Murder on the Down Low (48 page)

“You’re probably right,” J.C. said.

“Girl, nobody coulda written this script. How did Belynda know all those other men she killed were on the down low?”

“You wouldn’t believe what we found at her house.” J.C. glanced back over the seat. “She had pictures, driver’s licenses and credit card numbers on all of her victims. She’d been following them for months. A lot of her information came from SADDDL, that fanatical group Nichelle spoke to. She was working as one of their investigators.”

“I actually saw her at that luncheon,” Nichelle said, “but I figured it was just somebody who looked like her.”

“Once SADDDL gave her information about a man they suspected of being on the down low,” J.C. continued, “Belynda began following them. For instance, a SADDDL member who worked at the post office noticed that James Hill, that investment banker from Ladera, received regular deliveries from gay porn sites at his post office box. We think Belynda killed him based on that information alone. She had no idea he was a friend of Reverend Sims. She had a list of eleven other men she was tracking. Including the guy she killed in the park across from your apartment.”

“Her ass was stone crazy.”

“The
Times
story said she was mentally ill,” Nichelle said sympathetically. “Schizophrenic. She was extremely close to her mother, who was infected with HIV by a man she’d been dating. We lost Maya, but can you imagine losing your
mother
to AIDS?”

“Like I said,” Special repeated, “the heffa was crazy.”

“Enough of this depressing talk.” Vernetta clasped her hands. “We have some good news. Not only did the prosecutor drop the murder
and
assault charges, Eugene’s law firm isn’t going to pursue criminal charges against you for hacking into their computer system.”

“Nobody can prove I had anything to do with sending that email,” Special said, as self-righteous as ever.

“Actually, I think they
can
prove it,” Vernetta corrected her. “But the firm isn’t interested in having the media jump back on this story and drag its name through the mud again. Frankly, they’re embarrassed that their computer system was so susceptible to attack.”

“So count your blessings,” Nichelle said.

Vernetta squeezed Special’s hand. “And there’s more. Eugene’s estate is settling the wrongful death case. Maya’s mother is going to get a very nice settlement.”

Special looked more than pleased. “This is the best day of my life.”

When J.C. made a left turn off Crenshaw onto Martin Luther King Boulevard, Special’s face clouded. “Where are we going?”

Vernetta smiled. “To your place.”

“I know I’ve been on lock down for a while, but I do remember where I live, and I don’t live over here. I wish I did, though.”

“Then your wish has been granted.”

“I finally got Maya’s estate settled,” Nichelle explained. “She left her house to you. And the mortgage is way less than you’re currently paying in rent.”

Special started to cry. “You serious?” She reached out and hugged them simultaneously.

By the time they pulled into the driveway of her new home, Special’s cries had turned into dry-eyed excitement. “I can’t believe this is
my
house.” She bolted from the car.

A bright yellow banner that read
Welcome Home, Special!
hung across the front door.

Special stepped into the living room and looked around as if it were her first time seeing the place. “You guys even brought my furniture over here! Everything looks so nice. And I can’t wait to taste whatever I’m smelling from the kitchen,” she said. “I’m not sure my taste buds will recognize edible food. So what’s cooking?”

Jefferson walked out of the kitchen, followed by Clayton draped in an apron.

Special stared at him as if he were a mirage.

“I’m what’s cooking,” Clayton said grinning. “I figured you’d enjoy some of my jambalaya on your first day as a homeowner.”

Vernetta had expected Special to run straight into Clayton’s arms, but she just stood there in shock. Clayton finally walked over and gave her a hug.

Special buried her face in his chest and wept. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Clayton still wasn’t quite ready to forgive or forget what Special had taken him through. Vernetta was just glad she’d been able to convince him to fly out for Special’s homecoming. She prayed time would mend their relationship.

Special finally pulled away from him, then turned around to face her friends. “Thanks, everybody,” she said, overcome with emotion. “I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for all of you. This has been such an unbelievable ordeal. I felt like I was in the middle of a nightmare, but now I’m living a dream.”

“We’re just glad you’re back home.” Vernetta threw an arm across her friend’s shoulders. “Now let’s eat.”

Everybody headed into the dining room where the table had been set with Maya’s colorful African-print dishes.

“Clayton, the table looks wonderful,” Vernetta said.

Jefferson embraced his wife. “Excuse me, but this is
my
handiwork. I do have a few domestic skills.”

“Looks like he’s been holding out on you,” J.C. said.

They all sat down at the table and for the next two hours, ate and drank and laughed and cried.

Just as Nichelle placed a banana crème pie in the middle of the table, Special abruptly stood up.

“I have a speech I’d like to make,” she began. “I’ve been through a lot these last few weeks and I want to thank all of you again for standing by me. Jail is not a fun place to be and I never wanna be on lock down again. Ever. So I’m promising all of you, right here and now, that I’m not going to do
anything
that might cause a cop to even look sideways at me.” She made eye contact with J.C. “Including running a red light or driving faster than sixty-five or letting a parking meter expire.”

Vernetta and Nichelle traded cynical looks, then spoke in unison. “Can we get that in writing?”

I often have a hard time recalling exactly when or how the idea for a particular novel originated. For the most part, the concept simply pops into my head from some unknown place. That’s not the case with this book.

I have a crystal clear recollection of watching an Oprah show featuring J.L. King, author of
On the Down Low
. As I listened to his insider’s account of the mindset of men on the down low, I was completely stunned. My emotions during that sixty-minute program, went from shock to anger to fear.

As a writer of fiction, my goal is to entertain. Writing this book, however, has given me an opportunity to both entertain and raise awareness about this important topic. The statistics mentioned in
Murder on the Down Low
are fact, not fiction. WhileAfrican-American and Latina women make up only 24% of the female population in the U.S., we account for more than 80% of the total AIDS diagnoses for women, according to the latest statistics published by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control.

Unfortunately, these shocking numbers are not likely to decline until we—the victims—decide to do something about them. HIV may not be curable, but it is completely preventable. We can’t continue to sit back and wait for someone else to tackle this crisis. This is our fight.

We must begin this battle by pulling our heads out of the sand. While there are indeed men whose conduct puts our lives at risk, we also do our own share of harm to ourselves. We place our own lives at risk by not getting tested. We place our own lives at risk when we fail to use protection. We place our own lives at risk when we behave in ways which dishonor our bodies. These are areas we can fix. Today.

While African-Americans are among the most religious people on the planet, we tend not to extend our spiritual teachings of love and compassion toward our gay brothers and sisters. That, too, must change.

A wealth of information about HIV/AIDS is available via the Internet. For more information, please visit The National Black Leadership Commission on AIDS, Inc. (www.nblca.org), The Black AIDS Institute (www.BlackAIDS.org) and the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (www.cdc.org).

In the meantime, stay safe.

Writing and publishing my third novel was very much like giving birth. Some pain here and there, but by delivery time, all I could remember was the joy. As always, I was blessed to have a ton of people helping me though this process in one way or another.

First, to my many friends and colleagues who served as my focus group for this book. Your feedback was invaluable. A big thanks to my big brother, Jerry Samuels, Sr., my cousins, Donny Wilson and James White, my newest homie, Robert Flowers, Jerome Norris (the deepest, most committed brother I know), Rafael Medina, Rev. J.L. Armstrong, Karey Keenan, Molly Byock, Ann Adame, Nellie Burhanan, Kathy Fairbrother, Marsha Silady, Ellen Farrell, Diane Mackin, Sophy Woodhouse, Debbie Diffendal, Netra Brown, Charles Zacharie, James Barlow, Patricia Lasarte, Dorothy Baynes, Jewelle Johnson, Cynthia Hebron, Russana Rowles, Olivia Smith, Terrie Robinson, Tonya Jenerette, Nancy Larson, Cythina Betz, Pat Penny, Karen Williams, Ginger Heyman, Star Atchison, Dawn Sutherland, Daisy Bates, Kenn Stokes, Faye Gipson, Antoinette Tutt, Waverly Crenshaw, Jonathan (aka “Big Baller”) Deveaux of the Savoy in Inglewood and Kelly-Ann Henry (also known personally to me as JustAskKelly-Ann.com). I must extend an extra-special thank you to Erica Zacharie, who forced me to face my own biases and ignorance about HIV/AIDS. Thanks for the education.

To my parents and those friends, old and new, who constantly encourage me and demonstrate their support in immeasurable ways, Laurie Robinson, Stephanie Winlock, Roosevelt Womble, Sara Finney-Johnson, Colleen Higgs, Monique Brandon, Syna Dennis, Renee Cunningham, Cheryl Mason, Doris Shelby, Felicia Henderson, Alisa Covington, Ana Segobia Masters, Karen Copeland, Bobbie Copeland, Greg Sawyer, Eric Sawyer, Tommy Tolbert, Merverllyn Vaughn, Clarise Wilkins, Jackie Hilson, Alva Mason, Lynda Martin, Robin Smith, Robyn Brown, Gail Herring, and Fesia Davenport, your enthusiastic support keeps me going.

Thank you all my writer-friends who shared both their time, resources and encouragement, Linda Beed, Tina Brooks McKinney, Cheryl Questell, Barbara Wright Sykes, Linda Coleman-Willis, Angela Henry, Gene Cartwright, Staci Robinson, Fon James, Patryce Banks, Renee Morgan Hampton, Marti Tucker, Charles Chatmon, and especially Victoria Christopher Murray, a highly successful author who always finds time to help and encourage those who seek to follow in her footsteps. And to my writing group members, Adrienne Byers, Jane Howard-Martin, and Nefertiti Austin, thanks for your expert guidance in helping me shape this novel.

To Maleta Wilson of Book Sellin’ Sistahs, thanks for your encouragement and advice, and for literally taking me under your wing and teaching me the ins and outs of the book business. To Mother Rose of Underground Books in Sacramento, California, thanks for your passionate support. Writers like me need bookstores like yours.

Thank you to the LosAngeles Chapter of Sisters in Crime, especially fellow writers, Ashley Baker and Gayle Bartos-Pool, whose tireless work on behalf of the Speakers Bureau turned out to be a true blessing for me.

To the girls at two of my favorite salons, Doña Grant, Brooke Bass and TammyGriffin (the baddest hairstylist I know!) at Kristen Laurenz in Altadena, California; and Veronica Myers, Darlene Williams and Shawnta Ellis (the baddest braider I know!) at The Emerald Chateau in Inglewood, California, thanks for pumping my books to your clients.

A big thank you to Professor Sandra Adell of the Afro-American Studies Department at the University of Madison, Wisconsin. Girlfriend, you have no idea how happy I am to have you on my team. Thanks so much for your incredible hospitality during my first trip to Madison, Wisconsin and for your insightful feedback regarding this book.

To Power Couple Eric and Daisy Bates, who showed me what Southern hospitality really means. I can’t wait to return to Atlanta to hang out at your fabulous crib.

Thank you to fellow attorney Debra Brown, who literally picked me up off the highway and made my first trip to Jackson, Mississippi so much fun, and Cyrus Webb of Conversations Book Club, a serious book lover who is making it happen in Jackson.

To my wonderful Las Vegas Crew, Helen Mingleton, Deborah Thornton, Ellen Brown, Wilma Pinder, Doris Robinson, Sharon Thomas, Jani Jeppe, the Las Vegas Alumnae Chapter of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, the Las Vegas African-American Authors Book Club, and the West Las Vegas Library, thanks so much for the support. You really rolled out the red carpet for me in the town that never sleeps. I cannot wait to come back!

Without a doubt, book clubs have been my lifeblood. I have so enjoyed my afternoons conversing and dining with my sisters. To all of you who hosted me, thank you. I must extend a special thank you to the Jazzy Ladies of Pasadena, California, in particular, Virgie Edwards, Lois Richard, Joyce Robinson, Joyce Streator, Bettye Holliday, Sandy Bourne, Julie Woodyard and Mamie Grant; and the Reading Circle of Friends in Upper Marlboro, Maryland, especially Karen Murrell, Shebbie Rice, Deborah Crimes, and Melissa Hinkson. Thanks for your feedback on this book and for your continued support long after your book club meeting ended. You rallied behind me in a way that warms my heart every time I think about it. Readers like you are the reason I write.

A super special thanks to my talented team: my always supportive husband, Rickey Young (I’m so glad you encouraged me to take charge of my writing career!), my Atlanta-based publicist/promoter Shunda Leigh of Booking Matters magazine, book cover designer Keith Saunders of Marion Designs, web designer Milton Ellis of Onegistics Systems Solutions (thanks for always taking care of my Internet needs with lickety-split timing), web designer Tyora Moody of Tywebbin Creations, editors/proofreaders Lynel Johnson Washington, Dawn Dowdle of Sleuth Editing and Virginia Lee Gonzales of WordPlay Editing Services, book layout designer Jessica Tilles of The Writers Assistant, my fantastic virtual assistant, Eydie Stumpf of Eydie’s Office, and finally, my super-creative graphic designer Lisa Zachery of Papered Wonders (Girl, your promotional materials are the bomb!). I couldn’t have done it without all of you.