Travellin' Shoes Page 21

  “She’s pretty upset right now, but she’ll calm down soon. Just leave her to me. I know how to handle her.” Reverend Hamilton might have been more convincing if he wasn’t whispering. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll get through the rest of the stuff in there and let you know if I find anything.”

  But I had a thought. “Reverend Hamilton, did Warrendale go into any other rooms?”

  He rubbed his head as he thought back. “We sat in the office talking, and I asked him if he wanted a cup of coffee. He said yes and I told him I’d be back in a minute. I went into the kitchen and started the coffeemaker.”

  “Did you talk about anything while you were making the coffee?” I asked, hoping to spark a memory in his mind.

  He paused before shaking his head. “We talked about the choir and how well they sounded. Then he ….” Reverend Hamilton took in a sharp breath.

  “What?” we asked simultaneously.

  “He went to the bathroom,” Reverend Hamilton said as he took off back into the house. Harley and I followed.

  There was a small powder room on the first floor, just off the study. It wasn’t big enough for three, so Reverend Hamilton stood outside while I looked around. There wasn’t much to look at. The room had a toilet, a pedestal sink, and a mirror. I looked at the only hiding place available, the toilet. Reaching into my pocket, I found a pair of latex gloves. I looked in back of the tank and then lifted the lid. In a Ziploc bag taped to the inside, I found a book about the size of a small diary. I pulled out the bag and opened it. Inside was a series of numbers.

  Harley whistled softly. “Bingo.”

  Harley and I looked through the code book, but none of it made any sense. We would turn it over to our geek guys to decode when we went in to the precinct, but it was still pretty early in the day. I was tempted to head to my townhouse for a shower, but Mama B’s house was closer, so Harley followed me. As I drove the short distance through the alley, I couldn’t get over the feeling that some piece of the puzzle was still just out of reach.

  Back at the house, Harley and I reassured Paris and Mama B that Reverend Hamilton was fine. I left Harley to fill them in while I hurried upstairs. After a shower and a shave, I dressed in fresh clothing and headed back downstairs. I could smell the ham and biscuits when I was halfway there.

  In the kitchen, Paris was setting the table while Mama B finished scrambling eggs. Harley ate ham, eggs, grits, and biscuits, and washed it all down with coffee.

  “I timed that just right,” I said as I slid into the dining room chair. Mama B put a plate in front of me.

  Harley and I were the only ones eating fried ham, biscuits, and eggs. Mama B ate oatmeal while Paris had a small bowl of fruit and yogurt she must have purchased herself. I knew Mama B wouldn’t buy it.

  “Why are you guys eating so healthy?” I said. “You trying to fatten us up or something?”

  Paris spooned her yogurt. “If I ate that type of stuff every morning, I’d be big as a house. I already need to lose about ten pounds.”

  “I think your pounds are just fine where they are,” I said and dropped my head to finish shoveling in the food. “Besides,” I added in between bites, “you need to keep your strength up to hoist those huge curling iron things around.”

  That lightened the mood. Harley and Mama B chuckled.

  “That reminds me. I have a message for you.”

  I could tell by the way her lips were twitching that something was amiss. “What’s the message?”

  “Mercedes Jackson saw you leaving the shop the other night, and after a few comments about your anatomy, your appearance, and what she would like to do to you, she had the nerve to ask me to make sure you had her phone number.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Mama B snorted and Paris burst out laughing. Even Harley was laughing, which I found annoying, since he hadn’t even met Mercedes.

  “What did you tell her?”

  Paris smiled and adopted a look of wide-eyed innocence. “I told her I would pass along her message.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out pieces of paper that had been torn to the size of confetti and placed them on the table near my plate. “Here you go.”

  For about two seconds, the room was quiet while we looked at the pile of ripped-up paper. Then we burst into laughter. After another moment, I collected myself enough to ask, “I’m still investigating a murder, so what if I need to ask Mercedes some additional questions?”

  Paris smiled and shrugged. “You’re a detective. I’m sure you can figure out how to put the pieces together.” After a second she added, “Of course, Mercedes would need to find a new hair salon and I’ll miss the income. She’s one of my best-paying customers.”

  The back and forth seemed natural and comfortable. I was about to take another jab, but decided instead to put this topic to rest. “Mercedes will not need to change hair salons. Your income is secure.”

  Mama B’s eyes sparkled, and she barely hid a smile, but she soon turned serious. “I didn’t think Mercedes was still going to your shop anyway. I haven’t seen her there for months.”

  “She used to be as regular as clockwork. She had a standing appointment every two weeks for years. But then, about six months ago, she stopped coming. I thought she’d found another stylist.”

  Something had been triggered in the back of my mind, but before I could figure it out, Harley asked, “What happened six months ago?”

  Paris shrugged. “I’m not sure. That’s when Moe Chapman started preaching. I just assumed he wasn’t making as much money as a minister as he had as the financial secretary and wasn’t able to support Mercedes’ expensive habits anymore.”

  “Yeah, her weave was looking pretty raggedy for a while there,” Mama B said.

  “But that doesn’t make sense. I mean he should have made more as the associate minister. The financial secretary job is a non-paid position,” I said.

  “I have no idea why she stopped coming to the salon. At first I thought she found someone new, but Mrs. Bethany’s right. She looked pretty scruffy for several months.”

  I glanced over at Harley, who was also looking puzzled. We were obviously out of our element when it came to women’s hair routines, so Harley asked, “Is that uncommon, for someone to stop coming for a while?”

  Paris thought for a moment. “Lots of women have standing appointments. That’s not uncommon.”

  Mama B added, “I have a standing appointment with Paris every two weeks.”

  “But most of the people who come on a regular basis don’t have a weave. Mama B wears her own hair. I would say every one of my standing appointments is for people who wear their own hair. Weaves, or sew-ins, can be very expensive, especially the kind Mercedes has done.”

  “What makes her sew-in expensive?” I was trying to wrap my head around this.

  “She only uses real hair, not synthetic, for one thing. And she has the hair sewn in and glued. It lasts longer that way and looks nicer. Women with a sew-in usually don’t come every two weeks. Mercedes came in religiously, every two weeks. So, missing six months for her was uncommon. Plus, she gets her nails done, and that’s expensive too.”

  I looked at Harley. “So, when Moe Chapman was financial secretary for the church, his girlfriend Mercedes dropped over five hundred per month at the hair salon, but once Warrendale took over the books, she stopped.”

  Paris nodded.

  “Well, isn’t that interesting,” Harley said.

  Mama B broke in, “Used to be a time folks had respect for the church. They would never dream of stealing from God or from a man of God either, but not anymore. Now, folks will kill you and steal the gold right out yo’ mouth.” She paused. “I’m still surprised that boy lived as long as he did. If looks could kill, he should have died a week earlier.” This was perhaps the third time Mama B had shared this sentiment since Warrendale had been killed.

  “What do you mean?” Paris asked.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Mama B said, �
��I think that boy was messin’ around too much. You can’t roll around with dogs without getting fleas.” She finished with a nod, as though that explained everything.

  I was confused, but I wasn’t about to stop her now. So, I waited patiently for her to explain.

  When it seemed no explanation was forthcoming, Harley prompted her, “Who do you think he was … ah … lying down with?”

  Mama B waited a moment. “Well, that woman RJ said was his wife looked mad enough to bite the heads off nails. She looked like she wanted to kill him right there in the church. Then, there was Tonya Rutherford. She was madder than a wet hen. And Moe Chapman tried to hide it, but I could tell he wanted that little fancy pants dead.”

  Something Mama B said earlier was floating around in my head, so I asked, “You said Moe was jealous of Warrendale but Mercedes claimed that was just gossip.”

  “I don’t gossip.” Mama B leaned across the table. “I was there at the church and I know what I heard.”

  “What did you hear?” Harley and I said simultaneously.

  I added, “If you know something that can help solve this murder, you should have told me a week ago.”

  “Don’t you raise your voice to me, Robert James Franklin Junior,” Mama B said. She only used my full name when she was really angry. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

  “I’m sorry. Please tell me what you heard,” I said in a clipped voice that was as polite as I could muster.

  Mama B sat fuming for a moment. Finally, she said, “Well, it was my turn to help Mother Applewhite set up for communion.”

  I knew the Mother’s Board was responsible for putting out the crackers and grape juice for communion the night before the first Sunday.

  “Okay, so you and Mother Applewhite were at the church …” Harley prompted, as he took out his notebook and held his pen poised to take down her words.

  “Choir rehearsal had just finished.”

  I mulled this over. “So, Mercedes was at the church on Saturday night.” I shot a quick look at Harley, who nodded at me. He would check her statement, but I was pretty sure she’d claimed to be at home waiting for Moe to take her out.

  “I had to go in the office and get soap for the washing.”

  The washing was the ritual where the ministers washed their hands in front of the congregation prior to administering communion to the congregation.

  “What happened next?” Harley asked.

  Mama B squirmed a bit in her seat. Finally, she said, “Well, I heard Warrendale, I mean Warren, laughing. He was saying Mercedes wasn’t his type, but he would keep her entertained while Moe was gone.” Mama B shuddered, not from cold, but as though shaking off a mood. She continued, “It wasn’t exactly the words he said but the way he said them.”

  “How did he say them?”

  I watched as Mama B looked up at the ceiling, as if trying to come up with the right description. Finally she gave up. Shaking her head, she said, “It was as though he was laughing at the poor man. Now, I’ll grant you, I don’t care much for Moe Chapman with all his teeth—always smiling at you and sayin’ praise the Lord every other word—but he is a home boy.”

  In Mama B’s world, a hometown boy was better than someone from another state like Thomas Warrendale. I was focused on something else Mama B had said. “What did he mean by when ‘Moe was gone’? Was Moe Chapman supposed to be going somewhere?”

  “I don’t know,” Mama B said. “I might have missed that part when I was getting the water.”

  I stood up from the table. “Looks like I need to have a talk with a couple of people.”

  Moe Chapman wasn’t at home, at the church, or at Mercedes Jackson’s house. So Harley and I started with Mercedes, who lived in a small house not far from the university. The house used to belong to her parents, now both deceased. When I knocked on the door, she smiled big until she opened it wide enough to notice I wasn’t alone.

  “RJ, what a pleasant surprise,” Mercedes said. Her big smile looked even more fake than her nails and hair.

  I had no time for games. “We need to talk to you.”

  “Well, of course, come on in.” Mercedes held open the door and stepped aside just enough for Harley and me to enter. We had to turn sideways to avoid brushing against her.

  The house was decorated with cheap, gaudy plastic furniture. There was a large red-pleather sofa and black lacquer pieces too big for the room. Pictures of African tribal women covered the walls, surrounded by statues of the same subject. Mercedes slinked to the sofa and patted the cushion next to her. Harley took the only chair, another red-pleather piece, and I chose to stand.

  “We have some additional questions for you,” I said as Harley pulled out his notebook.

  “Sure, RJ. You can ask me anything at all,” Mercedes said.

  “I want to start by telling you that anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford one, an attorney will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights?” I tried to make my tone as cold and stern as possible.

  Mercedes’ jaw dropped open. “Well yes. I understand …. I mean I understand what you said. But I don’t understand why you’re saying it. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Obstructing justice and interfering in a police investigation are serious offenses,” Harley said.

  “I haven’t done any of those things. I never lied to a police officer.” Mercedes was all wide-eyed innocence.

  “Tell me what happened at the church the Saturday night Tye Warren was murdered,” I said flatly.

  Fear flashed in her eyes for a fleeting moment, but then she pulled herself together. “Nothing happened.”

  “The truth, Mercedes. You’re in big trouble, and unless you’re completely honest now, I will arrest you,” I said.

  She thought for a second and then leaned back on the sofa. “Moe used to be really good to me. He’d buy me things and take me to fancy restaurants. But then, when he started preaching, he changed.”

  “Changed how?” I asked, although I could guess what was coming next.

  “He said everything was the same, but he wasn’t taking me out anymore. He wasn’t buying me gifts. I couldn’t even get my nails done.” Mercedes paused for a few seconds. “So, I thought maybe he’d cooled off. I thought he needed a kick-start.”

  “What kind of kick-start?” Harley seemed puzzled.

  Mercedes tried to look coy but her smile came across as more of a smirk. “Well, no man wants a woman unless some other man is interested in her.”

  It took a minute for that to sink in, but Harley got her drift soon enough.

  “So, what did you do?” I asked.

  “I let him think there was something going on between me and Thomas Warrendale.”

  “Tye Warren,” Harley corrected.

  “What?” Mercedes looked confused.

  “His real name was Tye Warren,” Harley said.

  “Oh yeah, whatever. Well, I flirted with Mr. Warrendale whenever I knew Moe was around. Thomas, I mean Tye, was a big flirt himself. He knew the score. That’s all there was.”

  “So what happened after choir rehearsal?” I watched her closely to see if she’d try to lie her way out.

  “Well, I knew Moe would be there. He usually came to the church to listen to the music and pick me up. So, after rehearsal, I flirted, and when I heard Moe’s voice in the vestibule, I let Tye kiss me.” Mercedes was unable to avoid a smile at the recollection.

  “And what did Moe do?” I was pretty sure I could imagine the answer.

  “He was angry. Specifically, I think, because Thomas … ah … Tye just laughed. I think that hurt more than anything.”

  “Did Moe do or say anything?” I wanted to see how this version would align with Mama B’s account.

  “Not while I was there. I just grabbed my purse and left. I think they had a few words, but then those old ladies were fixing the table for communion.”
/>   “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “There wasn’t anything to tell. Everything worked out great. Moe was mad a little but he got over it.” Mercedes smiled. “And ever since then, he’s been extra attentive and generous. I don’t even have to hint about things I want; he just buys me gifts and spends time and money left and right. So, see? Everything worked out great.”

  Mercedes was so self-centered she had no idea she’d most likely been the catalyst for a man’s death.

  We escorted Mercedes to the station to make a statement and then rushed to find Moe Chapman. He still hadn’t shown up at any of his usual places. We obtained a warrant and searched his house. I had an unmarked car stationed outside his house and the church. Mercedes claimed not to know where he was, and I believed her this time. She called his cell but got no answer. I gave the number to Harley to track using the GPS in his phone. But I needn’t have bothered.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I got a text from Paris to come to Mama B’s. When I tried to call her back, she didn’t pick up. I told myself maybe she was busy, but something in the pit of my stomach wasn’t buying it.

  I knew something was wrong when I pulled in front of Mama B’s house. The first thing I saw was three people sitting on the porch: Mama B, Paris, and Moe Chapman. Moe sat in between Paris and Mama B, and he had his hand inside his jacket in a way that told me he had a gun pointed at Mama B’s ribs.

  I made a move toward my gun, but Moe shoved the gun into Mama B’s side and she flinched. I slowly raised my hands to show there was no need for panic. Moe smiled his big alligator smile as I climbed the few steps to the porch.

  “That’s close enough,” Moe said. His voice sounded calm, but the gun he had in Mama B’s ribs didn’t look very steady, and sweat dripped down his forehead. “I don’t want to hurt nobody, RJ.”

  Mama B rocked with her eyes closed.