Dark Series, The Color of Seven and The Color of Dusk (Books We Love Special Edition) (4 page)

Ria felt bereaved herself. The girl deviling her mother was so alive and so in love. She moved down the pages, searching for further references to Paul.

There he was.
After Chloe’s death, he’d taken an “extended tour” of the western frontier and returned to Macon in a coffin. No details of death, but his body’d been brought home. Both Paul and Chloe were buried in
Rose Arbor
Cemetery.

Ria glared at the books as though they’d caused the tragedy.
And she’d thought her house was such a happy house.
Shit.

* * *

Having learned the final ending of the private movies the house played just for her, Ria half-expected them to cease. But no. They accelerated.
On
the
Friday marking the end of their third official week in the
house, she walked into the
nook in the rear of the offices
they used as the office mini-kitchen
.

A short, plump black figure, her head dressed
in
a b
right turban, stood in front of an old-fashioned stove.
She bent to pull the heavy iron door of the oven. Steam wafted out from behind it, and she turned her head suddenly toward the door.

“Joshua! You wipe yo
’
feet, boy! An’ do
an
y
ou dare slam
da
t door, you
goan
make my cake fall!”

“An’ I know you
goan
take it out of my hide iff’n I do,” he said.
The vision named Joshua was a slender boy, sixteen or seventeen
,
his
skin the color of café au lait.

“I sho’ ‘nuff is
.
”

Johnny spoke behind Ria.

“Did you leave any coffee? I don’t know how you ever get any sleep, much as you drink,” he said, and moved to the coffee pot.

The tableau continued to play in front of her, as oblivious to Johnny’s presence as to her own.

“Janie, Mist’ Paul say tell you he
goan
be late tonight,” Joshua
said.

“Dat ain’t no surprise,” declared Janie
.
She t
urn
ed
away from the stove and back to her counter. She cut a slice of bread from a fresh loaf sitting on a clean white cloth and slathered it with butter. “Here, boy. Just got it out from
d
e oven a few minutes ago. D
oan
know how you stays so little, much as you eat. Probably shrink to nuttin’ did you slack off any.”

Ria looked at Johnny
.
He sipped his coffee and stared unseeing at the two figures in front of them. “Got stuck with another new appointed criminal case this morning,” he said. “God, I’ll be glad when our five years are up and we can get off that list. You look a little funny. You alright?”

An African queen entered
the
kitchen.
Her copper skin gleamed.
She wore a wrapped turban on her head, too
. On this woman, it served as the ultimate accessory of royalty, emphasi
z
ing
the
high cheekbones
, the
beautiful bone structure
.

Janie
continued her running commentary. “And Mist’ Paul, I swear,
dat
man.
Sadie, you need
s
to talk to dat boy!
Ain’t
goan
listen to you, neither, I knows dat, but you got more chan
ce with
him den anybody else do.
Whu
t is it dis
time? Sometimes I think do
an
nobody in this town, black no
r white neither, stop to think d
at man need time to eat and sleep hisself.”

“Mist’ Paul ain’t no little boy, Janie, he do
an
need us
to
tell him how to tend
his business.”
Sadie
walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a glass.

Janie snorted.
“Li
ke dat ever stop you befo’ from tellin’ him whu
t to do! Sadie, you do
an
fool me none, woman.
You raise dat boy, you all
d
e time tellin’ him whu
t to do!”

“
Something must be wrong with yo’ ears
,
den
,
” said Sadie
,
“’
c
ause now I save dat for when he really need it, do
an
waste my breath on
things do
an
matter two hoots nor
holler no way.”

Ria laughed out loud.
She couldn’t help it.

“Ria? Earth to Ria Knight!”
Johnny waved a hand in front of her face.
“You al
l
right?”

“I’m fine,” Ria said.
Confirmed then.
Johnny didn’t see a thing.

“Ria!”
Their secre
tary Katie appeared in the door.
“Eleven o’clock appointment’s here!”
She looked right through
the trio talking somewhere in the past
and moved over to the coffee pot to freshen her own cup.
With regret
, Ria walked out the door to meet with Mrs. Slatton and hear her tale of domestic woe
. She’d have much preferred
listen
ing
to
that conversation from the past.

Chapter
Five

Dennis Billings
walked
out the
back
door of his parents’ house and headed in the direction of his Camaro, whistling as he walked.
Freedom from Justin felt like being out of prison.
What the hell had he been thinking?
He’d never
need
ed
the money from that damn drug business
, neither had Justin.
Their folks were more than well
-
off and bought both of them anything they hinted they wanted
. That
drug deal scene
was all Justin. For the thrills, Justin said. Some excitement.
He’d always been the leader, Dennis the follower.
Since they were six, for God’s sakes!
Thank God he’d come to his senses before they’d gotten busted!

During the past month, following his self-proclaimed emancipation from the influence of Justin Dinardo, Dennis rediscovered the advantages of independence
. The biggest one was
Lori Anne Denman
. Ev
en if she did beat the living shit out of him on the country club tennis courts.
He and Lori were the new
‘
hot
’
couple and getting hotter by the day.

School started in two day
s
,
his senior year, and he intended to work his ass off.
Sliding and free rides were over.
Today, one of the last days of freedom, he and Lori were heading to the lake for a day of swimming and sunning.

His whistle cut off in mid-bar as he stared at the Camaro, sitting ungracefully on its four flat tires.

“Shit!”

He squatted by the right front tire and examined the valve stem. Leaky valves? On all four tires?

Justin’s voice came over the hedge.

“Nice day for a drive, huh, buddy?”

* * *

On the second day of the new school year, t
he 3:15 bell resounded through the halls
. L
aughing, giggling teenagers poured in a floodtide out the doors.
Dennis and Lori poured out with them, waving to friends across the parking lot. The school grounds echoed with good-natured insults, a light breeze tempered the heat, the sun was bright.
In the air there was the mildest, faintest trace of a hint that autumn might come early to the south this year
.

Dennis shouted over the top of the Camaro’s roof at Sean Whithers.

“You still drivin’ that piece of shit, man? Thought you were goin’ to do it a favor and shoot it!”

“Fuck you, Billings!” Sean shouted back. He was the proud owner of a red Mustang 5.0 five-speed. Most of the students old enough to drive had new or almost new sports cars. It was a rich
, private
school that catered to the children of professionals.

Dennis grinned and click
ed
the auto lock
s. They saw it at the same time.

Every CD Dennis owned was out of the case and scattered over the interior. Deep scratches glared, as though someone had taken a nail and run it
viciously
over the surfaces. A few lay shattered, their fragments strewn over the seats.

“But the doors were still locked!” Lori exclaimed. “How did
anybody—why
did
anybody—why
didn’t they just steal them?”

Dennis turned slowly around, searching over the parking lot for the figure he knew was watching.
Justin stood by the hood of his
green Tacoma
and waited
for Dennis to turn in his direction.
Their eyes locked. Justin grinned and waved.

* * *

Dennis stood by the bank of lockers
lining
the hallway
, waiting
for Lori
.
The flat tires and shattered, scratched CDs
had been the first volley in ongoing guerilla warfare, followed by
gym shoes
without
laces
, graffiti painted on his locker, pages torn from his calculus book.
Minor league stuff, calculated to annoy and irritate. H
e’d
confronted Justin head-on.

“Yeah? Whatcha goin’
do about it, Dennis? Call the police? Be my guest.”

Yeah, right.
“You see,
O
fficer, I know about Justin because we’re former drug-dealin’ partners….”
Not a viable option.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts he didn’t notice Lori’s approach until she swirled the combination of her locker.

“I swear!” Lori fussed mildly. “That woman! I’ve got enoug
h English homework tonight to—”

Lori’s face went greenish-yellow. Dennis almost gagged
as
the stench pour
ed
in waves from
her open
locker.
He slammed the locker door shut
before she started her high-pitched scream
,
but
not before he saw the huge dead wharf-rat lying on top of her stack of books. Not before he saw the pile of disemboweled guts sitting in a steaming mass beside it.

He pulled Lori’s head against his shoulder while his mind screamed a name in reverberating roars. He raised his head and looked over Lori’s hair. Justin leaned against the wall, four lockers down
, watching
.
He
smiled.

Justin’s hand moved to his jeans pocket, running his fingers lovingly across the material, caressing the scrim
-
shaw pocketknife he
c
arried
in violation of
school regulations
.
D
ennis got the message
, al
l
right,
one he couldn’t ignore. He needed help. And he knew where to go to get it.

Chapter
Six

While Dennis stared at Justin’s hand caressing the hidden knife, Ria ambled through the well-kept grounds of
Rose Arbor
Cemetery, looking for the Devlin graves.
Rose Arbor
and neighboring Riverside
Hills
Cemetery were historic landmarks in the city, overlooking the banks of the Ocmulgee River. Tourists and locals visited frequently to walk the landscaped grounds dotted with groups of azalea bushes and tall, perfectly shaped cedars. Redbuds and dogwoods and marble benches rose among the diverse shapes of the tombstones. An occasional mausoleum mimicked a small Greek temple.

She found Chloe’s grave by accident, her eyes caught by the lovely carving of the small
statuette
of the angel. She couldn’t be reading the marker properly. Surely Paul and Chloe were buried side by side, under a double monument. She read the inscription again.