God Only Knows (17 page)

Cassie dipped her head, then recovered the ability to meet his eyes. “For the past three weeks, I’ve told you everything important
at every step of the way. I told you every detail of our meeting with Toya and Terry. I told you that we couldn’t come up
with a coherent account of exactly what happened. And I would have told you about the outcome of Saturday’s meeting that same
night, if you’d just given me a chance.”

“You’re not hearing me,” Marcus said, his arms crossed as he took another step toward his wife. “I need to know that we’re
in agreement on this, Cassie. If we’re going to keep this marriage viable, we’re going to stop with the secrets on either
side. That means that I fight the temptation to cheat by telling you about every woman who flirts with me, and give you the
opportunity to meet any female colleague who may be up to no good. But it also means that you keep me in the loop on everything
involving Whitlock, and any other dark secrets you’ve been hiding.”

“Okay, that was out of line.” Cassie held her forehead before continuing. “Marcus, I hear you. I promise you before God, I
will not make the same mistake again. But, baby, I’m not just upset for the sake of it. I saw the look in Whitlock’s eyes
when they hauled you two off. I’m sure that unlike you, he was not threatened with an assault charge, but I’m also sure he’s
not happy about having to explain why you confronted him.”

“I followed your instructions,” Marcus said, his expression blank. “I made it easy for him. I told the investigating officers
that after stopping M.J. and Dante for speeding and bringing M.J. home, he’d seemingly grown attracted to you and was harassing
you sexually. That was it. I’m sure Whitlock convinced them I was crazy and avoided any mention of his brother’s case.”

“We’d better pray so,” Cassie replied, hugging herself anxiously. “Let me go get the mail; then we can eat. I got some herb
roast turkey at Kroger that just needs a few minutes in the microwave to be ready.”

Opening her front door, Cassie started for a minute at the sight of a late-model Mercedes that sat idling just in front of
their mailbox. It was already dark, so with a sense of foreboding, she flicked on her porch light and shut the door behind
herself. Had Whitlock purchased a new car? If so, she had to get him out of here.

Her eyes trained on the gleaming black car, Cassie hustled to the box, removed her mail, and lingered just long enough to
let the driver reveal him or herself. They were loitering in front of her property, after all.

All four windows of the car were tinted, and Cassie realized that if she didn’t act, she’d be walking back inside with no
clue as to who this was. Her heartbeat accelerating, she inhaled and stepped to the curb, where she reached forward with her
free hand and rapped insistently on the passenger-side window.

Her knuckles were still on the window when it suddenly zoomed down, revealing M.J.’s smiling face. “Hey, Mom,” he said, his
gaze weary but easygoing. “I’ll be inside in a sec.”

Cassie didn’t really need to raise her eyes from her son’s handsome face to figure out who was in the driver’s seat. She still
met her little cousin’s eyes as she said, “Dante, how are you this evening?”

“I’m good, Aunt Cassie,” Dante replied, reaching a hand over to pat hers. “My daddy says hey. You’re looking good.”

“Thank you,” she said. A light, misting rain had descended, and the way she felt, Cassie figured more steam had to be rising
from her body with each passing second. “So what brings you two together this evening? M.J., I thought you were over at DaShea’s
house this evening, with your own car.”

“Well, I was,” M.J. replied, trading sheepish glances with his cousin before meeting his mother’s glare. “Problem is, I was
heading out from Shea’s, and realized my car battery is dead.
D-E-A-D.
Shea’s momma even tried to give me a jump, and it wouldn’t take.”

“That’s the only reason he called me, Aunt Cassie,” Dante said, his eyes taking on a childlike innocence, his tone apologetic.
“I know you don’t want him hanging around with me anymore, but he’d tried all his other boys, and, well, I’m the only one
who was free.”

“I understand,” Cassie said calmly. It was M.J. she intended to strangle within minutes, not her little cousin. Bless his
heart, Dante was what he was. She had tried for years to positively influence the child. She had helped babysit him for the
first few years of his life, had provided in more recent years for some of his educational and clothing needs when his father
Donald’s money was tight, and had been used by God to lead Donald to Christ a decade ago. When it all came down to it, though,
Cassie was now fighting to save her own son from himself —and from Peter Whitlock.

As far as Dante was concerned, Cassie was spent.
God help him, please.
As Cassie walked insistently back toward the house, she barely registered M.J.’s promise to come inside within minutes.

Back inside their home, her son had barely shut the door behind himself when Cassie grabbed a cordless phone and told him
to sit down. “Your father and I need to talk to you,” she said.

“Whatever.” Dutifully settling in at the kitchen table, M.J. took out his cell phone and began punching in a text message.
When Marcus stepped into view, he grunted in acknowledgment as Cassie joined them at the table.

“Donald,” she said into her phone when her cousin’s voice mail kicked in, “I need to speak with you this evening, please.
I pray all is well, but I have an urgent matter regarding Dante and M.J. I really need your support in keeping the two of
them apart. We’ve talked about this before, but I’d like to explain more background. Okay? So call me. Love you.”

“What are you doing, Mom?” M.J. stared at his mother in alarm as she set her phone down. He had set his own cell aside.

“I’m handling a situation,” Cassie replied. “As you like to remind me, M.J., you are a good son in so many ways. You make
us proud in so many ways. But it’s clear that when it comes to avoiding dangerous company, Dante especially, you’re not capable
of being obedient.”

“Mom, come on,” M.J. replied. “We just explained what happened —”

“I don’t need any explanations,” Cassie replied. “I tried to use the honor system with you, but you didn’t respect that. So
the rules have changed.” She reached across the table and took the cell phone. “No phone privileges, no car use, and either
your father or I will pick you up every night from after-school activities.” She took a beat. “Yes, that includes football
and then basketball.”

M.J. glanced between both parents before chuckling under his breath. For the first time, he looked directly at his father.
“I suppose you’re backing her up on this, never mind that it’s clear you just spent a couple of nights in jail.”

Marcus crossed his arms. “Oh, you have it all figured out, do you? You didn’t buy your mother’s explanation to you and the
girls, that I had a sudden business trip?”

“I had my doubts,” M.J. replied, smiling. “Thanks for confirming them. Which girlfriend were you with this time?”

Marcus rose from his seat. “Apologize, son,” he said, voice husky with emotion. “Apologize right now.”

“You plannin’ on making me?”

Cassie jumped to her feet, placed what she hoped looked like loving hands around her husband’s neck. “Marcus Gillette Jr.,
you apologize right now for not showing your father the proper respect. I won’t have it, M.J., I just won’t.”

“You want to earn a freakin’ apology?” M.J. shoved back from the table, standing to his feet. “Then treat me like a man! Why
you all got this hard-on about me hangin’ around with Dante? I know he’s been in some trouble, but he’s family!”

Surprised at the nature of her son’s question, Cassie found herself hedging. “Son, listen —”

“Salt and light,” M.J. said, pacing back and forth with his arms swinging wide. “If there’s one thing Sunday school’s drilled
into me, it’s that concept. That as Christians we should be salt and light, bringing God into the lives of those around us.
That’s all I’m trying to do for Dante. You all know me. I don’t shoot up, I don’t sell drugs —shoot, for that matter, I don’t
get down with the type of girls who date Dante or his dealer friends.”

Marcus winked. “No, you just get down with all the other girls instead.”

“Never mind that,” M.J. replied, shrugging and looking embarrassed for a moment before the glare returned to his eyes. “I’m
telling y’all; I’m slowly getting through to him. I mean, he hasn’t changed all his bad habits yet, but he’s showing more
interest in the Bible and everything.”

Marcus sighed as Cassie processed her boy’s unexpectedly heartening words. “Sit down, son,” he said, exchanging glances with
Cassie. “He turns eighteen in a matter of months, Cassie. He’s old enough to know. It’s the best way to keep him safe.”

“Yes,” Cassie said, her voice shaky in her own ears as she dug deep for a new dose of faith. She knew, finally, that this
was the way to help her son understand what was at stake. “M.J.,” she said, reaching over and taking his hand, “listen. Maybe
you’ll finally understand why your father and I are so worried for you.”

H
ey, Doc,” Peter Whitlock said as Maxwell approached his police station desk. Standing, he shot a hand forward, shaking vigorously
and locking eyes. “My mother will be thrilled that we’ve finally talked.”

“Your mother keeps my clinic afloat, Detective,” Maxwell replied, smiling easily as he withdrew from the handshake. “With
all she’s done for me, I had to honor her request that we speak.” Sliding his hands back into his cashmere overcoat, he glanced
around the room as he asked, “Where did you want to grab a bite?”

Stepping back to his desk and grabbing a ring of keys, Whitlock smirked visibly. “Oh, yeah, about that. Turns out I’m really
pressed for time, Doc. You mind if we just grab a free room down the hall here?”

“Uh —okay.” Medical doctor or not, shared heir to a multimillion-dollar fortune or not, Maxwell was still a black man. “Hanging
out” in a police station would never pass for his idea of fun.

“Come on,” Whitlock said, walking jauntily and gesturing over his shoulder. “I’m sure there’s a free interrogation room.”

Standing at the threshold of the small, all-concrete room the detective selected, Maxwell cleared his throat. His internal
radar told him he was matching wits with exactly the type of person he dreaded —a white “brother” full of both race and class-based
resentment.
Is that what it takes to get us on equal footing, Detective? Make me feel like I’m one of the criminals or innocents you badger
every day?

Because this was Edna’s son, though, Maxwell left the thoughts unspoken. Following behind Whitlock, he pointed nonchalantly
toward one of the low metal chairs before them. “Guess this one’s mine?”

“Whichever you find more comfy,” Whitlock replied, chuckling. Taking the other seat, he looked at Maxwell across the table
separating them. “So what’s on your mind? Or should I say, what’s on my mother’s mind, at least where I’m concerned?”

“Well,” Maxwell said, his elbows on the table, his eyes searching Whitlock’s, “your mother is concerned that there may be
other things going on in your life that explain your obsession with Eddie’s case. Is everything okay with your health, Pete?”

“Back off,” Whitlock replied, eyes smiling. “You’re talking to a man who respects your profession. I get my annual checkup,
I watch my cholesterol, you name it. I’m good.”

“Okay.” Maxwell stood, happy to reverse the dynamic for Whitlock. “Now don’t take offense, but your mother’s concerned with
how you’re handling your divorce and the burden of raising your son with limited custody. Is she off-base?”

The light in the detective’s eyes faded suddenly. “You have children, Doc?”

Caught off-guard, Maxwell stumbled his way into an answer. “Uh, no. Not sure I get the point?”

“If you had children,” Whitlock continued, “you’d know, or at least be able to imagine, how tough it is being in your kid’s
life when his mother hates you. It’s no picnic.” Whitlock stood suddenly, his fingers fidgety. “Man, I need a cigarette. Let’s
move this along.”

Still reeling from the impact of Whitlock’s semi-
Oprah
moment, Maxwell tried to focus. “I —I understand.” Crossing his arms, he let his back rest against the wall as he stared
back at the detective. “Look, I know how it feels to think your parents don’t respect the fact that you’re all grown-up, to
have them looking out for you when you don’t feel you need it.”

Whitlock gave that funny smirk again. “It’s like you’re reading my mind, Doc.”

“I guess my point,” Maxwell said, “is that I realize your mother’s concerns may not be warranted. As one who knew your brother,
I always wondered whether there was a deeper truth to what happened.” He inhaled, full of curiosity, but not certain he wanted
the answer. “Have you actually identified some suspects?”

A hand raised, Whitlock said, “Doctor, so we’re clear, I appreciate you trying to help my mother out. But if I tell you anything,
I can’t give you the slightest bit of information about an ongoing investigation.”

“I understand,” Maxwell replied. “I guess what I’m really wondering is whether this investigation is yours alone, or whether
if I walk out this door and ask your supervising officer, he would verify that he’s aware of it too.”

Whitlock’s eyes narrowed and he took a step toward Maxwell. “Are you threatening me?”

Maxwell stood tall on his own feet, removing his back from its perch against the wall. “I’m asking a question, Detective,
one whose answer could put your mother at ease.”

Whitlock frowned as he paced slowly around his own chair. “How would that work exactly?”

“Look,” Maxwell said, “you mother’s main fear is that you’re going off half-cocked on some misguided mission to avenge Eddie.
I’m saying if you can look me in the eye and tell me that you’re operating with the approval of your superiors, and that you’ve
got some actual suspects under investigation, I’ll tell your mother she can relax.”