Charlotte's Revenge Page 5

  “I'm not sure about that guy, Ray,” Randall said nodding toward him.

  “Who are you sure about?” She tsked her tongue, pushed away from him and adjusted her dress.

  “You,” he smirked and tried to pull her close again. She twisted his thumbs and wiggled out of his grasp.

  “Are you sure it's not because I said it wouldn’t hurt if you wore a tailored shirt like his sometimes? Or, maybe even a suit?”

  “Well, that could be part of it. But no, there’s something else . . .”

  “I know Ray can be super rude sometimes, but he really believes that what he's doing is going to make things better for everyone. And, he’s very successful at what he does. You have to appreciate that part, at least, especially since we’re working side-by-side now.

  “Yeah, about that ...”

  “Can you stop being a cop for five minutes?”

  “Traci ... that’s not fair.”

  “For just one minute?”

  He didn’t want to ruin this moment by talking about Ray Winston. “... kiss me,” he said with a wicked smile.

  Lenny snapped his fingers again.

  Randall ignored it, chuckled and grabbed her waist. She wiggled away. Traci didn't like public displays of affection, but he was all about it, leaving no doubt for anyone around them. He watched her gather her poise and step back to the staging area.

  “Hey, watch it! That's my girl, right there. If she even stubs her little pinky toe, I'm holding you personally responsible ... Lenny.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lenny held Traci with both hands back to position on the larges stone in the demo pile.

  Traci mouthed “Go away...” at him then frowned sweetly which gave him even greater incentive to double-down.

  “I said what I said,” he teased and watched Traci burst into laughter. “Mission accomplished. The prettiest smile in the world.” Lenny helped her be seated on the narrow retaining wall and started asking a battery of interview questions with a local channel WME TV-43 news camera over his shoulder. She handled them like a champ.

  Randall turned to Ray and nodded a quick acknowledgment. It was the least he could do, and that’s all he would do, the very least. Ray approached him along the garden path.

  “It's an important day for S&K,” Ray said, “and for the Friends of Magnolia Grove Foundation and as such, our little Spokeswoman.”

  “Yep.” Randall folded his arms across his chest and kept his eyes on Traci and how that Lenny was taking up too much of the camera angle.

  “I've got to give her credit, she fought hard to preserve this place and the farm. Looks like everything is working out in her favor. And,” Ray shrugged, “she seems happy.”

  “She is. And I plan to keep it that way.” Ahh, that was better. They were taking photos of Traci with the award, wearing a hard-hat, standing beside the sunflowers ... okay, much better.

  “You have to admit, though, she has a bit of a temper.”

  “I'm not afraid of a few sparks.”

  “A few?” Ray said.

  “I guess it takes a certain kind of man to handle that heat. I'm that man.” Randall wasn't pleased with the way they cornered Traci into working with Ray over there with that Dewey Station bunch of suits. He looked him over. There was something about this guy he didn't trust. It seemed like Ray was always trying to push his buttons knowing that if he reacted it would put Traci’s job at risk. Best thing was to make the boundaries clear. And he knew exactly how to do that. “Hey, I need to ask you about something.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah ... you. Let's take a ride.”

  Ray followed Randall to his car and looked with disgust at the Chevelle covered in its gray coat of primer. Randall gave him a side-eyed glance. “It's a work in progress. Traci calls it the putty-mobile. Probably not your style, huh?”

  “We'll take my car. A little something I picked up over the weekend.” He pointed to the Miami Blue two-seater Porsche Boxter T Model with twenty-inch wheels, central exhaust, the works.

  “How can he afford so many expensive cars? Where does a guy like him get that kind of money? I need someone to answer a few questions about what actually happens over there,” Randall thought.

  “You sure I can fit in that thing?” He bent down and looked inside. “This thing is sweet, though.”

  “I'll let the top down.” Ray smirked and pressed the key fob.

  “Sure, one sec.” Randall walked over to the opposite side of the driveway, balled up his fist and let it down with a thud on the top of the squad car with a sleeping officer inside. Then lowered his face and sunglasses to stare into the man's eyes.

  “Sorry, Captain.”

  Randall glared at him for a few minutes, then rejoined Ray at the Boxter.

  “Alright, let's go.”

  JAMESON’S FAMILY JEWELERS since 1956. with its simple black canopy and stoic façade was an anachronism in the modern-day Keeferton retail district. As nondescript as the outside was presented to passersby, inside the place was lit up like the floodlights at a Ragin’ Reds ballgame.

  Randall took his badge from his pocket and attached it to his belt when he noticed the new “No Guns Allowed” sign on the shop window. He was already out of his element around this stuff. And he didn’t want any noise from the salesman about the firearm holstered over his civilian clothes. He couldn’t blame them for trying to keep their establishment safe. There were a lot of changes going on in Keeferton and not all of them were good.

  Ray pointed to the FAMU insignia on Randall's baseball cap. “You know I went to BCU, right?”

  “Oh really?” Randall said with a raised eyebrow, took off his sunglasses and clipped them to his collar. “I know a few good people that went to Bethune Cookman. But only a few.” Why does he like to bait me? And why would he want Traci to lose her job? Is that his deal or what? Something didn’t add up. He kept browsing through the showcase of gems with the price tags tucked discreetly out of sight.

  “I did my undergrad work there,” Ray continued.

  “Well, I coached a little ball for them before I moved back here.” He stood up to his full height and placed his hand at his waist, a subconscious reflex move toward his gun even if he had no intention of using it. “Okay, you’re a BCU alum, I won't hold that against you. But when football season starts, you know we’re going to kick your ...”

  “May I help you gentlemen?”

  “Yes, let's stick to the business at hand, shall we?” Ray said with a smirk.

  Randall pointed to a ring on display. “How about that one right there?” The salesperson slid the felt covered tray onto the top of the glass and retrieved the ring of choice. Ray took the jeweler’s loupe and looked it over carefully.

  “What do you think?” Randall asked.

  “I think it’s perfect if you’re trying to insult the woman you supposedly love. If that’s what you’re going for, then buy it.”

  “Sir, I beg your pardon. I assure you . . .”

  Ray raised his hand and the salesperson fell silent.

  “Tell Tom Dudley that Ray Winston is here.”

  The owner arrived swiftly from a door adjacent to the mirrored wall along the back of the store.

  “Mr. Winston so good to see you. Your package from Clarke’s of London has arrived from customs. I have it in the back if you would please follow me.”

  “Fine. Did you have any trouble?”

  “None whatsoever. I have the documents ready for your signature.”

  “My friend is here to select an engagement ring. I trust you to direct him to the most excellent selection of loose stones and mounts, not this . . . sham merchandise. Something worthy of a ...” Ray gave a sideways glance toward Randall. “Nubian princess.”

  “Right ...” Randall said through a tightened jaw.

  “Of course, this way.”

  “Hey Ray, I’m not sure that I’m ready for the prices in the back,” Randall whispered.

  Ray stopped to admire himself in a
pedestal mirror, replaced his tie clip with one made of abalone set in sterling silver from the adjacent display and said, “We’ll work something out. Trust me.”

  Chapter Six

  Traci

  TRACI MET MILO AT THE entrance of the McClendon library and showed him to her favorite spot in the research center. Yesterday she felt like a movie star but today it was back to work. She opened up her notebook and took out her favorite pen. Then she logged into the computer network with her library card and password.

  “I think you're really going to like this,” she told Milo and gestured for him to take a seat next to her. “There's so much information and it can really be helpful to people when you learn how to find answers. Let me show you what I mean.”

  She typed in a few search terms and scrolled through the screens of data. Then she explained why it was important to know the demographics, the geography, the pertinent market research and all the information that she used to help keep Hazelton House afloat.

  “Do you have any questions for me?” Traci searched his face for a glimmer of interest.

  “No.” Milo looked across the room and out of the window where his pug-stealing friend was waiting. Traci looked up at Kay McGee, shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. What was she doing? She felt like she was lost and worse, losing Milo.

  Ms. McGee came over to join them and introduced herself. “Hi, my name is Kay McGee. What is your name?”

  “I’m Milo.”

  “Hi Milo. Is this your first time in the library?”

  “Yeah, I've been here before but I never stayed here this long.” He looked down at his feet.

  Traci looked at Ms. McGee and shrugged again.

  “Do you like to read?” She touched his hand to get his attention. “Milo, do you like to read?”

  “Not really,” he said glancing toward his friends again.

  “I tell you what, I'm going to show you a few very popular books. I think there might be something that you would like. Let’s see what we can find over here.”

  Milo followed Ms. McGee across the room to the section labeled, Graphic Novels.

  “Do you know what a graphic novel is, Milo?”

  “No ma'am.”

  “They seem like regular books, right? But they are a little different inside. Take a look at this one.” She handed him one of the books from the shelf marked “Fantasy”.

  “It looks like a comic book, sorta,” Milo said.

  “Exactly, they use illustrations to tell the story. I love this one.”

  Milo opened the book and flipped through the pages.

  “Here's another one,” Ms. McGee said. “Here’s what we’ll do, let's go over to this reading nook where it's quiet. You can look those over while Miss Traci is doing her work. If you find something you like, you can take it home with you. How does that sound?”

  “That's fine,” Milo said and flipped through more pages. He followed her over to the reading nook.

  “Here, have a seat you can even put your feet up if you want. No one will bother you.”

  Milo sat down and reclined on the big fluffy orange sofa. He opened the novel to the first page and looked at the pictures. He read a couple of the captions, whispering softly and then turned the page to the next picture and read the next caption.

  Ms. McGee joined Traci across the room. “I think he'll be fine. Ms. Evans will be here in a few minutes and administer the tests. She's a developmental education specialist and she homeschools some of the kids here during the week while their parents are working. She's a good friend and I know she'll help.”

  “Thank you, I don't know what I do without you,” Traci said and leaned closer. “Can I ask for one more favor? It’s important.”

  “Of course, dear. What do you need?”

  “I need all the information you can find about this woman,” Traci said, and slid a note across the table. Ms. McGee picked it up and looked over her glasses at her. Then she nodded and said, “In my office.”

  Traci followed her into the privacy of the office and sat near the window to keep an eye on Milo. She drummed her fingers on her notebook. Randall shared very little about the progress they were making in the case against Charlotte Carter. She had to know what was happening.

  “Nothing,” Ms. McGee said with a furrowed brow. “I’ve searched all the available records for the Tri-County area and the state. Nothing that matches the age and description you gave me.” Ms. McGee looked over her reading glasses, “Are you sure that’s her real name?”

  Traci looked out the window and saw Milo engaged in the book, resting it on his chest. She closed the door gently and returned to the table with the Head Librarian.

  “Yes, I guess. Pretty sure. Nothing at all? How is that possible?” Traci looked over Ms. McGee’s shoulder at the computer screen. No, it was not possible for someone to drop off the face of the earth like that. But maybe that’s why the police haven’t found her yet. No, something was wrong.

  “Not a trace, so far. Only one short article after her arrest two years ago. That’s all. It’s like she ... disappeared.” She handed Traci a plain notecard and pencil. “Here, draw a picture of her for me. Your best recollection, try to be as accurate as possible.”

  Traci took the pencil in hand and began to sketch. Her mind wondered back to the attic at Hazelton House. The sight of that woman gave her chills even in her dimmest memory. But who was she? Should she tell Randall that they were both searching for someone that didn’t exist? “I don’t believe in ghosts ...” she muttered aloud the disconnected thought.

  “What? Of course, you don’t honey. I’ll keep searching. Something will turn up eventually.” Ms. McGee patted her on the hand. “Try not to worry.”

  Chapter Seven

  Randall

  TRACI ANSWERED THE door without a word and walked back into the kitchen, visibly upset. Randall had a few hours off and jetted over to be with her. He had picked out the perfect engagement ring, a 3.05 carat yellow diamond center mounted with two half-moon white diamonds along each side of a platinum and yellow gold band styled in a fancy sunflower and daisies relief. He had never seen anything like it before. Ray had really helped out at Jameson’s. Now he was waiting for the perfect time and place to ask her ... his stomach flipped again ... to be his wife. Why was he so nervous? The right moment would present itself, he just had to stay calm. Don’t rush it, he thought. Right now, she was upset. “I'll fix that in a few short minutes.”

  She opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water. He closed it, put the bottle aside and kissed her. Her hair was damp with a faint scent of coconut as he found that tenderness under her chin with his kisses, down the front of her neck and the sweet spot along her collarbone, scented with the perfume he loved. She had told him the name, but he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t think of anything except, “This woman.” Already he was lost inside the taste of this woman, everything else was drifting out of his mind, the investigation, the news reporters demanding answers that he didn’t have. And now on top of everything the police union negotiations had hit an impasse at the most critical time when he was fighting for overtime pay. He was getting pushback for the staffing levels he had assigned to the Charlotte Carter case instead of other “politically pleasing pressing” issues, like enforcing curfew and truancy codes, but right now, it was all fading to black like they didn't exist. Just like that, he let it all go and started unbuttoning her blouse. “How many buttons are there on this thing?”

  “Randall ...”

  “So many buttons” he slid his hand under her blouse and up her back. The sensation of her soft skin ... he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He just wanted to get lost in those lips.

  “Yes, angel, what is it?”

  “Randall ...”

  “Does she really want to talk to me now? No, ugh ...” He pulled her tight against him. He needed this time to just ... not think.

  “I need to ask you something.”

  “Let it be qui
ck. A sports bra? Ugh, I'm gonna need some help here.” He took a breath and settled himself. “Okay, ask me anything you want.”

  “I wondered if you would take Milo into the station with you one day, soon. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble for you. Maybe introduce him around, let him see how things work and get an idea of the other side of law enforcement.”

  “Why is she doing this? Seriously, why?” He dropped his head against her shoulder and whispered through gritted teeth, “You want me to what?”

  “Please.”

  “What's the quickest way out of this?” He took his hands off her and folded them on top of his head. “Okay, sure. I can probably arrange something through our Community Outreach team.”

  “You promise to be with him, though. Right?

  “Sure ...”

  “Great, I’ll call Moe and find out his work schedule.” She walked out of the room and left him standing alone with the cats. He looked in the crockpot on the counter and filled a plate with beef brisket and potatoes. He gave a side-eye to the grilled cauliflower “steak” and other faux meat under the glass lids and sat down at the kitchen table.

  Traci returned, humming a little tune and started to prepare a plate for herself and added something green from a bamboo steamer on the hotplate. She added a portion of that next to his brisket. He removed them and put them on her plate.

  “It’s asparagus. C'mon, you might like it.”

  “Well, that's possible. But I don't want to like it.”

  “That doesn't make sense, Randall.”

  “No?” He looked up. Her expression looked innocent but was there something in her tone? “Why not? I like what I like, okay? This ...” he said pointing to the mound of beef drenched in gravy, “this is what I like. Just because you're making all these changes doesn't mean I need to, as well.”

  “Oh.” She looked crushed. “I see.” She started pushing the food around her plate.