Bad Blood

Also by Mary Monroe

 

 

 

 

 

“Nightmare in Paradise” in
Borrow Trouble

 

 

 

Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

Bad Blood

MARY MONROE

KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

I am so blessed to be a member of the Kensington Books family. Selena James is an awesome editor and a great friend. Thank you, Selena! Thanks to Steven Zacharius, Karen Auerbach, Leslie Irish-Underwood, the wonderful crew in the sales department, and everyone else at Kensington for working so hard for me.

Thanks to Lauretta Pierce for maintaining my Web site and sharing so many wonderful stories with me.

Thanks to the fabulous book clubs, the bookstores, my readers, and the magazine and radio interviewers for supporting me for so many years.

I never thought I'd be celebrating the release of my
seventeenth
book, especially when so many people predicted I'd be a one-book wonder. (The same ones ask for a free book each time I release a new one.... Ha-ha.)

I have one of the best literary agents on the planet, Andrew Stuart. Thank you, Andrew. Without you I would still be answering phones and running out to get coffee for my bosses at the utility company, instead of writing full-time.

Please continue to e-mail me at [email protected], and visit my Web site at
www.Marymonroe.org
and my Facebook page.

 

All the best,

 

Mary Monroe
June 2015

Prologue

Rachel

E
VEN WHEN
I
WAS A TEENAGER,
I
WAS ATTRACTED TO TWO TYPES
of men: the bad boys, whom my mother warned me about, and the Goody Two-shoes type, whom she found acceptable and hoped I would settle down with. I knew that if I ever brought a thug home, I'd never hear the end of it, so marrying one was out of the question. Despite my fairly rigid Christian upbringing, I planned to have as much fun with them on the down low as I could until an “acceptable” guy came along.

As for myself, I was a combination of a good girl trying to be bad and a bad girl trying to be good. I had decided early in life that it would be to my advantage to be a little of both, as long as I kept things in the proper perspective and behaved in an acceptable manner. I had a few problems with my temper in elementary and middle school. But by the time I got to high school, everybody who knew me stayed out of my way. I avoided trouble as much as I could, but there were times when trouble found me, anyway. Most of it was petty and was quickly forgotten by everyone involved. Despite the fact that I had a quick temper and was easily provoked, I was in the church and people wanted to be my friend, because they knew that I was loyal and sincere and could always be counted on in a time of need. Most of the people in my life liked me and treated me with respect. They knew that I could be their best friend, but I could also turn on a dime and be their worst enemy.

Life was still good to me, and I appreciated every day. I had it going on, and I was going to make sure I kept it going on as long as I could. I was a party girl who liked to drink, socialize, and make love—not always in that order. I was also practical and focused on self-improvement. I was willing to work hard to get the things I desired. I wanted what every other woman I knew wanted: security, a nice home, loyal friends, and a good-looking, intelligent, successful husband who would give me good-looking, intelligent, successful children. I didn't think I was asking for too much, but I knew that getting what I wanted was not going to be easy. I was an optimist, and I tried to look on the bright side of everything in every situation. But I was also a realist. I knew that there'd be times when things didn't go the way I wanted, no matter how hard I'd worked. I truly believed that most people eventually got what they deserved.

I didn't have a lot to work with as far as education and money were concerned, but I had the support of my family in most of my endeavors. Unfortunately, my family didn't want me to relocate from our small, sleepy country town in Alabama to the bustling Bay Area in California. But once I got a notion in me to do something, nobody could stop me, not even Mama.

“Girl, you ain't never even been out of the state of Alabama before. Why in the world would you want to move to a wild place like California?”

I looked my mother in the eye that Sunday afternoon, right after we'd spent three hours in church, and told her, “Because I want to.” Despite Mama's ongoing protests and colorful descriptions of California—a “jungle” and “a Babylon” were my favorites—shortly after high school I packed up and took off, anyway.

It took a while and a lot of hard work for me to see some success, but the move turned out to be one of the smartest things I'd ever done. I continued my education, landed a dream job, and made some wonderful “big sister” friends, who eagerly took me under their wing, so to speak. With their guidance and support, I was able to experience a fun-filled life—temporarily losing my way a few times, though—continue to grow, and even exceed some of my own expectations.

After I had spent only a few years of living the California lifestyle, everything seemed to be going the way I'd hoped it would—and my family became very supportive. Once I had established myself and had secured my future, the folks back home sat back and waited and prayed for me to get married. I wanted to get married, but I wanted it to happen at the right time and with the right man.

Despite California being the land of plenty, when it came to relationships, finding a good man was not easy. There were a lot of men in my life, though. Unfortunately, most of them were usually the type I wouldn't even consider a future with, so they came and went. The ones I did want a future with didn't want a future with me for a variety of reasons. One thought I was too independent. He even told me to my face that he needed a wife who would
always
let him make the decisions in the relationship. Another one told me he would never marry a woman like me, because I was too much of a challenge. He didn't elaborate, and I didn't ask him to. One man whom I cared about a lot more than any of the others told me on our first, and last, date that he hated kids and that to make sure he never had any, he had already scheduled a vasectomy. The one after him bragged about the six children he had by six different women, children with whom he didn't spend time and to whom he provided financial support only when he “felt like it.”

Even with the numerous obstacles I encountered, I still managed to enjoy a lot of fun-filled nights of passion along the way. But I realized that a woman like me could get only so much mileage out of “fun” and that I'd surpassed that limit many times over. I was still in my twenties by then, with a long life ahead of me, but I wanted to be young enough to enjoy an active life with the children I couldn't wait to give birth to. The time had come for me to settle down with the right man and start my real future.

Seth Garrett, the “acceptable” man—according to my standards, as well as those of my hard-to-please mother—came along right on time. My family could not have been happier, and neither could I. . . .

Chapter 1

Seth

 

O
UR FLIGHT FROM
C
ALIFORNIA'S
B
AY
A
REA TO
M
OBILE,
A
LABAMA
, landed a little after 11:00 a.m. Even though it was springtime, the heat was sweltering. Rachel and I started sweating right away as we made our way to the baggage claim area, dodging some of the most aggressive flies and gnats I'd ever encountered. I didn't know what to expect next.

Rachel had told me that Coffeeville, Alabama, where she was born and raised, was a one-horse, hick town about an hour's drive from the airport. But because I loved Rachel and couldn't wait to meet her family and marry her, I had agreed to accompany her to a place where I already felt like an alien.

We picked up our rental car and stopped for lunch at an all-you-can-eat buffet a short drive from the airport. We stuffed ourselves with some of our favorites: collard greens, mac and cheese, corn bread, and yams.

After our feast, we waddled back to our rental car and headed for the freeway. It led us to the tree-lined, gravel-and-tar route that would take us all the way to our destination. For the first twenty minutes, all we saw were four-legged creatures darting across the road and shabbily dressed folks riding bareback on mules, dragging themselves along on tractors, and piled up in old trucks.

“Damn, baby. How could such a sophisticated sister like you have come from such humble beginnings?” I joked. I had to swerve to avoid hitting a deer that had jumped out of nowhere. “Shit!” I hollered.

“Let me drive. I'm used to these roads,” Rachel insisted, chuckling.

“Woman, you sit back and relax! I've got everything under control,” I said, speaking louder than I meant to.

“All right then. Let me know if you change your mind.” A few minutes later Rachel leaned back in her seat and dozed off.

I admired the scenery and listened to a country-western radio station for a while. It didn't take long for me to get tired of all that caterwauling. I turned off the radio and concentrated on the road for the next fifteen or so miles. When Rachel woke up about twenty minutes later, she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“We're almost there,” she said with a yawn.

“Huh?” We were now deep into a semirural area. We had just passed a tipsy shack that had a mule wagon in the front yard. “Your family lives near
here?
”

“Right around the bend,” Rachel said proudly. “Baby, you're going to love it down here. You're going to see what the simple life is really all about. Everything down here is so different from things in California. Especially my family . . .”

“This is not what I expected,” I admitted. I suddenly got nervous and concerned. Was Rachel not the woman I thought she was, after all? I had fallen in love with an intelligent, sophisticated woman with long black hair, big brown eyes, and cinnamon-brown skin to die for. She was just as beautiful on the inside. She was warm, generous, and caring—everything I wanted in a woman. What about her family? Just how “simple” were they? What if she was the only rose in a garden of thorns? I couldn't imagine my family accepting a bunch of illiterate, backwoods, barefoot in-laws who were still living in the dark ages. My marrying into such a family would kill Mother!

Rachel directed me to pull up and stop in the driveway of a small, green-shingled house with a neat little front lawn and a gray glider on the wraparound porch. My mouth dropped open when a stout woman in a shabby housedress, who looked like a middle-aged version of Rachel, shot out the front door in her ashy bare feet like the house was on fire. I quickly closed my mouth as I parked the car and turned off the motor. Rachel and I piled out at the same time. Birds were circling above, and more flies and gnats were buzzing around our heads, so I moved with caution. I didn't know what to expect now, but nothing would have surprised me. I had to ask myself,
What have I gotten myself into?
With my lips pressed tightly together and my jaw twitching, I took a few steps and stepped into a puddle of brown slime.

“Rachel! My baby's come home!” the woman yelled. She ran off the porch and gave Rachel a bear hug. “Oh, honey, it's so good to have you home again! And just look at you—thin as a rail!”

“Mama, this is Seth Garrett,” Rachel said, introducing me as she pulled me toward her by my hand.

Mrs. McNeal shaded her beady eyes and looked at me for a few moments, smiling her approval. Then she wrapped her arms around me and gave me such an aggressive hug, my chest felt like she had sat on it. “My goodness, what a good-looking young man! Just look at you! Your hair is all nice and neat, and you have bright eyes and skin as smooth as brown silk.” She reared back and looked me up and down. I was surprised when she slid her hand up the side of my arm. “You just as strapping as them guys on the TV. Ain't no flab on you or nothing!”

“I'm so pleased to finally meet you, Mrs. McNeal,” I managed to say when she released me. “Rachel's told me so much about you, I feel like I know you already.” That was a big, fat lie. The sweet, charming Southern woman I had pictured in my mind since I'd proposed to Rachel was not the ignorant-sounding, countrified frump standing in front of me now.

“I hope she didn't tell you too much, son. The Lord's still working on me, so don't be surprised if I ain't what you expect.” Mrs. McNeal looked from Rachel to me and back. “Y'all, don't just stand here, looking like lost sheep. Get on in the house before them mosquitoes get wind of y'all!”

I retrieved our two suitcases from the backseat of the car, and Mrs. McNeal led us into the house. She held on to Rachel's hand so tightly, you would have thought that she was afraid Rachel was going to run off into the bushes by the side of the house.

The house looked shabby on the outside, but everything inside was neat and orderly. The living room had dark oak furniture and a brown crushed-velvet couch with a matching love seat, and beige draperies covered every window. Colorful area rugs covered most of the linoleum floor; crocheted doilies were on the end tables and the coffee table. One wall contained pictures from top to bottom of Rachel and her family and a large gaudy velvet illustration of Jesus hugging a child. Even though I had never been to this location before in my life, it was so cozy and homey, I immediately felt so comfortable, I didn't want to leave and return to the madness of California. But that feeling didn't last long.

“Where is everybody?” Rachel asked, looking around.

Before her mother could respond, a tall, good-looking dude in his twenties, with Hershey Bar–colored skin, tight black eyes, and fluffy black hair, slunk into the living room. He could not have looked more countrified if he tried. He was barefoot, too, and he wore a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves missing and blue overalls.

“Ernest!” Rachel hollered. She ran up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Baby,” she continued, turning to me, “this is my brother.” Ernest looked like he was in a trance. There was absolutely no expression whatsoever on his face.

I set our luggage down and reached out to shake the brother's hand. To my surprise, he just stood there, staring straight ahead. He didn't shake my hand or even acknowledge me.

“Uh, Ernest, this is your future brother-in-law,” Mrs. McNeal said in a nervous tone of voice.

Ernest blinked in my direction. Then he shrugged and eased over to the couch and plopped down. He began to look at me with contempt, and that certainly made me uneasy.

“He's a little on the quiet side,” Mrs. McNeal explained, giving Ernest a dry look, which he ignored.

“But he's harmless,” Rachel whispered in my ear. “You'll get used to him,” she added, speaking in her regular tone of voice. Then she turned to her mother. “Where's Janet and Aunt Hattie, Mama?”

“Janet's taking a nap, and your auntie is still at the Piggy Wiggly, getting a few things for dinner,” Mrs. McNeal explained, turning to me with a huge smile. “Seth, I am so glad to finally meet you. I always knew Rachel would land a man like you. God sure is good.”

“Who's out there making all that noise?” The voice coming from another part of the house was so loud and angry, it made me jump. “I know y'all out there talking trash about me!”

“That's my sister, Janet,” Rachel said, whispering again. Then she quickly left the room.

While she was gone, Ernest remained on the couch. He lifted a magazine off the coffee table, flipped it open, and began to stare at a page without moving his eyes.

“Seth, from that blank look on your face, I suspect you can't wait to get some food into your belly. It'll be a little while before dinner's ready. I just put the corn bread in the oven. I started cooking last night, all for you and Rachel. I hope you like deviled duck eggs and poke salad,” Rachel's mother told me.

I had never eaten a goddamned duck egg before in my life. And I had no idea what poke salad was. I had a feeling I was not going to enjoy either one. Since I couldn't say what was on my mind, I said what I thought Mrs. McNeal wanted to hear. “Yum-yum . . .”

“Good. I know you must be tired, too. Why don't you sit down and rest your legs?” Mrs. McNeal waved me over to a wing chair facing the couch.

I didn't bother to tell Mrs. McNeal that Rachel and I had eaten a huge lunch, and I certainly didn't want her to know how terrified I was to hear that she had prepared duck eggs and that mysterious poke salad just for us. The last thing I wanted to do was get on my future mother-in-law's shit list. I was still thinking about Ernest's odd behavior and the menacing voice of Janet, but I managed to sit down with a smile on my face.

A few minutes later Rachel returned. Shuffling behind her was a young woman, also in her twenties, in a brown corduroy dress and men's house shoes. She looked a lot like Rachel, too, except she was slightly taller. There was a dazed expression on her face as she looked me up and down.

“Honey, this is my baby sister, Janet,” Rachel said, introducing her.

I leaped up and stumbled over to Janet with the biggest smile I could manage, even though all kinds of questions, concerns, and disappointments were bouncing off the walls inside my head. “I'm glad to finally meet you, Janet,” I said as I reached out to embrace her.

“Don't you tetch me!” she yelled with a Southern drawl that was so thick, it sounded fake. “I know you the one that's been sneaking into my room in the middle of the night and playing with my titties!”

“Janet, this is my fiancé, Seth. He's never been here before.” Rachel didn't even bother to hide her exasperation. She turned to me with an apologetic look on her face. “Honey, my brother and my sister were both born with a, uh, few problems. But they're just fine, as long as they take their medication.”

“Okay,” was all I could think to say.
Medication? Both of Rachel's siblings have to take medication? For what?
My chest tightened, and my brain felt as if it had frozen.
Uh-oh. What have I gotten myself into?
I wondered.