A Good Excuse To Be Bad Read online

  “However, right now I want to talk about what happened to you last night at the club. I think I have a less dangerous assignment for you.”

  I sat back very disappointed that what he wanted to discuss had nothing to do with wanting me as a girlfriend. Yet, I was curious. “What are you talking about?”

  “I want to hire you.”

  I chuckled. “For what? Someone’s been taking loose change out the collection basket again?”

  “No, nothing like that. What I need from you isn’t even church related. It’s personal.” He paused. “I need that special service only you provide.”

  I could feel my eyes roll to the back of my head. I smirked to hide my disappointment. “After last night, I thought that you wanted me to stop.”

  “Perhaps I was being premature. Maybe your talents can best be served for a different purpose. A good one. And what I was thinking of definitely fits the bill.”

  I thought about my daughter’s dead father and my complicity in him being six feet under. “Believe me. I need to stop. What happened last night was a definite indicator that I have been walking down the wrong trail.” I shook my head. “I could be a white-collar private investigator for small businesses or one of those lady detectives who decoy themselves to catch cheating husbands. You know? I don’t have to do this to make money, just like you said.”

  “I take back what I said.”

  I looked up. “What?”

  “Angel . . .” he paused. “Is there any way I can persuade you to take on one more case?”

  I wanted to refuse him, but his eyes were tugging on my heart big time. I sighed as I watched him. He didn’t have a clue what he was getting himself into.

  “What is it?”

  “I need you to tell me anything you can about my niece’s new boyfriend.”

  I laughed hard. “Are you serious?”

  “Very, and I have good reason to be concerned.”

  “Would you mind elaborating?”

  He reached for a book on the table and opened it. There was a letter inside. He handed it to me.

  I glanced at it. It was a love letter between his niece, Kelly, and some boy. “It looks like your niece is in love.” I handed it back to him.

  “I found this love letter in Kelly’s jeans pocket two days ago while folding laundry.”

  I cackled.

  “Don’t ask . . .” He paused. “I know I shouldn’t have been prying, but there have been events lately that warranted the action.”

  “I’m sorry.” I chuckled. “The sight of you folding clothes tickles me. Do you have kids . . . um, of your own?” I asked.

  “No, I’m not married.”

  “Neither am I, but I have a child.”

  “Oh, right. . . .” His eyes widened; then he lowered his face. “What I meant was, I have kids in my house for now, but I don’t have kids. I’ve never been married, so, of course, I don’t have kids.”

  My neck snapped at his last statement. Did he just judge me?

  “I heard you the first time, but maybe you didn’t hear me. So let me repeat myself. I’ve never been married and I have a child.” I reached for my purse and stood up. “I don’t know if this is your way of ministering to me, but I draw the line at being judged.”

  He caught my arm. I looked down at him. His gaze had changed. It was warmer, more endearing.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I was telling you something about the kind of man I am. I wouldn’t have a child and leave her mother to take care of her on her own, not if I could help it. I wasn’t putting you down. I wouldn’t do that to you. Understand?” His eyes stole the last bit of good sense I had left. “Please stay. I need you.”

  He looked so pitiful, while his hand fit strong and snug around my arm.

  I huffed. “No need to apologize. I am what I am.”

  “You shouldn’t feel ashamed of being a single mother.”

  “No, I’m ashamed of my pride. It clouds my judgment sometimes.”

  “Well, I have a habit of sticking my nose in places it doesn’t belong.” He raised his niece’s letter. “So now you’ve discovered my vice.”

  “It’s fine, as long as you know my rates aren’t cheap.”

  “Even for your pastor?”

  “No, but for Justus, yes.”

  I sat back down. I reached for my bag and pulled out a composition book small enough to fit in my hand and my favorite wacky pen of the moment. Last month, I found a sweetie-pie fat pen designed with a wild-haired, green-eyed, tongue-wagging man’s face on the front. It made Bella laugh.

  I clicked on it and opened my book. “Tell me about Kelly.”

  Justus wrinkled his brows and stared at something on me.

  I tried to see what it was until I clicked my funky pen again.

  He raised his eyebrow, chuckled, and sat back. “She’s sneaking out of the house at late hours to meet a guy.”

  “She lives with you?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “Trish, my younger sister, Kelly, my niece, and the twins . . . boys.”

  “Wow.” I muttered, “I’m a twin, too,” under my breath. Wasn’t sure if I should reveal that.

  “Right.” He looked away. “My brother-in-law is in Iraq. My sister just opened a bakery in Edgewood. She’s overwhelmed, so I thought I would help her out until Mike returns. Mike’s her husband.”

  “How honorable, but I’m sensing that you’re not too enthusiastic about your family arrangements.”

  “I can’t complain. It is what it is. I’m just grateful I can help her.”

  At this point, I felt like a big doofus jerk. No one at church had spoken about his sister or his full house. I couldn’t live with myself if I made him pay me full price. If I weren’t so broke, I wouldn’t charge him at all.

  I smiled. “I guess I’ll give you a discount, since I didn’t see that one coming.”

  “You’re an angel, literally.” He leaned toward me as if he were going to hug me again, but he stopped and laid his hands over mine. His hand hug felt just as good.

  I slid my hands from his hold. “You’re very touchy-feely.”

  “Usually I’m not, but with you . . .” He chuckled and scratched his head. “Not like this. Maybe I’m relieved that someone of your caliber is willing to help me with this delicate situation.”

  “You might not think so after what I have to say.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your niece. She’s at that age. You know? First love. She’s missing her dad, probably angry that her mom moved in with you. Different school, right? She’s probably milking you and your sister for sympathy points. If I were in her shoes, I would, too.”

  “She is, but I’m more concerned about this boy. She’s had boyfriends before, but the sneaking out, the intensity in this letter . . .”

  “I know, but you need to consider that these boys are a smoke screen. Meaning you can follow every boy that runs behind her skirt tail, but the problem isn’t just the boy. Kelly can’t be sneaking out the house. Period.”

  He nodded. “I know, but I don’t know what to do, and Trish is tired. I told her I would handle it, so that’s why I called you in here. I need to do something productive.”

  “Then you need to let Kelly know that the life her parents designed for her hasn’t changed.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  “You don’t need me to find this boy. You need to scare the bejesus out of him the next time he calls. If you haven’t already, take Kelly’s cell phone from her. If she broke curfew, she shouldn’t have the phone. When he calls, you intercept.”

  He chuckled. “That’s all good if we’re talking about a teenager, but he doesn’t sound like a boy.”

  “So you’ve talked to him before?”

  “Yes, Kelly has lost her cell phone privilege, all phone privileges, but the boy called the house phone.”

  “Ooh, now it’s getting interesting.” I laughed. “Boys these days are older than you and I. They
know more and have done more, so, of course, they sound like they know more, but they don’t.”

  “I get that, but this guy doesn’t sound like a boy to me.”

  “What do you know about him?” I asked.

  Justus placed his arm over the seat. The tip of his hand was a touch away from my shoulder. The energy in the room pulled me toward him. I stopped myself and scooted back. I needed to concentrate on his words.

  “Like I mentioned before, Kelly’s phone had been taken away from her as a form of punishment. So he called on the house phone two nights ago. Late. I picked it up and overheard a man—not a boy—talking to my niece about meeting him tonight. It wasn’t just the deepness in his tone, but the way he talked. It’s how I would talk to . . . a woman.”

  “So what did you do?” I asked.

  “I told Trish. We grounded Kelly, but then I found the note. He asked her to come to his place.” He paused. “A fifteen-year-old move in with a what-year-old? He has to be too old for her if he has a place of his own. I wanted to hurt him, Angel. I want to hurt this man/ boy/whatever. All I know is when a man wants something, he wants it. He becomes consumed with the wanting. You know what I mean?”

  I nodded. My stomach churned. “Exactly.”

  “I need you to find this guy for me tonight. I need to be sure he’s not a pedophile. I need to quell this anger.” The glare in his eyes told me that he was serious.

  I scratched my head. “Tonight?”

  “Yes, is that a problem?”

  “Not if you call the police. Do that. Save your money. They’ll help you.”

  “Why, because they’re often here at the church?”

  “Well, yeah. This place has more security than the Tyler Perry estate.”

  Then he looked at me with a connection that ran through my veins. “What would you do if someone took Bella’s innocence?”

  “Vengeance is the Lord’s, Rev,” I said, knowing full well I would throw a pot of piping-hot grits on anyone who hurt my baby.

  “I’m not going to hurt the guy.” He took my hand. “I just want to find him. You can locate him faster than the police. Everyone knows that.”

  “Everyone like whom?”

  “Your sister Ava, for one. When I talked to her last night when you were hurt, she said that. She even said that she wished she had talked to you sooner about something you had warned her about.”

  Ava. I stood up again.

  He jumped up. “Did I say something wrong again?”

  “No,” I lied. “I promised Bella I would eat lunch with her today after VBS. Her lunch starts in a few minutes, so how about I call you?”

  “Can you help me tonight?”

  “I’m a single mom. I can’t do tonight. Too short notice. Understand me?”

  “Yes, very . . .” His voice hinted desperation and longing. “Well, can you at least tell me what I need to do for now?”

  “Keep doing what you’re doing. Take turns keeping watch over your niece. That’s all I can say off the top of my head. Check with my assistant, Cathy, for an appointment. She knows my schedule better than I do.”

  “I can do that. Okay. I can do that, but I do want to talk with you. What about this evening? Trish is off tonight. Plus, she and Kelly have some mother/daughter cotillion meeting at the church. The boys attend vacation bible school at night, so I’m free.”

  “Why aren’t you taking no for tonight as my final answer? I don’t want to work tonight. Shoot. I don’t even want to cook or leave my home to eat.”

  “Good, then I’ll cook dinner for you, Bella, and Whitney.”

  “Why would you want to do a fool thing like that?”

  He smiled. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  I giggled and scratched the back of my neck. I did that when my mother’s wit told me I was about to make a life-changing decision. “Sure. What time?”

  4

  Thursday, 6: 00 PM

  I hadn’t forgotten to call Ava back. I just didn’t have the time. But I had some questions of my own, and if she was as desperate as she sounded on the phone earlier, she would find me. At six o’clock, she did.

  She stood in my foyer with shades on and wrinkled her nose when I asked her to have a seat in the living room.

  “No, thank you, sweetie. I don’t have much time. I have a First Wives’ Prayer Meeting at the governor’s mansion within the hour.” She turned to my hanging mirror in the walkway and checked herself out.

  I shook my head. Only she could pull that look off.

  Ava wore a red hat and a matching red pencil skirt suit that looked too tight for kneeling down to pray. I checked my watch. The governor’s mansion was more than an hour’s drive from my home. Either she was lying about trying to get to the meeting on time or she was in some serious trouble she was too shame-faced to tell me. At any case, she had me waiting with bated breath.

  “If that’s the true, then why are you here? As a matter of fact, what happened to you last night?”

  Her mouth dropped. “Aren’t you glad to see me now?”

  “Seeing you briefly between more important matters in your life? No, I’m so over that. Can’t you tell?”

  “Fabulous. I knew I shouldn’t have come here.” She turned toward the door and sniffled. “I knew you hadn’t changed.” She sauntered toward the foyer.

  My sister missed her calling. She should’ve been an actress. I sighed and walked toward her. “Don’t leave.”

  She stopped. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” I rubbed her back. “I missed you and I wanted to ask you something.”

  She turned around and took off her shades. “Ask me what?”

  I gasped. Her left eye was swollen and bluish. “What happened to your face?”

  She cowered. “It was an accident.”

  I lifted her chin so I could get a better look. “Doesn’t look like an accident.”

  She brushed my hand away. “Is this what you wanted to ask?”

  “No, I wanted to know whether you wanted your husband’s body found tied to a tree stump or at the bottom of Lake Lanier.”

  “Stop it. It’s not what you think.” She pushed me aside and kept walking toward my family room. “Where are Whitney and the baby anyway?”

  “Whitney’s either on campus or in the streets. You know her, but the baby’s . . .” I followed her through my house. “She’s napping. Today was the last day of vacation bible school. She’s pooped and I don’t feel like waking her.”

  “Good. Mom always says young ladies need beauty rest and good bible study, but that little sister of ours, now, she needs Jesus.”

  “She needs you to come around more, too,” I whispered. “She needs better guidance.”

  “Maybe . . .”

  Ava strutted her pump-wearing, Bible-toting self toward my kitchen. The walk changed into a stagger; then she laid her head on my countertop and cried.

  I stood there watching my sister—and former soft place to fall—bawl all over my marble countertop and did absolutely nothing to comfort her. I didn’t know how. Ava never cried like this in front of anyone, let alone me. A huge knot squeezed my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. I wanted to scream.

  “I’m going to kill Devon,” I growled.

  “No.” She grabbed my hand. “Will you listen to me for a change? My husband didn’t hurt me. I was in a car accident.”

  “Uh-huh. Then why are you slobbering all over my countertop?”

  “Why do you always believe the worst of him?”

  “Because the only time I hear from you is when he does something wrong.” I reached inside my kitchen towel drawer next to the refrigerator and began to pat the countertop dry. “And you hadn’t told me what happened to you last night.”

  She whimpered nonsense. My brain wasn’t ready for all this foolishness.

  “It’s not Devon’s fault, so stop bashing him, please. He’s going through enough.”

  I stopped patting and put down the rag. �
��Okay, Ava. If you say so.”

  She lifted her head. “Good.”

  I stood behind her and stroked her hair, which was in better condition and smelled better than mine. Strawberries. She sniffed some more and said nothing. I waited for her to come to me like she did before things had changed between us, before getting on her nerves didn’t turn into a fistfight.

  She finally picked her head up, turned to me, and whined. “Stay out of my head. These extensions are Indian and cost more than your mortgage.”

  “How illuminating.” I patted her head. “I was expecting to hear a humble appeal come through those pearly white teeth, but what was I thinking?”

  I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that I wanted that hair whether it was salon bought or not. To be honest, despite that horrible Jessica Rabbit outfit she wore and the eyeliner now raccooning her face, Ava looked pretty good. Avalyn Marie Crawford McArthur, my slim, but shapely, bronze twin held the grace of a Southern belle and the class of a bourgeois countess. All unlike me. I still had a fondness for mayonnaise sandwiches, shoebox dollhouses, and bad boys with big dragon tattoos stretched across their backs.

  She looked at me. “I need your help.”

  Even when her lips quivered and tears streamed down her face, she cried “like a lady,” to use Mom speak. By the way her shoulders shook, I could tell she had been crying long before she reached my house.

  I kept a basket of lace handkerchiefs in a curio near the half bath. Handkerchief collecting was my new passion. I found them at different estate sales and antique shops all over the state. Mostly up here in North Atlanta. That’s how Bella and I stumbled upon our little hitching post of a home.

  I grabbed my most recent conquest, an Irish cotton shamrock corner, off the pile. Mom would get a kick out of it since she prided herself on the fact that our great-great-grandfather escaped his Scotch Irish plantation owner father and married a Seminole Geechee-swearing swamp princess. On a side note, I was surprised that she hadn’t called to chew me out for disturbing her honeymoon. This was her third with her fourth husband.