Donetta looked at Geneva. “Honey . . . you okay?”
Geneva shook her head from side to side. “No, I’m not. I need to go home.”
From that moment forward, the salon was filled with voracious gossip, wild speculation, and unfounded theories about the murder case that had rocked Amber. Johnny Mayfield had done so many people wrong that a different suspect had popped up each week after his death. Mostly everyone in town believed that his scorned ex-lover, Vivana, had done it, while there were a select few who believed Vivana’s claim that she’d been framed. But there were only four people who knew without a doubt that Vivana was innocent. One of them was dead, one was sitting in jail, one was Johnny’s real killer—the honorable and well-respected councilwoman, Charlene Harris—and the last person who knew the identity of Johnny’s real killer was the person who’d sent Councilwoman Harris a mysterious text, telling her that they had proof that she’d done it.
Later that night, nearly everyone in Amber was held captive in front of their televisions as they watched Vivana’s defiant face and listened to her lawyer’s self-assured words. People from one end of town to the other were abuzz with chatter and speculation, and there were a few who were more than a little concerned, namely Geneva, Donetta, and especially Charlene Harris. Each one of the women knew that in the days to come, this would be a holiday they’d never forget.
Chapter 2
GENEVA
The two loves of Geneva Owens’s life were her loving husband, Samuel, and their adorable ten-month-old daughter, Gabrielle. They added meaning and purpose to everything she did, and she looked forward to coming home to them at the end of each day. But this afternoon wasn’t one of those days, and as Geneva drove home—ten miles above the speed limit—she prayed that Samuel and Gabrielle wouldn’t be there when she arrived.
Geneva breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she opened the garage door and saw the empty space where Samuel’s SUV was usually parked. “Thank goodness Samuel’s already on his way to the airport,” she whispered to herself.
A small twinge of guilt pulled at Geneva’s stomach for feeling that way, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want her husband or daughter there because she needed to be alone so she could sort out her thoughts in peace. She’d been stressed and anxious ever since she’d seen Vivana’s face flash across the television screen at her salon this afternoon. From that moment forward, Geneva had not been able to shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.
After she removed her clothes and changed into her comfortable lounge pants and matching shirt, Geneva went into her den. She curled her feet under her hips as she leaned back into the comfort of her brown chenille sofa. She looked to her right and picked up a beautifully framed picture of Samuel, Gabrielle, and herself, and let out a sigh. “I’ve got to keep them safe,” she said. “Nothing else matters.”
Geneva didn’t know what Vivana was cooking up, but there was one thing she was certain of, and that was the fact that nothing good could come of anything Vivana Jackson was involved in. The thought was nearly too much for her to process, and again, she was glad the house was empty. She looked at her watch and noted the time. “They probably won’t be back home for at least another hour or two.”
With Thanksgiving only two days away, Samuel’s parents were coming to town to celebrate the holidays and he’d taken Gabrielle with him to pick them up from the airport. Geneva had been excited about her in-laws’ visit. She loved Samuel’s mother and father as if they were her own parents, and their love for her was equally sincere. But at the moment, Herbert and Sarah Owens were pushed to the back of Geneva’s mind, thanks to her new worries surrounding Vivana.
Geneva picked up the TV remote control and flipped to the local news station that was set to air Vivana’s interview. “Whatever craziness that woman is scheming, I know it has trouble written all over it,” she whispered as she sat on the edge of her couch, as stiff as a park statue. She stared at the TV in disbelief. “This can’t be happening,” she whispered again, bringing her hand to her mouth at the sight of Vivana’s face on the screen. “What in the world is that psychopath up to?”
Geneva was struck by the change in Vivana’s appearance. Vivana had once been a full-figured beauty who had been meticulous about her appearance. But in the span of the two years that she’d been incarcerated, the woman looked as though she’d aged a decade. Her smooth skin had become wrinkled, her vibrant eyes had lost their sparkle, and the apples of her cheeks had begun to sag. She fidgeted back and forth, constantly tucking and retucking her salt-and-pepper strands behind her ear. Geneva knew that was the nervous habit of someone who had something to hide.
Geneva watched without blinking as a haggard but defiant-looking Vivana Jackson spoke freely, proclaiming her innocence. Geneva paid close attention to Vivana’s every word and movement, and she noticed that the woman’s eyes, now weathered with tiny crow’s-feet on each side, still harbored a wild emptiness that was almost frightening. She had the look of someone whose burdens ran deep and whose capacity for ruthlessness flowed even deeper.
“My story has never changed and it never will,” Vivana said resolutely.
Geneva gasped because Vivana looked into the camera as if she was speaking directly to her, and it sent chills up her arm.
“I said it two years ago, and I’ll say it again,” Vivana continued, “I didn’t kill Johnny. He wronged a whole lot of people, and that’s where the focus should’ve always been . . . on those other people, not me. I’ve been locked up for a crime that I didn’t commit while the real killer is still out there. But believe me,” she said as a menacing smirk overtook her lips, “what’s done in the dark always comes to the light, and that light’s about to shine real bright because—”
“Yes,” her attorney said, cutting Vivana off in midsentence. “Ms. Jackson is innocent of the murder of Johnny Mayfield. She was framed and was wrongly convicted and incarcerated while the real killer is still at large. Once I present the judge with the new evidence next week, I’m confident that my client will be vindicated.”
The news reporter launched question after question, aimed at both Vivana and her attorney, hoping to get more detailed information about what type of new evidence was going to be introduced that would prove Vivana’s innocence. Although it was clear to see that Vivana wanted to say more, as was evidenced by her edgy behavior and shifting eyes, she remained silent under the advice of her attorney. Finally, after several minutes of unsuccessful probing, the reporter gave up and went to commercial break.
“I don’t know what to think,” Geneva whispered aloud as she shook her head. She knew from firsthand experience what Vivana was capable of, and that knowledge made her feel a little afraid. “I’ve got to shake this off. I can’t let this get to me.”
Not since Johnny’s death had she felt so many conflicting emotions. But oddly, her anxiety and heavy heart hadn’t come from the grief or sadness that most people experienced when losing someone; rather, Geneva had been unnerved because she felt an overwhelming amount of guilt.
Geneva hadn’t been completely surprised on the fateful morning she’d learned that Johnny had been murdered. At the time, she and Johnny had been estranged. Geneva had left him, and they’d been separated for several months pending divorce. In that time she’d moved on, met and fallen in love with Samuel, and had been more than ready to start a new life after the hell Johnny had put her through during their five and a half years of marriage. He’d been a dishonest, deceitful, womanizing dog whom Geneva had grown to detest toward the end of their turbulent union. And even though Johnny had been the guilty party in their relationship, he had contested the divorce and had vowed to fight her to the bitter end.
The week before Johnny was killed, he had come by the salon where Geneva worked and begged for her forgiveness. He’d told her that he was remorseful about the way he’d mistreated her and taken her for granted for so many years. But in the process of his apology he’d caused a scene in front of her c
lients, and Geneva had no patience for him or his drama. All she’d wanted to do was remove him from the salon and from her life. She told him to leave and she even walked him to the front steps, and that’s when things turned from bad to worse.
Geneva and Johnny had exchanged heated words before Geneva made the misstep of telling him that she was in love with another man. Hearing that news sent Johnny over the edge. He’d impulsively grabbed her arm, and as she pulled away, she’d lost her balance, and caused them both to tumble down the salon’s steep steps and hit the hard concrete one story below. That single fall cemented both their fates. Geneva had ended up in the hospital, where the doctors revealed that she’d been pregnant and had lost the baby. Her grief had been heavy, and was made worse by the fact that Johnny came out of the accident without so much as a scratch.
That night, as Geneva lay in her hospital bed, she’d prayed for Johnny’s death. She’d prayed that he would befall a slow and painful demise, and that he would suffer greatly. A week later her plea was answered. Johnny was shot in the chest at point-blank range, and he’d died slowly, suffocating on his own blood as a result of his fatal wound. When Geneva had heard the news, guilt had crept in.
Geneva shivered at the thought. She turned off the TV and slowly rose from the couch. She walked into her spacious gourmet kitchen, filled her stainless steel teakettle with water, and reached into the cabinet for a box of her favorite herbal tea. “I need this to calm my nerves,” she said aloud. She shook her head when she thought about the fact that there was a time not too long ago when a glass of wine would have been her drink of choice to calm her anxiety. But during her pregnancy, Donetta had persuaded her to start drinking herbal tea. “Honey, folks sleep on tea, thinking it’s weak. They just don’t know that it’s the liquid of the gods.”
Geneva had to admit that Donetta had been right. Orange hibiscus had become her favorite lately, but as she stood by the stove waiting for the water in her kettle to whistle, the anticipation of the flavorful taste was overshadowed by whatever scheme she knew Vivana was plotting.
Geneva hadn’t been shocked that Vivana had killed Johnny; after all, she was the same woman who had deceived Geneva for months. Vivana had walked into the salon where Geneva had been working and said her name was Cheryl, and that she was newly divorced and had just moved to Amber for a fresh start. She’d struck a chord with Geneva, who’d been on that same path and had just filed paperwork to divorce Johnny.
But as time went on, Geneva, as well as everyone else at the salon, quickly realized that Cheryl was unstable and had major problems. She was moody, attitudinal, arrogant, and obnoxiously rude. Geneva eventually found out that Cheryl’s real name was Vivana, and that she’d assumed that identity so she could find out everything there was to know about her, and then kill her. During Johnny’s murder trial Vivana had even confessed that her plan had been to kill Geneva first, and then do away with Johnny as payback for all the pain they’d both caused her. But she’d said that someone had gotten to Johnny first, foiling her plans.
Geneva’s mind kept replaying the look she’d seen in Vivana’s eyes when the disturbed woman had been on the witness stand. It was the same look Vivana had during the interview tonight, and Geneva knew that meant that if Vivana got free, she’d come looking for her to finish what she’d started.
As Geneva poured her tea and waited for her husband, daughter, and in-laws to arrive, she knew she had to do what she’d been putting off for the last two years. Tomorrow, while she was out running errands and getting food for her family’s holiday feast, one of the top things on her list was going to include paying a visit to Rusty’s Pawn Shop so she could buy a gun.
Chapter 3
CHARLENE
Councilwoman Charlene Harris was a responsible woman who always followed the rules of proper order and conduct. She’d never been arrested, had never been late with a mortgage payment, and had never bounced a check. She always treated people with kindness and was generous to a fault. Yet with all her glowing attributes she was a cold-blooded murderer.
Charlene was normally calm and rational, but right now she felt out of control and reckless as she pressed her cream-colored Valentino heel against the pedal of her luxury sedan, sending her car flying down the highway. She couldn’t care less about the fact that she was driving twenty-five miles over the posted speed limit, because all she could concentrate on was getting home so she could plan what her next move was going to be.
“I’ve got to find out what’s going on,” Charlene said aloud. Her slender fingers were tightly gripped around her steering wheel as she continued to drive at breakneck speed. “I need to know what Vivana’s up to and what kind of evidence she has.”
Charlene took a quick glance into her rearview mirror and barely recognized the tired-looking eyes of the woman staring back at her. In just a few hours she’d gone from feeling on top of the world with the anticipation of seeing her children for the holidays, to worrying about her future, and more specifically, her freedom. “I wish I’d never laid eyes on him,” she said with a heavy sigh as she thought about Johnny Mayfield. “If I’d just gone back to my office that day, none of this would’ve ever happened.”
Charlene’s mind flashed back to the day she met Johnny Mayfield. She’d just filed for divorce and had been looking for a new home to start a new life. A young couple she knew had highly recommended their Realtor, who happened to be Johnny. Charlene had agreed to meet him at a coffee shop to discuss what type of property she was looking for, and when she’d walked in and seen him, it had been lust at first sight. Johnny had been well-dressed, charming, and so sexy that she couldn’t help but be flattered when he’d started flirting with her. He’d made her feel young, beautiful, and desired, and she’d basked in the attention. They’d exchanged heated glances as they sipped their coffee, and before Charlene had known it, an hour later she was having unbridled sex with Johnny in one of the vacant units inside a small apartment building he’d managed. But what Charlene hadn’t known was that Johnny had a video camera set up in the room that had recorded every detail of their wild sexcapade.
Johnny had blackmailed Charlene and had threatened to send copies to her colleagues, who held her in high esteem, to her neighbors, who respected her, to her children, who looked up to her, and to her husband’s divorce attorney, who would surely use the evidence against her. Charlene had gone along with his scheme for months until one fateful Saturday morning, when she learned just how despicable Johnny really was.
Charlene had been at the hair salon when Johnny came walking in, pleading for his estranged wife’s forgiveness. Charlene had sat in the lobby with a towel over her head, looking on in shock as she realized that her hairstylist, Geneva, was Johnny’s wife. And added to that, Vivana had shown up, caused a scene, and then stomped out, but not before telling Johnny that he was a dead man who would regret ever meeting her. But what happened next pushed Charlene over the edge.
When Charlene found out that Johnny’s reckless behavior had caused Geneva to miscarry, she’d decided to make sure Johnny would never harm another woman, and she got busy devising a plan to kill him. A week later Johnny was dead.
“I should’ve known it was only a matter of time before what I did caught up with me,” Charlene said, shaking her head as she zipped in and out of lanes amidst the heavy rush hour traffic. Over the last two years Charlene had tried not to think about what would happen if the truth was ever discovered. But one very clear reminder that was always in the back of her mind was a cryptic text message she’d received from a blocked number a few months after Vivana had been convicted. The anonymous sender had called Charlene a murderer, and when Charlene had responded by asking who they were, their simple reply had been, “I’m the person who has proof that you murdered Johnny Mayfield.” She’d immediately deleted the text exchange and prayed it wasn’t the beginning of the end.
But not since that day had Charlene heard so much as a peep from the anonymous person. She knew
if she obsessed about the text, who’d sent it, and what evidence they had, she would eventually lose her mind. So she worked hard to live life as normally as she could, and there were times when the thought of being a murderer was a distant memory. But now everything was coming to the surface again, and she didn’t know what was going to happen next.
Charlene ignored the honking horn accompanied by a middle finger from a motorist whom she’d just cut in front of because the only thing her mind could focus on was the trouble she was in. She thought about the deceitful things she’d had to do over the last two years—lying, stealing, falsifying documents, and manipulating people to her advantage—all to cover up the murder she’d committed. “What have I allowed myself to become?” she whispered to herself. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
Charlene shook her head from side to side as she thought about Vivana Jackson—the woman behind the cause of her worries. Charlene had been in Geneva’s chair at G&D Salon getting the finishing touches on her freshly styled hairdo, when “Breaking News” flashed across the large TV screen on the wall, causing Charlene to nearly jump out of her seat. When she saw Vivana’s face appear with a caption running below it that read, New Evidence in the Mayfield Murder Case To Be Revealed, her mouth ran dry and her head began to pound. Even though her heart had been thumping as if she’d just run a marathon, she’d managed to remain calm, because the last thing she’d wanted to do was draw attention to herself.
As Charlene barreled onto the exit that would lead her to the affluent, picturesque neighborhood she’d called home for the last two years, she was pulled from her thoughts by her car’s Bluetooth alerting her of an incoming call. A small smile came to her face when she saw that it was her son, Phillip, who was traveling home for the holidays.
To say that Charlene was proud of her children was an understatement. Philip and Lauren brought her great joy and happiness, and they’d seen her through dark days that she hoped to never experience again. She was glad that even though they were both adults with lives of their own, they’d still remained close, and they’d always be her babies. She thanked God every day that they’d inherited her kindhearted nature and temperament instead of her ex-husband’s deceitful, conniving ways. Charlene took a deep breath, calmed herself, and answered the call. “Hey, Phillip,” she said in a cheery voice that belied her true mood. “Are you getting ready to board your flight?”
Deadly Satisfaction Page 2
