Someone Bad and Something Blue

  Also by Miranda Parker

  A Good Excuse to Be Bad

  Someone Bad and Something Blue

  Can’t Keep a Bad Bride Down

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Someone Bad and Something Blue

  Miranda Parker

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Miranda Parker

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  Teaser chapter

  Copyright Page

  To Maggie and Suzette—your lives are inspiration

  infinity, rest in peace.

  To my mom, Dorothy, for taking cancer down by the

  throat.

  And to Selah for all that is good in my life.

  Acknowledgments

  If this is your first time reading Angel’s story, let me first tell you that I’m not as smart/dumb (circle best answer) as you may think. If it weren’t for the village that is Miranda Parker, Someone Bad and Something Blue would not be in your hands.

  So let me acknowledge the truth about what went down getting this book published and who did the most work:

  Kensington/Dafina Books:

  • To my editor, Selena James: If there was an award for Most Dedicated Editor, Selena James should get it. When I wrote this novel I had written the first chapter fifteen times and fifteen different ways. And after each draft my vision for this story blurred. To make matters worse, there were so many challenges going on in my personal life I didn’t have the time or energy to get back on track. Thank God for Selena. She e-mailed me her thoughts of my manuscript and stated one sentence that turned a switch on inside me. It put Someone Bad and Something Blue back into full view for me. I became excited again. I am very, very grateful for that. I also thank her for being so patient with me.

  • To Mercedes Fernandez: Thanks for calming me down when I really almost chucked this book outside.

  • To my cover designer, Kristine Mills-Noble. Again?! I was happy about the concept for A Good Excuse To Be Bad and then I received this cover. I jumped. I leaped. It’s like you plucked a dream out of my head. Thank you.

  • To my book cover photographer, George Kerrigan. Thank you for your great work and for Donna Bradley. My readers have told me how much they loved the cover.

  • To Adeola Saul/Publicity: Thank you for taking care of me at NBCC and Black Pearl Magazine’s Chocolate Social, for sending such a great letter to Dekalb County Public Library on my behalf, for introducing me to ITW, for making me look good, and for answering the phone every time I called.

  • To Alexandra Nicolajsen/Digital Content/ Marketing Manager: Thank you for helping me with my book trailer and tweeting everything I got myself into. It was very sweet of you.

  • Dafina’s Sales Team: Thank you for getting my book in Publix Supermarket. I cried when I put my own book in my shopping cart.

  I did a lot of research when writing Someone Bad and Something Blue and had the pleasure to chat with some interesting people:

  • The Honorable Robert Moore, retired United States Marshal.

  • Patricia Boudrot, PR at Filene’s Basement.

  • To my Ex aka Papi Chulo for all things buck, hooch, life behind bars, and the prison system, thanks for being a sport and telling me more than I probably needed to know.

  • To Prohibition Speakeasy Bar in Atlanta. I’ll keep your secret.

  Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I need to acknowledge a few people who sacrificed themselves for me, while I wrote this novel:

  • Selah: My lovely daughter, who somehow grew up, while I was writing. Please don’t grow that fast between Book 2 and Book 3. I love your sweetness and sass. You teach me more than I teach you.

  • Mom: This has been a whirlwind year. I thank God you are here with me. When I was exhausted and wanted to ditch Angel and her crazy manhunt you inspired me. If you could grin and bear it through radiation treatments and biopsies, I could dig in and stop whining. You’re also the best direct seller on my planet and keep me on my toes about monthly sales goals. I’ll do better with this one, promise. I pray for your continued health and love you!

  • MeLana: My inspiration for Whitney and my real little sister. You are my ride or die chick. When I thought no one would show up to my book signing, not only did you come, but you made my signings look fabulous. Thanks for watching our girl for me.

  • David: My twin. Ava is definitely not you. LOL. Thank you for getting male readers behind my book. I think I have more men fans than women. You are the best brother.

  • Eric and Derrick Phillips: Thanks for making my book a hit with firemen. Wonder Twins definitely united. I love you, brothers.

  • Daddy: Thank you for making sure Angel held her gun properly and planted her feet. It’s indeed a blessing to have a former U.S. Marine sharp shooter help me write these books. I love you.

  • To my Ace: Dr. Natasha B. for talking me out of another year of bad decisions. You became a mom this year and yet had time for me and Miranda. Thank you for encouraging me to move forward with this writing thing when I was still stuck in who I used to be. Love you and Aria.

  • To Cathy Blair: Although you’re Angel’s nonexistent personal assistant, you’re my good friend, book buddy, prayer pal, and movie maven. Thanks for watching Selah for me when I had to do a book event, needed to write in peace, needed to know someone cared.

  • To Daren Gayle: My brother in Spirit. Thank you for being the best booking agent on the planet and treating Selah like the princess she is.

  • To Gaspard: Thanks for loving me and Selah unconditionally.

  • To Doctor David Song: Again you saved my life this year.

  • To Bernadette Davis for being my cohost in #blacklitchat on Twitter.

  Now this part gets tricky, because if I miss someone, someone may get offended. I tried to name most of you in Angel On the Back Pew, so double check that. However, I want to give a special pen up to some people who stood out on helping me through this book:

  • Rhonda McKnight for being more excited at times than I was about my book.

  • Tayari Jones for coming out to see me speak at Decatur Book Festival. If that wasn’t the best book promotion for me. You made me impo’ant.

  • Creston Mapes who wrote the nice endorsement on the front. I heart you.

  • Tiffany Warren for all things books, comedy, and side eye.

  • Tia McCollors for glamorizing my world and saying good things to book clubs about me.

  • ReShonda Tate Billingsley for getting this book into so many readers’ hands. Had you not wrote the blurb for A Good Excuse to be Bad they may not have picked it up.

  • Victoria Christopher Murray for commenting on every blog
post about my book, Facebook status, have supported my efforts and shared my book with her fans.

  • Booker T. Mattison for those long chats on Facebook and being a great escort at NBCC.

  • Trice Hickman for making me look good in front of some of the largest book clubs on the planet. Thanks for getting me that great spot in front of Tyrese and Jeff Johnson.

  • To Shelia Goss for being crazy enough to host a writing workshop with me.

  • To my International Thriller Writer Family: Jenny Milchman, Allan Leverone, Gary Kriss, and Ethan Cross. Thanks for adding me to the family.

  • To my sisters in The Atlanta Georgia Peach Authors: Marissa Monteilh, Dwan Abrams, Electa Rome Parks, Gail McFarland, Jean Holloway, and D.L. Sparks. I’m Peachy and Proud.

  To the Literati:

  • Ella Curry for calling me when I’m not well, for telling everyone she knows about Miranda Parker, and for sharing your world with me.

  • Tashmir Parks for supporting me when only two people knew my name.

  • Tasha Martin for treating me like an honorary Sistahfriend before I became Miranda P.

  • Tee C. Royal for holding Gwinnett down now that I’m gone and for championing me every RAWSISTAZ tread. Also thanks for checking my website for malware.

  • Martin Pratt for calling me late at night and smiling through the phone. My friend.

  • To Myguail Chappel at Dekalb County Public Library. I was honored to have you read my story out loud.

  • Nyisha Ferguson of Houston Public Library. What you did for me and library acquisitions in rural Georgia is amazing. Thank you.

  • Linda Jordan at Atlanta Fulton for becoming my cheerleader in the library system.

  • The Friends of South Georgia Regional Library for making me feel like royalty in my hometown.

  • The Atlanta Press Club for covering me all summer and then inviting me to the prestigious holiday party. I’m still pinching myself.

  • To Troy Johnson for hooking me up on AALBC. Com.

  • I’m sorry. I forgot you. I promise I will get you in Book Three.

  Miranda P.

  1

  Friday, 8: 00 AM

  Greyhound Bus Terminal, Atlanta, Georgia

  Just as I was about to cuff Misty Wetherington for ditching DUI court for the fifth time so she could hit the slots at Harrah’s casino with her book club buddies, my phone buzzed. I looked down. It was my calendar app, reminding me that I had to be at Bella’s school in ninety minutes.

  “Crap, I forgot.” I sighed.

  My daughter, Bella, had asked me if I could join her at Sugar Hill Elementary School today for Doughnuts for Dads. It was a PTA event to celebrate fathers, more like a back-door way to get men into the classroom without them feeling awkward. However, Bella’s best friend Lacy’s mom came to the last one and, according to my friends at the Sugar Hill Church Ladies’ Brunch, no one seemed to mind.

  And . . . today was Bella’s seventh birthday. I had to be there.

  However, I was a little under an hour’s drive from the school. If I could punch it without getting a speeding ticket, I would make it in time. The only problem was I didn’t know what to do with Misty.

  With the exhaustively long lines at the City of Atlanta’s traffic court, who knew how long it would take to process her? I wondered as I looked down at her bleached, moppy hair.

  She was still on the parking lot ground, face to the gritty, piss-stained pavement while I straddled her back. My handcuffs dangled in my hands.

  “Misty, you have been caught on a particularly good day for you. . . .”

  I placed the cuffs on the ground near her face so she could see them. I waited until she turned her head in the cuffs’ direction before I continued.

  “Look. It’s my daughter’s birthday and I need to be with her. We both know that what I’ll make for hauling your butt to jail is about the cost of two tickets to the Atlanta Aquarium, the Coke Museum, and one night’s stay in the Georgian Terrace. So here’s my proposition. Today, I let you go. I’ll have Big Tiger finesse the city into giving you another FTA hearing, but on one condition: You fork over the money you were about to spend at the casino. I can surprise my girl with a kid-cation in Atlanta. What do you say?”

  Big Tiger was the bail bondsman who kept me under contract. He introduced me to bail recovery and taught me the tools of the trade.

  “And if I don’t?” She grunted.

  “How confident are you that the City of Atlanta will grant you a new FTA hearing after five no-shows without some help from Big Tiger? How confident are you that some other bail recovery agent isn’t lurking behind any of these cars out here, waiting for the chance to take you from me? And uh . . . where are your gambling buddies when you need them?”

  Her gaze searched the parking lot. “Did they leave?”

  “Darling, they are the ones who turned you in. Now those are friends to keep. I can be your friend, too. Just say the magic words.”

  She sighed. “The money’s in my front pocket, Angel.”

  “Bingo.” I hopped off her and flipped her over.

  She reluctantly pulled the money out. I stretched out my palm until she placed the money into my hand. Misty was carrying five hundred dollars.

  I placed the money in my back pocket and smiled. “Happy Birthday to Bella.”

  Friday, 10: 10 AM

  Sugar Hill Elementary School, Sugar Hill, Georgia

  Sugar Hill Elementary School was unusually packed when I pulled into the parking lot. “I can’t believe this many men are here to eat doughnuts,” I said to myself as I sped up the boardwalk to the school’s entrance.

  When I walked into the foyer, Dale Baker, the president of our homeowners’ association, waved me down and mouthed good morning. I waved back and continued toward the front office. Inside, I spotted the parents’ sign-in sheet, pulled a pen out of the flowerpot pen holder, and signed my name.

  The front office manager, whose name I could never remember because the constant scowl on her face reminded me of the taste of a bitter honeysuckle, pulled her glasses down her nose and shook her head at me. I called her Mrs. Bitter behind her back.

  She pointed to the sign-in sheet. Her aged fingers seemed swollen, even for someone her age. “Uh . . . Miss Crawford, you don’t sign in here. This is for Doughnuts for Dads.”

  “I know that,” I said with a don’t-start-with-me smile.

  “Honey, I know you’re rough-and-tumble. I see you on the news, bursting down doors and pushing men around. But here at Sugar Hill we don’t need that kind of confusion for Isabella.”

  “No offense, but I know what I’m doing.” I brushed her off.

  This wasn’t the first time an older Southern woman had tried to tell me how to parent. It didn’t offend me, but today I didn’t have the time to extend her more kindness than the fake smile I’d already offered. Doughnuts for Dads lasted thirty minutes. Ten minutes had already passed and Bella was still waiting in her homeroom class to be called.

  “Can you please call Isabella Crawford up to the front before it’s too late?” I checked my watch and turned away from her.

  She huffed. “I’m sure you think you know what you’re doing, but have you thought of how what you do affects Isabella?”

  And she didn’t shut up. While I watched her mouth moving, my fingers curled into a ball. This was the first time since I became a single mom that I felt inadequate. It angered me. Thus, my resolve to be good faded the more she preached. Mrs. Bitter was about five seconds from getting her feelings hurt. I counted to ten real slow and hoped for some miracle to stop me from knocking the taste out of her big, meddling mouth.

  “Mrs. Montgomery, I’m afraid this young lady has plans for Ms. Crawford.” Justus Morgan’s voice made me tremble.

  I turned around. He stood in the front office threshold and looked down. Bella was in front of him. Her smile was as wide as the summer days were long. The shame I’d just felt faded away with every second of her pr
esence in the room.

  “Surprise, sweetie!” I knelt down and hugged Bella.

  She broke free and grabbed my hand. “Come on, Mommy. Mr. Baker has saved us the biggest sprinkled cupcakes in the entire world because it’s my birthday.”

  I mouthed thank you to Justus as Bella whisked me away from Mrs. Bitter. When I glanced back, I noticed her head had dropped. Justus was saying something to her that made her cower.

  After Doughnuts for Dads, I thanked Dale and the rest of the PTA Room Moms’ Committee for putting this together and walked toward Justus. He had just completed a conversation with Principal Boyd.

  He must have seen me coming, because his face lit up bright. It made me blush.

  Justus was my pastor and once my secret crush. Now I avoided him when I could, because apparently he had a thing for me, too, which was even scarier than pining for him from afar. The last man I loved died in my arms and left me his daughter to parent on my own. I was still gun shy of good love and terrified of Justus Too Hot to Be Holy Morgan.

  “Thank you,” I spat out before I lost the nerve.

  “For what?” He grinned. His deep right dimple humbled me even more.

  “For coming to my rescue with Mrs. Bi—Mrs. Montgomery.”

  He looked down and chuckled. “I finally get to be the hero.”

  “Look around this place, Justus. You’re always the hero.”

  He didn’t respond, just looked at me in that way that made me feverish around my lips.

  “What are you doing here? Trish’s boys needed a stand-in?”

  Justus’s sister, Trish, was a military wife. Her husband, Mike, was deployed overseas more than he stayed stateside. Yet they managed to have three children despite his long stays away. They had a teenage drama queen daughter named Kelly and twin sons who were about Bella’s age. But rumor around Sugar Hill Community Church was that Trish had a new bun in the oven.

  “No, actually Mike was here. He couldn’t stay long. You probably missed him when you were chatting with Mrs. Montgomery.”