by H.H. Fowler
Thursday Mid-Morning
Abraham’s eyes popped open to the clamor of the phone, which sounded strikingly similar to his alarm clock. It was a noise he detested, but he’d chosen the ring tone for that very purpose – so that it would irritate him. If the noise had been pleasant, he would have kept on snoozing, paying it no mind. He grabbed up the phone, still incoherent from last night’s activities.
“Abraham? Have you just gotten up? It’s almost ten o’clock.”
“Lady Paxton, forgive me. What do you need me to do?”
“Get dressed and pick me up in about an hour. There’s something that I need to discuss with you.”
“Certainly, I’ll be there. Will your husband need me, as well?”
“He’s left for the office already, said something about some guests coming in from the Bahamas. He tried reaching you. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Well, okay then, I will see you in an hour.”
Abraham didn’t like the tone in Michelle’s voice, which somehow took his nerves by surprise. She rarely called him to discuss anything. All of the discussing was done by Leroy, but lately, things had been volatile between those two and he had to wonder if this had anything to do with Shaniece Bryant. Of course, it did. It was the only reason why they fought. He pushed himself up in the bed and then tossed his feet to the floor, unintentionally removing the covers from the naked body next to him.
“Abraham,” Honey’s voice dragged. “It’s cold. It’s cold…”
“Shhhh, go back to sleep,” he told her, recovering her body as gently as he handled her. “I’ll be out for a few hours.”
“Do what you want, Abraham, but I won’t be here when you get back.”
“Then, I’ll come looking for you,” he said, “I am a persistent man.”
She grunted. “Suit yourself. Why do you even try? You know that I don’t love you.”
“It doesn’t matter. One day you will.” He leaned down over her and pressed his lips against her slender back, savoring the warmth of her skin. He felt torn leaving her alone, but his services were required elsewhere. He’d vowed to make his life available to the Paxtons. “While I’m gone, keep the doors locked and don’t let anyone in.”
She yanked the covers over her head and pretended as if Abraham had given the walls those instructions.
By the time that Abraham had pulled the Escalade in front of the grand mansion, Michelle was already standing outside with her purse on her left arm. She was smartly dressed in a navy blue pants suit, which she only wore when she was about to do business outside of town. Her ebony curls were pinned up into a messy, but stylish twist, leaving a few strands to float over her face. The Ray-Ban shades that were latched over her eyes told Abraham that she was a woman on a mission.
“Where to?” he said to her after she’d climbed into the front seat.
“Brandon,” was all she said.
“As in Brandon, Florida?”
“My dear Abraham, I didn’t stammer.”
Once they’d cleared the traffic on Fletcher Avenue, cutting right to the Interstate, Michelle made her purpose known to Abraham.
“Say nothing of this to Leroy,” she said. “Can I trust you to do that?”
Abraham looked at her through the corner of his eyes, not certain how he should respond. If her safety appeared to be in jeopardy, of course, Leroy would be the first to know. “You can trust me,” he said quietly.
“You’re such a wonderful, man, Abraham. How would we ever make it without you?”
Abraham sidestepped the accolade with a question, “I assume this has to do with the ‘incident’?”
She pressed her lips into a tight line and then said, “Yes. I know it’s almost been five years, but I still have a lot questions.” She took the hotel receipt out of her purse and held it up at Abraham. “I found this on the kitchen floor. Must have fallen out of his portfolio yesterday morning.”
“What is it?”
“A receipt from that Holiday Inn Express.”
“What’s the significance? We both know Leroy is always in and out of hotels.”
“So it seems…”
“C’mon, is it worth torturing yourself this way?”
“You don’t want to read it? Fine.” She stuffed the receipt back into her purse, snapping it shut. She pulled off her shades, revealing the eyes of a woman who’d had her share of pain. “My dear Abraham, the receipt is almost five years old. It is the exact date of the incident.”
“It could mean anything.”
“What is it with you men? You act as if we are so out of touch with reality. I don’t care what you interpret this to mean. My instincts tell me that this is not a coincidence.”
“Things are not always what they seem–”
“I’ve known Leroy for almost thirty years, and I’ve never seen him act this way before. He refuses to get rid of that woman as his assistant. He’s quick to take her side over mine, and would rather see me being humiliated Sunday after Sunday than to put an end to this wretched situation….”
“Is this what this is all about? Your dislike of Shaniece?”
“Oh please, don’t insult me, Abraham! You know exactly what’s going on. Those two are always in the corner chatting it up as if they can’t get enough of each other. And every time that I call, she’s always in his office. I can’t even bring her name up in a conversation without us having a brawl about it. And you think I’m being unreasonable or paranoid?”
Abraham took the Brandon exit, which would take them right in front of the Sherriff’s Office. When they’d slowed to a traffic light, he turned his head toward her, “Lady Paxton, I care deeply for you and your husband. I fear that you will do something you will regret. Please, think about what you’re about to do.”
“I’ve been doing that for the last five years. I’m surprised I’ve even waited this long. I’ve made up my mind, Abraham.” She looked away, readjusting her shades against her eyes. “I need to know why Leroy was in Brandon the day that I was in Chicago. It’s the place where our problems started.”
Fifteen Minutes Later
“Detective Samuels, how are you?” Michelle placed her delicate hand into the massive palms of a white man and immediately remembered how his handshake made her feel overpowered. “Thanks for receiving us on such short notice.”
“Mrs. Paxton, you’re welcome as always. It’s an open door policy around here.” He noticed Abraham trailing several feet behind with a cell phone attached to his ear. He beckoned to him as soon as he got his attention. “Mr. Winder, come, follow me to my office.”
The last time that Michelle had visited Detective Samuels, he’d told her that they’d come to a dead end in her husband’s case. There were no leads; no new information; no movement at all in the right direction. Five years was a long time. Her husband’s shooter could be anywhere at the moment, possibly six feet under the earth.
“What can I do for you today?” Samuels plunged in his chair and then spread his hands before them.
“I don’t know,” Michelle said, sharing a glance with Abraham. “Obviously, we’re here concerning my husband’s case.”
Samuels shifted his eyes to Abraham and then back to Michelle. “Does your husband know that you’re here?”
“No, he doesn’t know. We were in the area.”
Michelle smiled and patted Abraham’s hand as if to say she was capable of handling whatever question was thrown out at her. “Thank you, Abraham, but that’s not entirely true, detective.”
“Which part?” His expression showed he had no interest in a case that he considered to be as cold as the air in his freezer. “Mrs. Paxton, I'll be honest with you. There's no one actively working on your husband's files.”
“But, you guys haven’t found the person who shot my husband,” Michelle said, taken aback by the detective’s nonchalant attitude. “What do you mean there's no one working on it?”
“We review them once a month, but there's nothin
g to go on, Mrs. Paxton,” Samuels explained. “Your husband doesn’t remember much of anything and the only thing we have is a ballistics report on the gun that was used in the attack. You should be grateful your husband made it through that life-threatening ordeal.”
“Of course, I’m grateful.” Michelle was beginning to regret the visit. “But just because he survived the gunshot, doesn’t mean his shooter should get away with it. Only God knows how many other people the attacker has hurt…”
“What do you want us to do? Your husband wants nothing to do with the investigation, which I find pretty strange, but we've done all that we can with the little that we have. It's been five years. Whatever evidence we did not get collected in that first forty-eight hours, we sure won't be able to do so now.”
“Someone had to have seen something,” Abraham said. “The ambulance wouldn't have responded as quickly as it did without someone giving the dispatcher the exact location. I understood they arrived on the scene within three minutes of the shooting.”
“We have worked that angle back and forth,” Samuels said. “We came up empty handed. The call was made from a pay phone in the area.”
Michelle searched her bag for the receipt she'd tried to show Abraham when they were on the interstate. “What do you make of this?” she asked Samuels, handing it to him. “I found this on my kitchen floor. It may have dropped out of my husband's portfolio…”
Samuels slipped on his glasses, examined it and then looked back at her. “It's a hotel receipt.”
“Yes, but did you notice the date on it?”
“I did, but what's your point?”
“Detective Samuels, this proves my husband had paid for a one night stay, several hours before his attack. He told us he'd gone to Brandon for a meeting that should have only lasted a few hours. He was scheduled to be home by 3 p.m. to pick up the boys from school. I was in Chicago around that time.”
“So?”
“So?” Michelle shot Samuels an exasperated look. “Obviously, you're not getting what I'm trying to say.”
“Of course I get it, Mrs. Paxton,” Samuels told her. “Your husband lied to you. He lied to us and you're assuming he knows more about this ordeal than he's admitting.”
“I don't know, but that's why we're here,” Michelle said, hoping Abraham shared her growing frustration.
“Let's just say if there is a small chance you're right, without your husband's assistance, we'll still be going around in circles. For the past five years, his story has remained the same.” Samuels stood up, as if he were ready to end their meeting. “Before a police department pumps money into investigating cold cases, there must be some solvability factors in the playing field. I wouldn't normally suggest something like this, but another option is to hire a private investigator.”
When Michelle looked to Abraham for his opinion, she could tell from the look in his eyes that he had already flushed the idea down the toilet. Leroy would not forgive Michelle if he discovered she'd hired someone to poke around in his personal life. Surely, it would be the end of their marriage.
“Thanks for your time,” Abraham said as he stood up to shake Samuels' hand. “You've given us something to think about. After you, Lady Paxton.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
