“Mom,” he yelped, causing Junior to jump as if startled.
“Hey there, Reg,” Junior chuckled, choking slightly on the bite of meat. “I, uh, I was just getting ready to bring you some grub. Your mom was here talking to me andâ”
“I see. And you were talking to her about ... ?”
“Nothing,” Junior lied, gathering up a couple more slices of bread and a slice or two more of the meat and rushing past him on his way out of the kitchen.
Reggie turned to follow him, but Rashawn stopped him dead in his tracks with just her voice. “Reggie, let's talk, son,” she said.
“Maaaa, noooo,” he groaned, throwing his head back before spinning on his heels to face her.
“Yeah, let's. So, tell me your plans ... since you do indeed have âplans,' ” she said, bracketing the word “plans” with her index and middle fingers curling down in quotation marks in the air.
“Mom, I told you. I told you what I wanted to do.”
“You told me no such thing. You saidâ”
“I want to go to U of O. I do. I want all the stuff that Junior was blabbing about in here. I want the fraternity. I want the Ducks, Mom. You just don't understand. I have star potentialâCoach tells me every day and the scout ... the scout, Mr. Smith, he called me personally! Mom, he called me personally to invite me.”
“I understand that you want to go to college away so you can waste my time and money but Oregon? This is more than just a summer camp we're talking.”
“I know this, Mom. It's four years and I'm ready. I'm gonna be eighteen soon andâ”
“No, you just turned seventeen. I know how old you are. I don't think you do and I sure don't think you're ready for this.”
“Mom, I do ... and I am. I've been talking to the scout every day since he first called meâwell, until you took my phone,” Reggie added slyly. “Look, can we talk in the morning?”
“No, we can't. Because according to your brother you're planning to take this trip sooner than later. I'm leaving tomorrow, so we need to . . .”
Reggie leaned back and glared at her. His face twisted slightly. “My brother? I don't have a brother. Junior? He's not my brother. He's a pain my ass. He'sâ”
Rashawn rolled her eyes. “Look, it's just semantics; Junior is just as much your brother as Rainey is your sister.”
“No, he's not, Mom. You've said it yourself. He's not my brother. He's Juanita's son. He just an inconvenience we are forced to accept.”
“I never said that,” Rashawn whispered, feeling shame growing from deep within. Had her thoughts come out? In the heat of her anger had she spoken some deeply buried ugliness? Had he eavesdropped during a wild, crazy, regrettable argument with Chanceâhad Junior overheard? When had she said that about Junior? “I've never said that.”
“You've said it so many times ... maybe not those exact words but you've implied it. I hear you and Chance fighting about it all the freakin' time!”
This was awful. What kind of mother had she become? What kind of woman allowed such vile thoughts to be heard from behind closed doors? “God ...” Rashawn rubbed her forehead. “When did you hear me and Chance fighting?”
“I hear you and Chance fighting a lot. All the time lately. And you fight about everything and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of everything. I'm sick of being here. Junior is sick of it too. And who can blame him. Nobody wants to be where they are not wanted.”
“Junior thinks I don't want him around?”
“He's not blind. Nobody is. You are always saying whatever you wantâwhenever you wantâabout him. Everybody is tired of your arguing and saying whatever rude thing you want to say. You say Juanita is bad. You take the cake. Big Chance is tired of your attitude too!”
“Oh really!” Now Rashawn would add hurt to her shame, the combination producing anger.
“Yeah, really,” Reggie taunted, stretching his neck out far enough to receive a slap, if Rashawn gave into the feelings that were welling up in her right now. But she would not give him any more fuel for his fire tonight.
Instead she spoke calmly, coolly. “So you think by hurting my feelings you're gonna get your way?”
Reggie's expression changed suddenly. It was as if he didn't realize he was hurting her with his words ... or better yet, that she would acknowledge that he was hurting her. “No, Iâ”
“Sure you do. But you know what, Mr. I'm So Sick of Shit? Check this out. You can go to Oregon.”
“I can?”
“Oh yeah.” Rashawn's lips tightened between her words and her neck began to jerk from side to side. “Yeah, and you can go with your brother, your sister, and y'alls daddy and Juanita for all I care and you all can just be sick of me together! You can stay in Oregon for the rest of your life!”
Rashawn threw the spoon in the sink and jerked open the freezer door, tossing the Soy Dream inside. She slammed the door shut and then without saying anything more, she headed toward Rainey's room. Right now she was sick of just about everybody too.
Chapter 20
Juanita was frustrated. She'd had absolutely no fun at the mall spa. Her favorite masseuse was out. Oh, how she needed the release. The tension was killing her.
So she went shopping, hoping to find a pair of orgasm-causing shoes ... nothing. She hated using emotional substitutesâthere was nothing better than the real thing. Even a good fantasy was better sometimes. The only saving grace had been her chance meeting with Ovan Dominguez. She'd thought about him all day. He was going to play the challenge game, she could tell. But then again, it wasn't as if she wasn't a professional at working with hard-to-get men. Chance had trained her well. So well that here she was now, standing in the middle of her kitchen in the middle of the night thinking about the mystery cop and what would be her next move to get him.
He'd gotten back in his car after the accident and drove off. He'd not even gone where he was headed. So she knew she had affected himâhow much, she didn't know. She had his number, but it didn't look like a personal phone number. And, probably wasn't. “It'll probably ring at his desk,” she said aloud, looking at the number again. She fought calling it all day but could no longer resist. She'd have to call. She knew she had affected him. Yes, she was refusing to admit how much he'd affected her. She dialed the number on the card. Yes, it was late, but what the hell, right? Suddenly her heart nearly stopped. It was a dead number, ringing only to a voice that told her the number was invalid.
“Ugh, Nita, you're losing it! Come on, nah!” she groaned, again feeling miserable, and pulling what was left of her pomegranate Soy Dream from the freezer. She took a big spoon from the silverware drawer.
This stuff isn't bad
, she thought, looking at the non-dairy dessert. She'd gotten the idea from Rashawn, after having snooped in Rashawn's freezer one of the times she was over at their house. Rashawn was looking dang good these days, and if Juanita wasn't careful, soon Rashawnâ
with her biggo Amazon self
âwould be looking better than her. So, lately, Juanita had been trying some healthier food choicesâ
yuck
âand a bit more exercisingâ
ugh
. Of course, now, that belly dancing wasn't so bad. It was all working; she'd dropped about five or so pounds this month and was looking better than ever. It used to be so much easier when all she had to do was call Chance over. He was always good about at least a three- or four-pound weight loss session between the sheets.
“Ovan Dominguezâhmm,” she said aloud, licking the spoon slowly while staring at the card. “You lied to me ... Why?” Suddenly, she noticed a moving shadow outside the back door. There was no wind cutting through the large tree in the backyard. She gawked harder to make sure she saw what she thought she saw. The shadow moved back from the window. It was indeed a moving shadowâa person. Someone was in her backyard. She screamed loudly before dashing out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her bedroom, locking herself in with the cordless.
“Nine-one-one,” the dispatcher answered.
Chapter 21
Roman's curiosity had gotten the best of him. He wanted to see Juanita Duncan. It was like old home week, seeing all the people who had been a part of his dethronement. He chuckled at his thought of being a king. “Just a figure of speech,” he mumbled under his breath, reprimanding his alter ego. His brother, Blain, wasn't the only one with a monster inside of him. He too carried another personalityâonly he could control his. Unlike Blain, who allowed his inner manâDocâto cause him so many problems and eventually lead to his demise, Roman felt he had his inner man subdued. That had to be the case, or else he would have already taken care of Rashawn Ams. He would have already punished her for her betrayal.
Juanita had betrayed him too. She had promised to keep what they shared a secret. But as soon as it came out that he could possibly have something to do with the drugged girls at the school, she ran to the police with the videotaped therapy sessions. “Well, most of them.” He snickered, remembering the couple of times their session had led to a sexual encounter. He licked his lips remembering the young, wild, vivacious womanâJuanita Duncan. She was wet and hot and eager for all he had to offer. At just the thought of her tight body, he fantasized that a return to her house could possibly be a good idea. Craven had awakened an inner urge he'd deadened after becoming so ill in London. But now, being home again, it seemed as though these hometown girls were “bringing the old pecker back to life.” He chuckled at the thought.
Standing there in that nightgown, licking that spoon brought back such good memories, nonetheless, ones almost as satisfying as the love he used to make with Rashawn Ams while she lay willing and open ... and asleep. That thought made him laugh out loud. So many nights he would have her, unconscious, yet responsive to his touch. Their son was young then, and often after making love to Rashawn, Roman would visit with the young Reggie in his room, teaching him about life and his destiny. “And then she took all that away from me!” Roman said, souring on the thought of both women now. After Juanita's bloodcurdling scream he quickly left his plansâ voyeuristically plotted and formed. He drove on to his hotel, forgetting about a return visit to Juanita's place. “I'm not in the mood to fight,” he admitted. He thought about using a tranquilizer to subdue her; it wasn't as if he didn't have a nice supply of sedatives with him. “No, I've got bigger fish to fry.” Just then, his cell phone rang. It was Hap. He sounded out of breath.
“What's wrong with you?” Roman asked.
“The police ...”
“What about them?” Roman became alert now but didn't let it show in his voice. Had Ovan won the police over? Had he finally found someone to believe him? ImpossibleâOvan was not a believable typeâhe was a clown. A buffoon. And after the bungling fool he'd made of Ovan in Europe, Roman was surprised Ovan was still on the caseâor had a job.
“There was an intruder at Craven's house. I had to ... I had to knock him out and call the police.”
“Okay.”
“He was asking questions about you.”
“Me?” Roman hissed.
“He had an accent ...”
“Was he short and very fair ... like a white man,” Roman asked, sighing heavily in his irritation.
“Yeah.”
“His name is Ovan Dominguez. He's a pain in my ass. Please kill him next time you see him.”
“What?”
Roman hung up the phone. He was furious now. What a major distraction. Ovan was getting too close to what he had nothing to do with. Roman was going to have to dispose of Ovan before he did any more damage or caused any delays to his plan. Surely Ovan was telling the police right then about the great Allen Roman returning from the dead. “As if they would believe him . . . but still, it's not what I planned. I don't want the authorities thinking about me. I don't want them even hearing my name.” Roman slapped his steering wheel in growing frustration. “Why was Ovan even at Craven's house, unless ...” Roman slammed his hands on the steering wheel again. “God, I hate women. They will betray you in a heartbeat!”
Chapter 22
Maravel heard the knocking on her front door and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was 3:00
A.M.
“Got to be Ovan,” she huffed. “Everybody else knows how to tell time,” she fussed, slipping into her house shoes and quickly throwing on her robe. When she reached the door there stood a tall black man with a shorter white one. “May I help you?” she asked. The tall black man smiled warmly.
“Dude better be glad you have an accent,” he said. “Do you know an Ovanâ”
“Dominguez,” Maravel said at the same time as he. “Yes, he's my ... First of all, who are you?”
“Jim Beem,” Lawrence introduced. “And I'm Lawrence Miller, homicide. We got a call from the SFPD that your âpartner' or whatever he is was in jail after being found in Dr. Michaels's home without a warrant ... and without a badge and withoutâ”
“I get where you're going, Officer.” Maravel rubbed her head.
“Anyway, Dr. WashburnâDr. Michaels's former boyfriendâcame homeâsince he lives thereâand anyway ... knocked him out cold,” Jim added.
“He knocked Ovan out? Well, that seems impossible. But okay, if you say so. But yes, I'm his partner. So where is he?”
“In the car, ma'am,” Lawrence said, turning and pointing. Maravel looked around the large man to see Ovan looking sheepishâwell, maybe a little goatishâin the backseat of the unmarked car. She had to chuckle.
“Ah, I see. Well, what were you going to with him had I not known him?” she asked as they talked and walked down the walkway.
“Dump in him the bay,” Jim teased. Maravel laughed again, harder this time as she fully understood their feelings about her often pesky partner.
“Glad you all are in such good humor,” Ovan huffed, pouting. “Here I am drugged with who the hell knows what, and you're all laughing. I need to be admitted to the hospital. I want to know what that guy put in my arm!”
Unlocking the cuffs, Jim just shook his head. “Look, just admit you got clocked and call it a night,” he told him.
“That's what happens when a boyfriend finds you in his dead girlfriend's home,” Lawrence added.
“Look, that guy is no more her boyfriend I am . . . was. He was over there looking for something, and when he found it he stuck me in the arm with a knockout drug.”
“Come on, guy, maybe you can play your James Bond stuff back home, but over here people shoot people with guns and burglars don't burgle their own pads,” Lawrence fussed, still not wanting to believe that Ovan had been stabbed with a syringe. He wanted to believe that Ovan had just been knocked out by Washburn's fist. Lawrence didn't want to believe that Jim was interested enough in this guy to come in from vacation a day early just to see what was what and get in on the possible action. But when Lawrence had told him about the chief coming out of her office cheesing like a virgin on the morning after her wedding, Jim had rushed back.
“That's not his house! Listen to me, that Dr. Washburn is an in interloper. He's no more a doctor than I am! He's up to something bigâsomething that involves Allen Roman.”
“Oh, yeah ... the dead guy,” Jim snickered.
Ovan swagged his head back and forth in sarcasm. “Yeah, the not-so-dead guy.” Ovan's words took on an irritated tone. “Anyway, Craven was trying to tell me something about what they were up to. She, Hap Washburn, and Allen Roman ... it was big. So big that Washburn or Romanâhaven't figured out which yetâkilled her.”
“Killed her. Come on, guy, she died of a heart attack!” Jim all but shouted. “What are you now, forensics?”
“No, but Maravel here is,” Ovan said. “Before I borrowed Her Majesty's Coroner's office for the Southern District of Greater Londonâboring bit a business thereâshe was wasting her talents for forensics on old people who died from too much pudding. No mystery there, eh, love?” Ovan said, grinning broadly at Maravel, who again blushed. “Now she works with me.” Both police officers turned to look at Maravel, who shyly wiggled her fingers at them in a coquettish wave. “Have any of your people done any blood work on her? Checked for drugs? If he stabbed meâwhich he did,” Ovan snapped at Lawrence, “he might have stabbed her with the same thing. I could be dying right now.”
“Or he could have stabbed her with something a bit more deadly,” Maravel added, helping him from the car. “Because, um, she'd a bit deader than you,” Maravel teased.
“Come to think about it, the autopsy report didn't show the normal indications for a heart attack. No pre-existing heart condition ... nothing,” Lawrence said almost under his breath, as if in deep thought.
“What were you doing in the autopsy report? Don't tell me this guy has you curious?” Jim bashed playfully. “Or maybe it's just your dreams of being a PI again, huh? Maybe you should stick with real police work.”
Lawrence's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “You nincompoop, this is police work! And if you weren't curious you'da stayed on vacation.”
“Look, bubs, can we all go inside? I'm all but naked,” Maravel admitted. Jim and Ovan gave her a once-over glance.
Lawrence rolled his eyes in disgust at the two men. “Can't you see she's freezing?”
“Sure can,” Jim teased, pointing at her hardened nipple protruding through her flannel gown. She quickly folded her arms over her chest and ran back into her apartment.