Deadly Satisfaction

 

 

 

 

Published by Dafina Books

DEADLY Satisfaction

TRICE HICKMAN

A Dangerous Love Novel

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Writing this portion of the book is always one of the most gratifying for me because I get the opportunity to give thanks for the many blessings in my life. I thank God for His grace and mercy. He is always faithful and He always gives me what I need, when I need it. To God be the glory!

Thank you to my parents, Reverend Irvin and Alma Hickman. You have always been in my corner, no matter the situation, with love, guidance, encouragement, and great advice. I love you to the moon and back! Thank you to my brother and sister, Marcus and Melody, whom I love dearly. Thank you to my many aunts, uncles, cousins, and family friends for loving and supporting me.

Thank you to the Hayes crew; Todd Sr., Todd Jr., Eboni, Mary, and sweet Gabriella. I couldn't ask for a more loving, supportive, and kind group of people to be in my life. I love you all!

Thank you to my girlfriends who always have my back and support me in everything I do. You are the definition of “I am my sister's keeper.” I love each of you: Vickie Lindsay, Sherraine Mclean, Terri Chandler, Kimberla Lawson Roby, Barbara Marie Downy, Tiffany Dove, China Ball, Lutishia Lovely, Tammi Johnson, Cerece Rennie Murphy, and Yolanda Trollinger. Thank you for being my sisters and friends!

Thank you to my phenomenal agent, Janell Walden Agyeman. Your expert guidance, professional integrity, and genuinely kind spirit have been a blessing to me, and I'm proud to call you a dear friend.

Thank you to my amazing editor, Mercedes Fernandez. You push me to go deeper with each book and your keen eye and suggestions make it all come together. Thank you to the entire Kensington staff for all that you do to bring my books from words on paper to a published book.

Thank you to the super talented book publicists Ella D. Curry, of EDC Creations, and Yolanda Gore, the Literary Guru. I appreciate the work and dedication you put into helping to spread the word about my books. Thank you to the librarians, bookstore managers and employees, vendors, and online retailers who sell my books to your customers. Thank you to the Book Referees, Urban Reviews, AALBC, and the many bloggers and reviewers who support my work and help spread the word.

Thank you a million times over to the readers and book clubs who support my work! I'm honored that you make the investment in time to read my work, book after book. I can't tell you how much that means to me and how much I appreciate you! I hope you all will enjoy this book!

Happy Reading and Continued Blessings,

 

—Publilius Syrus, Maxim 185

D
ROPPED THE
B
OMB

T
he elegantly sleek interior of G&D Hair Design was alive with chatter, laughter, and gossip. Even though G&D was a high-end salon situated in the trendy Arts District section of town, the owners, Geneva Owens and Donetta Pierce, made sure their establishment was as down home and welcoming as sweet potato pie, which they often served their clients as treats. And on this particular Tuesday morning, the salon was unusually busy. It was two days before Thanksgiving, and as Donetta had said, “Every woman in town is tryin' to get their style on for the holiday.”

From one side of the salon to the other, each stylist's chair, shampoo bowl, and hooded dryer was occupied, and even more women were patiently waiting in the lobby, sipping coffee and tea from the complimentary beverage station. From blowouts to twist-outs, to full sew-ins, roller sets, and everything in between, the ladies of Amber, Alabama were primed and ready for the royal treatment that had become G&D's trademark. Geneva and Donetta had worked hard to overcome many obstacles to open their salon, and now they were reaping the rewards with their thriving business.

“I've been doing hair for as long as I can remember, and this is the busiest holiday turnout I've ever seen,” Donetta said. “You'd think we were giving away weaves up in here.”

“Everyone wants to look good when they visit with their families,” Geneva said with a smile as she reached for her flat iron.

“Speak for yourself and these other women,” Shartell Brown huffed as she sat in Donetta's chair. “As for me, I'm gettin' fly for me, myself, and I. My family is on my last nerve right now, and I'm glad I only have to tolerate them once or twice a year during the holidays.”

Donetta made a
tsk
ing sound as she measured a track of hair for what would become part of Shartell's full sew-in weave. “Girl, why're you stressing about your family?”

“'Cause ever since I blew up, they're always coming to me with their hands out and a whole lotta foolishness.”

“Shoot, if they know you like I know you, they'll leave you alone before they end up in one of your columns, or maybe even that new book you're writing.”

Shartell smiled slyly. “You know, Donetta, that's not a bad idea. I can write a juicy story from all the shenanigans that go on in my family. Real life is much more scandalous than fiction.”

Donetta pursed her lips. “I was just joking.”

“Girl, that's not a joke, that's a good idea.”

“Shartell, that would be flat-out wrong to put your family members' business on front street. That's cold.”

“Honey, please. That's business, and it's called being shrewd.”

“How 'bout it's called being coldhearted.” Donetta quipped in return. “Where the hell are your morals, Shartell? Don't you have a conscience anymore?”

“Of course I do. But if I'm telling the truth, what's wrong with that? Even the Good Book says the truth shall set you free.”

“Don't use the Bible to justify your mess.”

“I stand behind the things I say, that's why no one can ever accuse me of a being a liar, and that's the truth.”

Geneva chimed in. “Just because something is true, that doesn't mean you have to say it.”

“You better listen to Geneva,” Donetta said as she parted Shartell's hair with her comb. “And don't think about putting anyone in this salon in your book because if you do, you'll end up having to do your hair your damn self, 'cause you know I won't touch your head again.”

“Whatever,” Shartell said.

“Heffa, you know I barely like you anyway,” Donetta teased.

Geneva shook her head and laughed. “You two talk so much junk.”

“Donetta knows she loves me,” Shartell said with a chuckle. “And hey, I might be a heffa, and I might even be coldhearted, at times, but I'm one of the realest chicks you ever gonna meet, and there ain't a phony bone in my body.”

Everyone within earshot nodded in agreement with what Shartell had just said. Shartell Brown, who had once worked as a stylist with Geneva and Donetta a few years ago, at Heavenly Hair Salon, had been nicknamed Ms. CIA, because she was a known gossip with intel on everyone in town. Now she was a respected news and entertainment reporter for Entertainment Scoop, a wildly popular online website that was giving TMZ a run for their money. Shartell had risen to prominence thanks to the most salacious and talked about murder case the town of Amber had ever seen.

Two years ago, Johnny Mayfield, who had been Geneva's ex-husband, had been murdered inside his home. Johnny had been a charismatic but nefarious man who'd amassed a legion of enemies, both male and female. The list of suspects had been as long as a hot summer day, but thanks to Shartell's contacts, inside information, and her uncanny ability to find out the word on the street before it ever hit the pavement, she'd provided the authorities with useful tips that helped them solve Johnny's murder and had cemented a new career for herself in the process.

Geneva shook her head. “Shartell, try to go easy on your family. You should count yourself blessed that you have relatives to spend the holidays with. I'd give anything to share a meal with my mother again, God rest her soul.”

“That's because your mother was probably just as nice as you are, Ms. Pollyanna,” Shartell teased. “My mama, on the other hand, could drive Jesus to drink hard liquor. And my four siblings . . . let's just say that if the devil needed extra disciples he'd come looking for them, and their badass kids.”

“Shartell!” Geneva chided. “That's an awful thing to say.”

Donetta threaded her needle and nodded her head. “That's the kind of truth telling she probably shouldn't have said, but you have to admit, it was funny as hell.”

“Thank you,” Shartell said, reaching up to give Donetta a high five. “My aunt is coming in town for the holidays and I have to pick her up from the train station tonight, but once I drop her off at my mama's house I'm gonna be in the wind and they won't see me again until Thanksgiving dinner, which I plan to cut short.”

“You're seriously not going to spend time with your family?” Geneva asked.

“I'm gonna try my best not to. Besides, I have work to do. I'm writing an article about finding love during the holidays, and it's due tomorrow afternoon so it can run on Thanksgiving Day, and I know none of my knuckle head, backwards-ass relatives can help me with that subject matter.”

Geneva adjusted her smock as she spoke. “You two are the most jaded human beings I know. Where is your optimism? Where's your hope?”

Donetta sighed. “Oh Lord, we've gotten her started.”

“I'm serious.” Geneva put down her flat iron and reached for a hair clip as she continued to speak. “Try not to be so pessimistic about everything.”

“We're not pessimists, we're realists,” Donetta said, hand on her slim hip. “Hell, I know exactly what Shartell's talkin' about when it comes to family. Every time I spend the holidays with mine I end up needing a double dose of therapy. They're just way too much, and that's why I'm not foolin' with them this year.”

“Donetta, you know you're more than welcome to spend Thanksgiving at my house,” Geneva said, “but your aunt is going to have a fit if you don't stop by and visit with her and your cousins.”

Donetta smirked. “She'll just have to have one because my backstabbing relatives won't see my face this Turkey Day. I refuse to go over to my Aunt May May's and listen to the bullshit that I know she's gonna be serving. I got my life to live and I'm doin' just fine without them.”

“I'm truly sorry to hear that,” Councilwoman Harris spoke up from Geneva's chair. “Donetta, I'm going to say a prayer for you, and you too, Shartell, that you and your families will find peace.”

Charlene Harris was one of Geneva's favorite and most loyal clients, and over the last two years she had become a close friend and confidant. Charlene was a pillar of the community, and much like Geneva, she was a woman who'd mastered the art of reinventing herself. Two years ago, after putting up with years of infidelity from her husband, she'd ended her long-suffering marriage and had started a new life. She'd updated her look and style from classic conservative to contemporary chic, but she'd kept the same elegant grace and comportment that she'd become known and respected for, along with her humility.

Geneva smiled at Charlene. “You understand what family is all about, and I know you can't wait to see your children when they come to town.”

“Yes, I can't wait to see Phillip and Lauren. We haven't all been together since last Christmas, so I'm certainly looking forward to it.”

“That's a blessing,” Geneva said as she worked her flat iron through Charlene's razor-cut, chin-length bob, putting the finishing touches on her chic hairdo.

Although no one else listening to Charlene speak could recognize the catch in her voice when she'd mentioned her children, Geneva had. And that was because Charlene had omitted any reference to her eldest child, Brad. Brad had moved to Los Angeles over ten years ago, married a tall blonde from the Valley, and hadn't spoken to his family since. It had hurt Charlene to her core, knowing that her firstborn had basically disowned his entire family, but she'd learned to make peace with it over the years through prayer, and the hope that someday her son would come to his senses. But until then, she poured all her love and care into the two who still remained close in her life.

“Yes, it is,” Charlene said with a nod. “Lauren's doing well in med school at Johns Hopkins, and Phillip was just named senior associate at his law firm.”

“That's impressive,” Donetta said. “You did a great job raising them.”

“Thank you, Donetta. But I have to say they made it easy because both of them have always been very focused, self-directed kids who never followed the crowd. They stayed true to who they are, and that's why I'm so proud of them. They're good, kindhearted human beings who care about people, and that's what's most important in my book.”

Geneva nodded. “Yes, it certainly is.”

“Amen to that,” Donetta chimed in, along with Shartell. “Not everybody has the opportunity to pursue their dreams and still remain true to themselves while they're doing it. That takes a lot of effort and sacrifice.”

Geneva looked at her co-owner and best friend and smiled. She knew that it was a topic near to Donetta's heart. It had been a little over a year since she'd undergone gender reassignment surgery, commonly known as SRS; or as the trans community called it, bottom surgery, so that her outward physical appearance reflected who she was inside. It had taken Donetta many years, tremendous sacrifice, and at times, painful heartache, to pursue her long-held dream of living life the way she'd always felt she was meant to.

“Your words speak so much truth, Donetta,” Councilwoman Harris said with a nod. “Life is a journey filled with many paths we can take to arrive at our intended destination. The key is knowing how to navigate your course, regardless of what anyone else thinks, and then master how to stay on it.”

“And the best way to reach any destination is in a pair of Jimmy Choos,” Donetta replied with a wink.

They all laughed at Donetta's joke, but suddenly the room fell silent when Shartell looked up at the fifty-inch television screen hanging on the wall and let out a loud gasp. Every eye was glued to the face on the screen that put panic in each of their hearts, for very different reasons.

Geneva stood frozen in place while Donetta reached over her, grabbed the remote, and turned up the volume. The “
Breaking News
” caption rolled across the screen with a photo of Vivana Jackson above it. A hush came over the entire salon as they listened to news that left everyone's mouth hanging open with questions.

Vivana Jackson—formally known as Vivana Owens—had been convicted of murdering her ex-lover, Johnny Mayfield, in cold blood, and was serving a twenty-five-to-life sentence for second-degree murder in the Alabama state penitentiary. But according to the information coming out of the reporter's mouth, Vivana was now being represented by a prominent local attorney who'd taken her case pro bono, and had found compelling evidence that suggested Vivana was innocent of the crime for which she'd been convicted. A murder committed impulsively, and without premeditation.

“I've uncovered evidence that corroborates my client's claim that she is innocent of killing Jonathan Mayfield,” Leslie Sachs, Vivana's attorney, said. “I can't go into detail now, but when I present the evidence to the judge next week, it will be clear that Ms. Jackson, formerly known as Mrs. Owens, was not only framed, but the real killer is still at large, and is quite possibly watching this interview right now.”

The reporter ended the clip by telling viewers that an exclusive jailhouse interview with Vivana would air tonight on the evening news.

Everyone remained silent while their eyes fell on Geneva, who was still frozen in place.

Donetta looked at Geneva. “Honey . . . you okay?”

Geneva shook her head from side to side. “No, I'm not. I need to go home.”

From that moment forward, the salon was filled with voracious gossip, wild speculation, and unfounded theories about the murder case that had rocked Amber. Johnny Mayfield had done so many people wrong that a different suspect had popped up each week after his death. Mostly everyone in town believed that his scorned ex-lover, Vivana, had done it, while there were a select few who believed Vivana's claim that she'd been framed. But there were only four people who knew without a doubt that Vivana was innocent. One of them was dead, one was sitting in jail, one was Johnny's real killer—the honorable and well-respected councilwoman, Charlene Harris—and the last person who knew the identity of Johnny's real killer was the person who'd sent Councilwoman Harris a mysterious text, telling her that they had proof that she'd done it.