard it, had this guy shot him while we’d stood here. There was no silencer on the gun. I don’t know much, but I do know that. He couldn’t have shot Jamal within the last minute, right inside the house, without us hearing.
It clearly made him happy that she was upset by the thought, though. My attitude didn’t please him near as much.
“Homeboy and I ain’t done talking,” he said. “When we done, maybe I kill him.”
“And maybe you won’t,” I said. “You’ve killed a few people already this weekend. Are you sure you want to increase the body count? It won’t help your chances any when they catch you.”
“They gotta catch me first.” He grinned.
He had two gold teeth in the front of his mouth. And unlike Rafe’s, I’m sure these weren’t designed to come off.
One of the gold plates had a design and looked like it was set with a diamond, although I guess it was more likely to be a cubic zirconia. Surely nobody would risk putting a diamond in a place like that?
It probably just looked extra faceted and shiny because it was wet.
He gave me a belligerent look. “What you looking at, bitch?”
“The stone on your tooth,” I said, making the choice to ignore the insult. “Diamond?”
He grinned. “Ladies dig the diamond.”
Sure they do. “Aren’t you afraid it’s going to fall off one night when you’re brushing, and you’ll lose it down the drain?”
He looked blank.
“Never mind,” I said. Maybe he didn’t brush. “So what did you do with Jamal? You didn’t shoot him. We would have heard the shot. And I didn’t see a handy coil of rope on the dining room table, so you probably didn’t tie him up...”
He growled, and sounded like a rabid dog. “You always talk so much, bitch?”
“I’m afraid I do,” I said, since I know that sometimes, if I keep talking long enough, I get rescued from situations like this. And even if that doesn’t happen, I give myself time to come up with something useful I can do to extricate myself from trouble.
If he really had done something to incapacitate Jamal, we were likely to be on our own in this case.
Unfortunately, I’d left my handbag with my handy-dandy lipstick-canister pepper spray and serrated knife in my car.
“Why don’t we go inside and talk this through?” Maybe there, I’d come across something I could use for a weapon. There was nothing out here. The flower urns on the patio were too heavy, and there was nothing else on offer. No lose bricks in the chimney or anything like that. Steven kept the place in good repair. “The longer we stand here, the more likely someone will drive by and see us.”
He contemplated me in silence for a second, with eyes that were flat and black and totally devoid of emotion. For that moment or two, he really did look like he’d shoot me as soon as look at me, and leave me here, just so he wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore. I felt a chill creep down my spine.
But he must have realized that that would attract attention, and my suggestion made more sense, because he gestured with the gun. “Yeah. Good idea. Move, bitch.”
I moved. Alexandra scrambled after me, and fumbled for my hand. “What are we going to do?”
“What he says,” I told her, wrapping my fingers around hers. “You just worry about keeping yourself alive.”
She sniffled but didn’t say anything else.
We rounded the corner and headed for the front door.
No sooner had we stepped across the threshold than Mr. Gang Banger slammed it behind us and locked it. “Brought you your girlfriend,” he announced loudly, followed by a word I’m too delicate to repeat.
There was no answer, and Mr. Gang Banger clearly didn’t like that. He pushed us ahead of him toward the dining room. Alexandra sniffed and stumbled. I looked around for something I might use as a weapon.
There wasn’t much on offer. A big vase it would be satisfying to break over the bastard’s head, but it was on the other side of the room. He’d shoot me before I could get to it.
There w
ere tools beside the fireplace, among them what looked like a nice, heavy iron poker. And that I could get to—it was just a few feet away—but it would take too long to get it out of the stand. And again, he’d shoot me.
And then we were through the living room and into the dining room, where Jamal was slumped over the table.
Alexandra shrieked. She dropped my hand and ran for him.
The gang banger cursed and brought the gun up.
I didn’t wait, just threw myself at it. From the side, so there was no chance he’d shoot me. I was more worried about Alexandra and Jamal.
The shot went wide and took out the glass in one of the windows. The entire pane collapsed in a deafening crash. The pistol fell to the floor and slid. Alexandra screamed, and Jamal swore.
Alexandra stopped screaming and stared at him.
The gang banger dove for the gun. I went in the other direction, for the fireplace poker.
It was heavier than I had expected it to be. Real iron. No effete modern replicas for Steven Puckett. It was the kind of poker you could have used to roast a whole pig, at least if the pig was fairly small.
We came up at the same time, the gang banger brandishing his gun and me clutching the poker.
He grinned. The diamond glinted.
My eyes narrowed.
And then Alexandra rose from the table like the vengeance of God and cracked him over the head with the centerpiece.
I dodged, just in case the gun went off.
It didn’t. Instead, it clattered to the floor. The gang banger himself fell like a redwood, with a thud that shook the house. The centerpiece—a misshapen but solid ceramic bowl, maybe something Alexandra or Austin had made in art class when they were younger—fell on top of him and then off onto the floor, all without breaking. The contents— half a dozen ripe peaches—rolled across the floor in all directions.
I raised the fireplace poker, just in case he needed another whack to stay down. But he didn’t move.
“Ohmigod!” Alexandra squeaked, turning it into a single word. “Ohmigod! Is he dead? Did I kill him?”
“Find out, please.” My voice was a little strained. The poker was heavy, and keeping it lifted taxed the muscles in my arms. But at the same time I wasn’t about to put it down until I knew for sure it wouldn’t be needed.
Uncertain Terms (Savannah Martin Mysteries Book 12) Page 25
