Callie narrowed her eyes. She hadn’t noticed. All she knew—from her aunt and uncle and from various news clips about four years earlier—was that Natalie had married a basketball star who played for the San Antonio Badgers. She didn’t keep up with celebrity gossip, and hadn’t heard anything about a split.
“I had no clue,” Callie said.
“The word is, Vance couldn’t be faithful. The latest news is that they just split a few weeks ago.”
Perhaps that explained why Natalie seemed completely inconsolable. She had been crying almost constantly, and had excused herself to head upstairs and lie down once they’d gotten back to the house.
“Wow, that’s horrible,” Callie commented.
“Yeah,” Deanna said softly. She paused. “When I first heard, I couldn’t help thinking that she got what she deserved. After what she did to me… But seeing her today, seeing how much pain she’s in…well, all I could do was feel pity.”
“All the more reason to let her know that you’re willing to put the past behind you,” Callie pointed out. “Men may come into our lives for a season, but we’re blood. We never should have drifted apart.”
“I hear you,” Deanna said.
One of them would have to make the first move. If she had to, Callie would do it on their behalf, once all the visitors had left the house.
In the grand scheme of things, how stupid had the whole incident been. Ten years they had been out of each other’s lives, and for what? Natalie had seduced Deanna’s boyfriend, which had been a horrible thing to do, and the rift between Natalie and Deanna had begun.
Callie remembered getting into the middle of the conflict, trying to help both of her sisters see the light. But they’d been so absorbed in their own differences and unable to reconcile, and had gotten mad at Callie for not understanding that the other sister was at fault.
Having had a close friend who had died after a severe police beating at the time, Callie grew tired of her younger sisters’ squabble. There were far more important things to deal with in the world.
Like the fact that she’d been pregnant and confused, and had felt alone.
“Speaking of men coming into our lives for a season,” Deanna began, “guess who dropped by the funeral home last night?”
“I don’t know,” Callie said, shrugging. Then she guessed the name of the guy Deanna and Natalie had become estranged over. “Marvin?”
“No, not Marvin, thank God. Nigel.”
Nigel! At the sound of his name, Callie’s heart slammed against her rib cage. Nigel had come to pay his respects to Auntie Jean?
Why was she surprised? Auntie Jean had adored him when they were together, and he her. One of the reasons Callie had stayed away and not told her family the entire truth was because she couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t let her secret slip to Nigel.
“He—he did?” Callie asked, her voice a croak.
“Mmm-hmm.”
Good Lord, was he going to drop by the house today? Callie suddenly looked toward the front door, as if he might show up at any moment.
“Did you—you talk to him?” Callie asked, then swallowed.
“Briefly. He said he came in to pay respects to Uncle Dave and the family. He offered us condolences, said how sorry he was for our loss, then he left.”
Did he ask about me? That was the next question on Callie’s lips, but somehow she stopped herself from asking it. As if she even had the right to think that after what she’d done.
Her stomach clenched, knowing that what she had planned to do was going to be excruciatingly hard. But it had to be done. As difficult as it would be to face Nigel, she knew that she had to.
She only hoped that when she dropped her doozy of a bombshell on him, he didn’t hate her forever.
Chapter 2
“Detective Williams?”
Nigel Williams sat up straight when he heard the soft voice on the other end of the line. Was this the call he had been waiting for?
“Yes,” he said. “This is Detective Williams.”
“I hear you wanted to talk to me.”
“Dominiqua?”
“Yes,” came the low reply.
The murder victim’s girlfriend. Thank God. “You were there last night? When Garrett was shot?”
“Yes.” The girl began to cry.
“I need you to come in to the station,” Nigel said. “So we can talk about what happened.”
“I—I’m scared. If I talk to you, people will find out. And…”
Her voice trailed off, but her sentiment was clear. She was afraid to talk, because of the code on the streets—never snitch.
It was an all-too-common conundrum. People were afraid to come forth with information for fear of retaliation against them. But the catch-22 was that when people didn’t come forward to report the bad guys, the bad guys were still on the streets to hurt other people.
“I can come to you,” Nigel offered. “Just tell me—”
“No! No cops. I can’t be seen talking to a cop—”
“If you saw what happened, if you have information, it’s important that you tell me,” Nigel said, speaking as gently as possible. “We can figure out a spot to meet that will be safe for you.”
“I’m sorry,” Dominiqua said. “I—I can’t.”
And then she hung up.
Nigel heard the dial tone, and groaned in frustration as he replaced the phone to the cradle. Damn, he’d wanted Dominiqua to give him a name. At least, however, he had been given a lead. Dominiqua did know something. It might take time, but he was certain she would eventually come clean and let him know who had shot down her boyfriend in cold blood.
Nigel shook his head as he thought of last night’s murder of a young male. Twenty years old, gunned down in the street. The distraught mother being held up by family members at the crime scene, where her son lay bleeding from a gunshot wound.
Murder on the streets of Cleveland and another young life lost in a senseless manner. When would people stop taking the drastic action of murder as a way to solve their disputes?
Not any time soon, Nigel knew. Ever since his move to the homicide department within the Cleveland police three years earlier, his caseload had always been full.
Marshall Jennings, his best friend of twelve years and partner on the police force, had gone out to speak to the boy’s mother once their evening shift had started, while Nigel had stayed in the office looking up information on the victim, that could possibly link to any suspects.
“Hey, Williams.”
Nigel, who had been staring at the computer screen, looked to his right. Marshall was heading toward him, his blazer wet. Clearly, he had been caught in the torrential downpour. It was the end of May, and the showers had been intense lately. Mostly because even though it wasn’t yet summer, the weather was extremely hot.
The good thing was that if the rain kept up this evening, it wasn’t likely anyone would be gunned down on the streets.
“How did it go with the mother and the family?” Nigel asked.
“They’re devastated, understandably,” Marshall said, shrugging out of his jacket. “They saw Garrett at least two hours before he was shot but don’t seem to know