A Good Excuse To Be Bad Page 7

  I took a hard look at Devon, Ava, the room, and became nauseated. “What’s wrong with this picture?” I mumbled. Something in here didn’t seem right.

  Ava looked up at me, her eyes now smothered in black goop. “Where are my children?”

  “They’re fine,” I said. “They’re sleeping, just as you left them.”

  Justus added, “Whitney’s caring for them.”

  She looked at Justus. “And who are you?”

  “I’m Ava’s friend, the one who picked her up from Grady Memorial the other night,” he said.

  “He’s also my pastor.”

  “Friend and pastor who likes to drive you around Atlanta at all times of night?” Ava asked, although it seemed more like judgment than a question.

  I sighed. “Yes, he didn’t want me driving here by myself. I had to find out why you ran off from my house like you did.”

  “How thoughtful . . .” She sniffled. Her eyes looked more troubled than before. She kissed Devon’s head, then caressed it. “Now, could you please leave us? I need to say good-bye to my husband.”

  “Honey, I’m not going to leave you. I’m not. Not like this. EMS and DeKalb County Police should be here any moment now. You don’t need to be here in this position when they arrive. You need to move.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. This is my position . . .” She sobbed and rocked back and forth again. “Get out!”

  I shuddered from her shout. “No, we need to see if Devon’s okay. We want to help him.”

  Ava shook her head. Her eyes were closed now. She clutched Devon’s white bishop’s collar and cried. “It’s too late. He’s dead. He’s dead, Angel. You can’t help him now. Leave.”

  Her words ran cold through my body, but my mind was on fire. Questions filled it. The curious cat in me couldn’t contain myself, but I had enough common sense to ask those questions later. I had to help my sister right now.

  “Then let me help you.”

  We heard something out in the hallway.

  She looked at me, then at the door. “You’re too late for that, too.”

  Justus turned around and gasped. From the heavy shadow cast on the wall in front of me, I could tell we were not alone anymore. It had to be EMS.

  “We’re in here. Please hurry. My brother-in-law is seriously wounded.” I straightened my clothes and walked closer to Ava. “Honey, you need to let him go so EMS can help.”

  “Don’t move,” a man said from behind me.

  His voice was heavier than the lead in my feet. I heard the familiar metal click of a Glock backing up his demand for us to stay still. His high-pitched squeak and nervous short breaths took me off guard. He didn’t sound like emergency services or the DeKalb County Police responding officers for that matter, though I could be wrong. So I studied a framed photo of Devon on the wall in front of us until I could get a better view of our trigger-happy friend. He was a large, familiar dark blob with eyes, who definitely was not DeKalb County PD. I tsked. He was one of Devon’s bodyguards, Terry Mapp, as a matter of fact. I sighed once the full realization of him came into view. If he could shoot a gun, he’d shoot himself by accident. I’d met this guy before. I had hauled his sister Betty to jail for bail jumping a shoplifting charge.

  I threw my hands on my hips. “Terry, put the gun down.”

  “Angel, how did you get in here?” His eyes widened; he noticed Justus, then returned to me. “I should’ve known. And who do you have with you, one of Big Tiger’s thugs?”

  “No, he’s my pas—”

  “Sir, calm down,” Justus cut in.

  I shushed Justus. “Hush. This fool’ll kill us and not know how he did it.”

  “We need your help. Bishop McArthur is critically wounded,” he continued despite my warning. “Please help us before it’s too late.”

  “It’s already too late, Terry. The bishop’s dead . . .” Ava said. Her voice had become heavy, stone. “So put the gun down or come over here and shoot me.”

  Terry hurried past me and Justus.

  “No!” He dropped the pistol.

  The gun bounced on the floor and went off.

  Before I could duck, Justus threw me to the ground. I gasped, but found it hard to breathe. Justus was literally on top of me. His locks smelled of hibiscus and sandalwood. I could feel the definition of his six-pack and the indention of his ginormous cross pendant both hidden under his shirt. My arms were splayed out across the floor. I lifted my left hand to see if it had landed on top of any bloodstains; then my eyes found its way to Devon. His eyes were closed. A blood trickle from the corner of his mouth had dried.

  I turned away and patted Justus’s back.

  “I can’t breathe.”

  Justus didn’t reply or move.

  “Justus, are you okay?”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Oh no.” I wheezed and then heard footsteps and walkie-talkie sputter from the window. I stroked his hair. “Please, don’t be dead, too.”

  He mumbled, “I’m not. Are you hurt?”

  “Kind of... your body has me pinned to the ground and my legs are going numb.”

  He lifted up slowly. His face was a kiss away from me. My lips tingled.

  “Was that the doorbell?” He frowned.

  I nodded, while chiding myself for even thinking of stealing a smooch at a time like this. Bad girl. I glanced at Ava. My heart tugged again. Very bad, horrible, insensitive girl.

  “I think it’s the EMTs,” Terry said.

  “More than likely it’s the police, you idiot. I can’t believe you have a permit for that gun.”

  “I’m sorry about that.” Terry picked the gun up, checked the safety, and put it back in his holder.

  “I’m sorry my brother-in-law believed you could protect them.”

  “Are you blaming this on me?” Terry shouted.

  “Hello, is anyone up there?” a man asked from somewhere downstairs. “This is the Dekalb County Police.”

  “Oh God,” I whispered. “The door was unlocked.”

  Justus hopped up and swooped me up so fast my unbrushed ponytail bounced. “See to Ava.”

  I nodded.

  “We’re upstairs at the end of the hall. We need emergency services. Are they with you, too?” Justus asked.

  “I can’t hear you,” the officer shouted.

  “In the bishop’s study,” I spoke louder, but not too loud.

  “Where?” he asked.

  I shook my head. This place was so big two people couldn’t hold a conversation unless they were near each other.

  I tried to get Ava’s attention, but she rocked Devon in her arms, and from what I heard, she seemed to be praying or slowly losing her mind. At that point I couldn’t decipher between the two.

  “I’m going downstairs to bring them back up.”

  Justus caught my hand before I walked out. “Wait.”

  I gasped. “What?”

  “It’ll be better if I go with you,” he said.

  “Justus, no . . . stay with them,” I whispered.

  “Angel, yes. I called them. Remember?”

  “But you don’t—”

  Terry ran out. “Help!”

  Justus and I both looked at each other. His jaw had dropped. I didn’t have to look down to his knees to know they were buckling.

  I should have shot that fool when I had the chance, I said to myself as I watched Justus, Ava, and Devon’s dying or dead body next to her.

  “Everything will be fine. I promise.” I pasted the same smile on my face that I gave all the girls before I hauled them back to jail.

  “Everyone, show me your hands now,” a commanding voice shouted from behind me.

  I raised my hands in the air. This time I knew our situation just turned difficult.

  7

  Friday, 2:15 AM

  Although Devon’s study was large enough to be a master bedroom and two guest rooms, the droves of armed Dekalb County policemen filling up the hallway could not join us inside.
The responding officer walked slowly toward us, while his partner stood underneath the threshold. No EMTs were in sight. However, I heard someone talking medical jargon to someone else in the hallway, so I assumed they were here. I hoped they were here. Yet, I couldn’t be sure because I was preoccupied with staring down the rather large S&W barrel moving closer and closer toward my nose. Justus stood to my left, whispering a prayer of deliverance, I’m sure. On the other hand, Ava continued mumbling and praying as if we weren’t there, as if these cops wouldn’t shoot her if she wasn’t still. But then again maybe she wanted to be shot.... And Terry Mapp . . . he had better hope I didn’t see him anytime soon.

  However, the gun-wielding uniform standing in front of me was a sight to behold. He was a strawberry-blond, hazel-eyed gentleman about my age, who took great care of his skin and body, despite the black poly-blend uniform pants he wore. He also had a dangerous twinkle in his eye that reminded me too much of myself. Under normal circumstances, I would have sweet talked him into moonlighting with me. But then again, he had a .40 caliber Smith & Wesson pointed at my face. I didn’t think he was in the mood to hear my career move proposition, and the gun’s position had begun to piss me off.

  “Put your hands back up, ma’am,” he said.

  I looked down. I hadn’t realized that I had folded my arms over my chest. I unfurled them slow and steady for him to see.

  He smirked. “Thank you. Now . . . what’s your name?”

  “Angel Crawford. I’m Mrs. McArthur’s sister. She’s the owner of this estate, and she and her husband, my brother-in-law, are on the floor behind me. They need immediate medical attention.”

  “Again, thank you for bringing that to my intention. Before I can help them, I need to know, are you armed?” the officer asked.

  “Yes. . . .” I bit my lip. “I have a Taser and maybe some tear gas, um . . . some woodchucks, a pocketknife. I’m not sure which knife, actually. Maybe my gun. I haven’t checked my purse in a couple of days. They all should be in my purse on my shoulder, though. Do you want to check?”

  He looked back at the other officer standing behind him. The other officer shrugged.

  “Angel, carefully hand me your purse so that I can give it to Officer Todd.”

  “Angel, out of curiosity, why do you have so many weapons in your purse?”

  “I’m a bail recovery agent in this county, sir.” I shifted my legs. “I work every now and then for Trusted Bail Bonds.

  “Tiger’s girl, hmm . . .” He harrumphed, then called for more backup. “Did you fire your gun before we arrived ?”

  “No, Devon’s bodyguard, the man you met running down the hall, did that. I hope you didn’t let him get away.”

  He wrote down something in his note pad. “And you?” The officer referred to Justus. “Who are you?”

  “Reverend Dr. Prince Justus Morgan. I’m the one who called.”

  “Prince?” both the police officer and I asked simultaneously.

  “Don’t ask.”

  “I’m Officer Brady and that’s Officer Todd behind me.” He lowered his gun, put it back in his holster, and whispered, “Is that Mrs. McArthur inside with the knife?”

  I shut my eyes. I forgot about the knife.

  “I’m afraid so.” I heard myself whimper. I threw my hands over my mouth. I began to cry again.

  “Angel, it’s okay,” Justus said. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it isn’t.” I shook my head. We might be going to jail.

  “Unfortunately, guys. You’ll have to stop talking to each other for now,” Officer Brady said.

  “No problem. It won’t happen again.” I cleared my throat.

  Brady turned his attention to Justus. “You’re the one who called, right?”

  “Yes, we did,” he said. “I don’t mean to be rude, but the bishop and his wife need medical attention, officers.”

  “That’s why we’re talking to you two. We need to make sure this place is safe for EMS, which brings me to the matter of the gun shot we heard from outside. Is there anyone else inside who could be armed?” Brady asked.

  I looked past his service revolver in his holster and his very quiet partner who stood in the middle of the hallway. He had his gun in his hand, but not pointed at me or Justus, ready for both of us, I assumed. Past him there were two emergency service technicians standing at the end of the hall and a few more cops at the top of the staircase. My heart bounced around pretty fast, so fast I had to inhale and exhale slowly until my hands stopped shaking.

  “Angel?” he hissed.

  I jumped. “Yes! It’s safe.”

  “What happened in there, Angel?” Brady’s partner, Officer Todd, asked me, but I was too focused on watching Justus walk farther down the hall with another uniform.

  I knew that responding officers often separated scene witnesses and could-be suspects from each other, so that one’s account did not influence another. I wondered what Terry told them about me. I wondered if I should have told Officer Brady that Terry almost shot me?

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. What did you say?”

  He continued to empty the contents of my purse in a series of quiet plops and splats on Ava’s nice table. There wasn’t as much in there as I had thought: my wallet, keys, a can of mace, duct tape, mini binoculars, pack of gum, lip gloss, waterproof sunscreen, my cell phone, the usual . . .

  “Todd, come here!” Officer Brady shouted from inside the room. “We have a problem. The bishop’s dead. Call in the Dicks.”

  I cringed.

  Officer Todd now stood in front of the door, so I couldn’t see anything. I tsked.

  “Angel, I just need you to answer some questions to help us give the best account of what happened to your brother-in-law before we wrap up things here. And since it appears that I don’t have to explain everything to you, like I’m sure we would with your two male friends down the hall—”

  “You don’t have to explain what to me?” I interrupted.

  “You’re a bounty hunter. You see things that the bodyguard and your pastor boyfriend don’t have a clue to look for. I’m hoping you can help us out, so I can get my job done and all of us can get out of here before it gets too crazy.” Just then, the M.E. walked past us and into the study.

  “It’s already too crazy, and Justus isn’t my boyfriend.” I paused and then tried to peer over his shoulder, but even on my tiptoes I couldn’t see Ava. I sighed. “How bad does this look for my sister?”

  “You knew that answer before we arrived, Angel.”

  “But I was . . . I was wrong . . .” I sniffed, then kicked the wall floorboard too hard. “Shoot.” I winced and grabbed my foot.

  Officer Todd touched my shoulders. “Actually, Angel, after a little thought, I think we have all we need from you, so come on,” he said. “Let me take you downstairs.”

  “But wait . . .” I looked around. Few police officers were on the floor now. I peeked over his shoulder and observed Devon’s study. Ava was now seated in a chair. Her hands rested in her laps, handcuffed. I gasped and turned toward him. “Are you arresting her?”

  Instead of answering, Officer Todd led me away from the study.

  8

  Friday, 3:00 AM

  Not so fast. We hadn’t moved two feet before I spotted a dark fedora on an overdressed man standing in front of Terry.

  When Terry pointed at me, I lowered my head. I knew I needed to stay upstairs and in the loop on the investigation. But how . . .?

  Feigning a case of vapors, Officer Todd allowed me to recover in a chair down the hall. From my position, I could see only the back of the detective. He left Terry and walked over to a woman dressed in fitted blue jeans and a white M.E.’s jacket. She carried a silver briefcase and had a high-pitched, crystalline, yet peachy, southern kind of voice.

  The detective nodded his head toward the body. “How bad is it? What’s your best guess as to the time of death?”

  “I won’t know that unti
l I do an autopsy. My best guess is a few hours ago.”

  “Can you give me something more concrete? The victim wasn’t run of the mill, if you know what I mean.”

  “I wish it were that simple. But who knows, Sal?” She motioned for the other members of her team to enter the room. “For all I know, this man could have caught the Holy Ghost and had a stroke before he was stabbed. He could be on blood thinners or blood pressure pills, which would make him bleed out faster than normal. There are too many variables for me just to take his temp and tell you when he died. All we know for sure is that he died today, not too long ago. Tell the church his spirit lives. Will that work for you?”

  I looked at Justus, who’d just knelt beside me. His attention was definitely on her, too, more like a grimace.

  “Can we suffice it to say that what we have here is a homicide?” the detective asked.

  She nodded, “Pretty much.”

  “Cause of death?”

  “It appears that he was stabbed to death and he was killed where y’all found him. I counted ten stab wounds, including three deep, penetrating abdominal knife wounds to his right side. But I won’t know for sure until I complete the autopsy.”

  My own side ached after hearing that horrible detail. I gulped. Could Ava do something like that?

  “So how do you know he was killed here?” he asked.

  “That nice white carpet and his First Lady’s snazzy shoes carry a good estimate of the amount of blood a man his size could lose before dying. Is that good enough for ya?”

  “Your attitude never is,” he scoffed. “But I’ll take the rest. Have a good night, Browner.”

  She waved at him and breezed past us. I took a mental note of her name tag. Browner. Dr. Natasha Browner. She nodded at two men who were also wearing gray coroner’s golf shirts. They wheeled a white body bag out of the door on a squeaky movable cot.

  “Devon,” Ava cried.

  I shivered. Tough as I tried to appear, girlfriend wanted to cry really badly.