Of Blood and Sorrow (15 page)

“Tell me more about Treyman Barnes.” I stuck to the subject.

“What more is there to tell?”

“You said he was once in this…business you don’t want to talk about.”

He smiled, said nothing.

“You said you would tell me, now do it.” I turned tough, but it made him chuckle, which was not the response I expected, then he turned serious again.

“Now, I’ll tell you this, Tamara. They say a few years back he was involved in some dealings over on Avon Avenue that ended badly, and they say what happened that night was what changed him, and that kind of thing can change a man.”

I remembered Miss Peterson’s words.

“And years before that, when he was a young man, very young, he made his money off of women, as they say. His father was responsible for that. But that was before my time. It is a filthy business, and he’s out of it now. I would never have dealings with such a man.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.”

“Tamara, who do you take me for?”

“Exactly who you are,” I said.

“And what is that?”

“If you don’t know by now, I’m not going to tell you,” I said, which made him smile.

“Come out with me,” he said. “We’ll have some dinner, a bit of wine, come back here. See where things lead.”

“Not on your life, because we know where things lead,” I said, but even as I said it, I was considering it. What would it take, I asked myself, to go out and have dinner and a drink with this man one last time? What harm could it do?

“I’d gladly give my life for more of your time.” It was such an obvious, clumsy attempt at seduction it made me laugh, not the hysterical laughter of yesterday afternoon but light and carefree. He watched me for a moment, then he laughed, too.

“It’s good to see you laugh,” he said.

“It’s good to do it.”

We sat there for a while, sipping tea and avoiding each other’s eyes, until he said, “It’s time for me to go. I’ll see you when I see you.” He reached across the table, took my hand, held it for a moment. I was surprised by the finality in his voice, that things were finished between us. I stood with him, suddenly not so sure I wanted things to end like this, even though I had insisted they should.

“And you are sure of this?” He asked that question that had come to me, too.

“I don’t know.” It was the most honest thing I could say.

“Neither do I,” he said. “But I’ll leave now. I don’t want to make things more difficult. Do you want me to stay?” he asked in the same breath. I said nothing because I didn’t know the answer. His smile was a sad one as he walked toward the door; then he suddenly turned to face me.

“Do you remember the first time I kissed you?” he asked.

It was the first time we’d met. A kiss for the bride, he’d told DeWayne half teasing, but something had happened, his body so dangerously close it had changed us both. DeWayne had watched us embrace, too outraged to react. It had been said as a joke, but we both knew when I stepped away from him how things would be.

I nodded, committing to nothing but that memory.

“Goodbye,” he said, and pulled me to him halfway to the door, and when he kissed me, this one last time, everything came back in a rush as it always did, and I couldn’t pull away.

I had always enjoyed kissing him. For hours once, we had kissed, gently and leisurely, nothing touching except our lips, a teasing seduction that seemed to go nowhere until it exploded into a frenzy of passion. Yet this was not like that day but rather like that first time so many years ago, when I was curious about him, then astonished. I allowed myself to be drawn into that kiss, to feel the pleasure of him against me, his lips and tongue touching mine. My body had its own memory.

We pulled away, both of us breathless, and gazed at each other for an instant.

“How far shall we go with this?” he whispered.

“We have no commitment to each other. How far can things go?”

He gently kissed my forehead. “Don’t you know by now that you and I are beyond that?”

 . . . . . 

MY BEDROOM WAS DARK
when we entered it, but light filtering in from the hall threw a soft sheen on the pale blue walls. The incense I’d burned earlier in anticipation of my evening with Larry still lingered. I’d chosen lavender, a fragrance of healing Wyvetta had told me, because I felt that Larry and I were in need of that. And Basil, I wondered, as I pulled him close to me. Did we need healing as well?

I’d put my fancy sheets on my bed this morning, the six-hundred-thread-count ones that had cost me more than a trip to Wyvetta’s. The price had outraged me when I slid my debit card through the machine, but now I understood. They felt like good silk against my naked skin. For a moment, I felt a twinge of guilt about Larry. I’d assumed he’d be lying beside me tonight, but when Basil touched me, caressing me as gently as any man ever had, nothing else mattered but the thought of having him inside me. In that moment, I forgot my decision that there would be nothing between us; I just felt the sheer excitement of having his touch on my thighs, my breast.

His body was more muscular than I remembered. I had forgotten the shape of his shoulders, the small of his back, the way the scar on his chest broke his smooth skin with its rough edge. I ran my lips over it, enjoying the feel of it, the brisk, salty taste of him against my tongue. Things started easily between us, as they always did. Short, simple kisses growing in urgency until there was nowhere for them to go but other places on our bodies. I had forgotten how good we were together, how thrilling it was to finally have him enter me.

I have never been a woman who could make love to a man without a deeper connection; my heart was forever tied to my body. There were times when I wished that tie would break, but it never did. DeWayne was my first real lover, and there had been many men since him; each one had meant more to me than I cared to remember. But no one touched my heart or body like Basil did; no one could touch places within me that only he seemed to know to touch. I was frightened by how much I felt for him, how much he made me feel.

And when I lay beside him, both of us tired and breathless, I remembered how he had felt inside me and knew by what was in his eyes when he smiled that he did, too. I wondered then about things between us and realized that nothing else mattered. I was as sure of that as I was of anything else.

You know me as no other woman does,
he had told me that day at Barnes’s office. How true that was, I’d never know. I only knew what was true for me, and that was that he knew
me
as no other man did, and that it was as if he had never left me.

His flight to somewhere left from Kennedy early the next morning, and I woke at midmorning with the memory of him still on my skin. The note on my pillow said to call him about Jamal, and that he would be in touch with me on Sunday to see how things were. I smiled when I read that.

I wasn’t sure what our night said about me and Larry Walton. I hoped I’d know when I saw him again. But I knew what it said about me and Basil. We were back where we started, neither of us sure where that was.

FOURTEEN

W
YVETTA PEEKED OUT OF HER SHOP
as I headed to my office the next morning, and a grin quickly replaced the frown that had been on her face.

“Well, I see you got your money’s worth. You been right sad walking around here. A good night of loving do bring a change of attitude in a woman’s life, don’t it?”

“Huh?”

Wyvetta laughed. “Don’t play cute with me, Tamara. I’d say that platinum certificate you bought for your man was worth every penny. Tell him he can come anytime he wants for his treatments. Early or late. Any day of the week. A man who can put a smile like that on a woman’s face this early in the morning deserves every bit of goodness he can get.”

It took me a minute to get what she was talking about. “Oh…yeah. Thanks! I’ll tell him,” I said, and hurried to the stairs, but she stepped outside her shop and grabbed my arm, the worried look back on her face.

“Wait a minute, honey,” she said. “The cops were here looking for you early this morning when I came in. They didn’t say what they wanted. They asked when you were going to be in, and I told them I didn’t know. I called you at home to warn you, but you’d already left. Is everything okay?”

My stomach dropped. “I don’t know, Wyvetta.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not now.”

“They’re coming back. The young one was a right snotty little bastard. They said you have their cards and for you to call them when you got here or there would be trouble. If they ask you why you didn’t call, just tell them you didn’t get the message. Say the woman who owns the Biscuit is loon-crazy and don’t remember nothing nobody tells her, okay?”

I smiled despite my feelings. “Thanks, Wyvetta.”

“One more thing, Tamara. Mrs. Nellie Barnes just went upstairs, and she’s waiting outside your door. I told her she could wait down here, but she looked upset, like she had something serious on her mind, so I let her go on up.”

I shook my head. “This is all I need.”

Wyvetta hugged me, and I could feel her strength through her nylon uniform. “I’m happy you got some good loving last night, baby. You gonna need it today. You want me to call Larry for you and tell him to come over here?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I’ll call him later, when I find out what’s going on.”

“Stop by here later and let’s get some dinner. My treat.”

I could hear Barnes’s wife pacing outside my office as I climbed the stairs, so I took my own sweet time. I wondered what she wanted, but I was more concerned with the cops than her; I knew what they did.

“Good morning, Mrs. Barnes. Wyvetta Green told me you were waiting for me. Please come in and sit down,” I said as graciously as I could, as I opened the door and stood back so she could enter.

Wyvetta had it right about the agitation. When she got inside, she paced back and forth in front of my desk, shaking her head as if listening to directions from a haint. Her summery pink dress looked like she’d slept in it, and her short black hair peeked like a bird’s nest from beneath a wrinkled scarf. She wore sandals, a poor choice; the chipped nail polish on her toes said she should have taken Wyvetta up on her offer. An hour with Maydell would have done the woman a world of good.

“Please have a seat, Mrs. Barnes. Could I make you some tea or coffee?” She shook her head and, gaze fixed on the floor, continued to pace. “Please, ma’am,” I said, and she glanced up at me as if just remembering she was in my office, but finally sat down.

“What can I do for you this morning?” I said after a decent pause.

“I’m sorry to trouble you, Ms. Hayle, but I’m worried about my family—my husband and my son. I haven’t seen either of them since Wednesday morning. Troy disappears like this, and I know he’ll probably show up sooner or later. It’s something he’s done since he came home from the war—leaving home, taking long rides, trying to forget what he saw—but Treyman…This isn’t like Treyman.”

“Have you called the police?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to get them involved yet. Treyman can’t afford the publicity. He’s involved in a very sensitive, very secretive negotiation about some real estate here in town, and it would be bad for people to know that he’s missing. If I haven’t heard from him by tonight…” She pleaded with her eyes. “Do you know anything about where he could be? Anything?”

“I’m sorry, but I really don’t.”

“He told me he was coming to see you that morning. His office manager was sick, so I’m not sure what time he got back to his office.”

“He left here around eleven, if that’s helpful,” I said, not sure what to make of her. My first impression had been of a placid suburbanite in drab white linen. Thanks to her nasty husband and ashtray-throwing son, that meeting was now a painful blur. This new Nellie Barnes, stepping and fretting like a woman out the crazy house, was making me nervous.

“I don’t know.” She shook her head again. “He works late on Wednesdays, and he’s usually home by midnight, but he didn’t come home that night. There was a call at ten thirty, and I think it was him. I pray it was him, but I’m not sure. I’d taken an Ambien and was drifting off to sleep. I didn’t bother to get it, and there was no message.”

“You don’t have caller ID?”

She nodded that she did. “His cell phone came up, but he never uses it except when he travels. Never from the office. Somebody else could have gotten his cell and used it.”

“And you were home all day yesterday and today?”

“No. Well, I was on an early train to visit my mother yesterday morning, and I spent most of Thursday with her. I was sure I’d hear from him again, and when I got home, he wasn’t there, and neither was my son, and I panicked.”

“Maybe you simply missed him,” I suggested. “He may have called you from his cell at an airport, telling you he had an emergency meeting somewhere about those sensitive negotiations you mentioned and didn’t bother to leave a message, got involved in the meeting, and missed you again. Does he have your mother’s telephone number?”

She looked anxious for a moment, then relieved. “Actually, he may not. Mother had it changed recently, and she’s not sure how to retrieve messages.”

“My bet is you’ve simply missed each other. Did you stop by his office today?”

“Not yet. I wanted to talk to you before I spoke to his manager. I don’t want him to suspect there’s any problem. He’s not the nicest man in the world.”

“I’m sure your husband is fine,” I said. “No news is good news, as they say.”

She smiled slightly, agreeing, and gave a sigh of relief. “You’re probably right. Do you think I could have a cup of that tea you mentioned earlier?”

My day was clear, and I figured any time I spent comforting Barnes’s wife was covered by that grand he’d given me, so I turned on my electric teakettle, got out my best mugs, and settled back to keep her company.

“Could you tell me what the two of you spoke about when you saw him on Wednesday morning?” She daintily tore open a packet of Splenda and stirred it into her tea.

“Actually, our meeting was quite brief,” I said. “We had a rather…well, heated disagreement, and we didn’t part on good terms. We decided there was no longer any need for me to be involved in the case.”

She put down her tea, obviously disturbed. “Treyman can be difficult, but why did he fire you when the baby is still missing?”

“He didn’t fire me; I quit. And I did locate the child and the woman who had her. Your husband was scheduled to meet with her. I’m really not sure what happened after that.”

She gave me a wide-eyed stare that made me uneasy. “Then you found the child, and you told him. Why didn’t he tell me?”

“I’m sorry, but I simply don’t know. I wish I could give you more information, but I’m not…well, I’m not involved in your case anymore.”

She stood up for a moment, and I thought she was going to leave, but she sat back down. “But my son, Troy. Did my husband mention him at all in any of your conversations?”

I recalled Barnes’s comments about his kid and decided it was best to spare her.

“I’m afraid not. I haven’t heard from or seen your son since that day in the office.”

She shifted her gaze to her mug of tea. “You must have a very poor opinion of my family—of me, my husband, and son.”

Got that right,
I thought, but said, “No, I don’t form opinions in my line of work. They usually turn out to be wrong.”

“Do you have a husband, a son, by any chance?”

“Have a son, had a husband. We’re divorced.”

“How old is your son?”

“Teenager now.”

“Does he get along with his father?”

“Now he does.”

“It’s hard for sons and fathers to get along sometimes. They can hold things against each other. Things that should be forgotten. But all a son really wants to do is please his father, live up to his father’s expectations, make his father proud of him.”

“Yes, sometimes they do,” I said, remembering the years before Jamal had made peace with DeWayne. For most of his childhood, he had blamed his father for the deaths of his half brothers. Finally, he’d been able to forgive him. At least for now. Did he still harbor resentment toward DeWayne or to me?

“My son loves his father deeply, but he also blames him for certain things.”

“What things?”

She studied me for a moment, probably considering how much she wanted to tell me. I wanted to hear it, so I leaned toward her eager to listen.

“My husband is a good man. He wasn’t always, but he is now. He was involved…well, in some bad things once. Unsavory things. But he’s changed. He loves me; he takes care of me. I have certain…problems, Ms. Hayle.

“Sometimes the world gets very blue, and I’m unable to recover quickly. Sometimes things are fine. But I need to take my pills to get things balanced, put things in focus.” She was embarrassed when she said it and wouldn’t look me in the eye.

So the illness that Treyman Barnes had described was emotional rather than physical, maybe a form of depression, similar to what afflicted Jake’s wife, Phyllis. She had been hospitalized for it, and I wondered if Nellie Barnes had spent time away from her family, too.

“I went through a particularly bad period while Troy was in Iraq.”

“That’s enough to send any mother through a particularly bad period,” I said. I didn’t want to imagine the torment I’d go through if Jamal went to war.

“I was better when he came back, but I was still sad. My son suffered…still suffers from what they call PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. Uncontrolled fear, raging anger. The say one in six men coming back have it. My son’s in treatment for it now, and he’s getting better, day by day, I can see it.

“My son blames Treyman for my moods, and maybe it did start with my anger toward him. Treyman thought that having Troy’s baby live with us, helping my son raise her, might help us both. Having someone to spoil, raise a child again, I know it would bring joy to my life.”

“That’s an awful lot to put on a child,” I said, and thought,
Better off with a cat.

“I have a lot of love to give—we all do—and having her would make my son whole again.”

I nodded as if I agreed but had my reservations. Children can’t save a person’s life, any more than an adult can. The only person who can save your life is you.

“What is your son like?” I asked, wondering if she really knew. How much does any woman really know about her son? If somebody had told me that Jamal would climb out of his bedroom window into crazy Lilah Love’s rented car for a trip to Atlantic City, I would have thought they were smoking crack.

“This war, the senseless brutality of it, brought out a violence that I didn’t know Troy had within him. But he has a good soul. He always has, especially as a little boy. I know it’s still there. It has to be.

“I love my son, but to kill another person, even in war, takes away something. He’s slowly reclaiming what he lost. Bit by bit.”

“Your husband mentioned he was in the special forces.”

“He never told us exactly what he did, but he is not who he was.”

Damned fool was in them special forces. Trained killer was what he was. That’s what he told me anyway. Trained killer. What the hell do I need with a trained killer?

Lilah’s words came back.

“Troy is trying to get away from his past, the same as my husband,” Nellie Barnes said, snatching my thoughts away from Lilah and back to her.

“And your husband’s past?”

“The less I say about that, the better,” she said with a firmness that surprised me. “He’s a different man now. A good man, although some people refuse to believe it.”

“Did you know that Lilah Love was dead?”

“Lilah Love?” She gave me a blank look.

Was it possible that she didn’t know who Lilah was? How much in the dark had he kept her?

“The woman who was married to your son. The mother of your grandchild,” I said.

“That was her name?”

“Yes,” I said.
Was she putting me on?

“The only thing that Treyman ever referred to her as was ‘that little tramp,’ and my son never mentioned her at all. He would just say ‘the woman I was married to.’ Talking about her seemed to upset him, so I never brought her up. They weren’t together very long. How did she die?”

“And you didn’t push it?” I asked, amazed.

“No.”

“Why not?”

She paused for a moment, finally looking me in the eye. “Because I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to know what nobody wanted to tell me. You didn’t answer my question. How did she die?”

“Murdered,” I said. “And very cruelly. Sadistically. Larynx smashed straight through to her spine. Body left to rot in the trunk of a rented car.” The brutal words were spoken casually but were deliberately chosen because I wanted to see her reaction.

I didn’t know what her quick, sharp intake of breath meant or why her hand flew to cover her mouth like it had that day in the office. Was it shock at hearing about a woman’s murder or something else entirely, something she suddenly remembered?

“Do they have any idea who could have done it?” She recovered quickly.

“Yeah, they’re pretty sure,” I said, watching her closely because I knew what she must be thinking, what I would be thinking if I were in her shoes—about a damaged son with a short temper, a stolen baby, a woman whose name he couldn’t say.