She flattered him with a quick kiss. “I’ll be right back.” With that, she turned, and strolled out of the kitchen. Once she was out of William’s line of vision, she dropped her calm façade and leaned warily against the staircase’s wooden rail. She had to do something fast. There was no way she was turning herself into the police.
#
“I need a forged passport,” Michelle informed her longtime buddy, D’Angelo. She moved farther into the cramped apartment and slid a hand lightly down his corded chest muscles. He chuckled and blew a steady stream of cigar smoke into the air. “Is that all?” “I’ll make it worth your wild.” She pressed a kiss against his dark chocolate skin. “Like old times.” He fixed her with a hard glare. “Sort of how you did for old Danny boy?” Michelle dropped her hand. “Danny was greedy.”
“Never met a thief that wasn’t.” He looped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “That includes you, my beautiful pet.”
Her back grew stiff. “I assure you, I’m no man’s pet.”
“Is that right?” D’Angelo slid his free hand boldly down her back, cupped her firm butt, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Maybe I can change all of that.” His eyes roamed over her best assets. “What can you offer for this passport?”
A smile returned to her tight lips. “Whatever you have in mind.”
D’Angelo returned the cigar to his mouth and pinched one of her breasts through her navy chenille sweater. “You can always take the girl out of the ghetto, but you can’t take the ghetto out the girl, huh?”
Michelle wrinkled her nose at him but held on to her smile. “Whatever you say, baby.”
Their eyes locked and performed a seductive dance that blurred the line of who was conning whom.
Finally, D’Angelo shook his head and gave her a gruff laugh. “I have to be out of my mind to still be screwing around with you. Especially since your last two exes are six-feet under. How about we talk cash?” She relaxed her smile and pried his hand from her butt. “How much?” “Well, you know these things aren’t easy to get.” Annoyed, Michelle brushed off the front of her sweater. “Just throw out a figure.”
He walked away from her and plopped down on a cheap leather couch. “Let’s go over your tab. I got my boys to help you dump Danny’s body.” “Yeah, God forbid they actually toss him in the woods or something. They planted him in a public park.” “What do you care? We got him out of that pool, didn’t we?” Michelle held her tongue. What was the point in arguing with him? “By the way, how did you get rid of your beloved Dr. Turner? Of course, I never knew what you saw in that white dude, no-how.” Her eyes narrowed as she straightened her shoulders. “I never told you my history with Ambrose.”
D’Angelo blew her a kiss. “There’s a lot I know about you.” He winked. “And get it out of your head that you can take me out. I’m no punk.”
Tension replaced the air in the room as Michelle sized up her old friend. In the end, she decided they knew an equal amount of dirt on each other. Plus, she needed him. “How much?” she asked again. “A hundred Gs and a piece of that sweet ass you promised me.” “What?” “I think it’s a bargain.” Given the circumstances, Michelle realized that she didn’t have room or time to negotiate. “How soon can you get the passport?” “After I get a photo maybe I can swing something in, say, forty-eight hours?” She thought about it. “I’ll need it under the name of Josephine Ferrell.” He frowned. “Don’t ask. How much more for a birth certificate?” He corked a brow. “I might need it in the future.”
When his gaze raked over her attire, Michelle could see his interest flare up again. “How about you give me a little sample now and I’ll just throw in the birth certificate,” he said, rubbing his hand down the front of his crotch.
Michelle smirked and settled her hands on her curvaceous hips. “Like what you see?”
“What can I say? Money looks good on you.”
“Yeah.” Slowly, she unbuttoned the front of her sweater and watched his eyes widened at the sight of her full, caramel covered breasts. “And I’m going to make sure I’ll always have it.”
#
William wondered what was taking Josie so long. He glanced at his watch. He would have to leave in the next two hours if he was going to make it to Keystone by noon. Never a man to stand still, he decided to go out and brag a few more logs of firewood. As he waltzed out of the back door and onto the wooden deck, his mind tangled with what he was going to tell the police. He wasn’t worried about a kidnapping charge so much as a murder charge.
It wasn’t going to look good that he waited so long to come forward, he reasoned, lifting the ax from the tree stump. Regardless, he would undoubtedly lose his job.
What was that?
His ears perked at a rumbling sound.
A few squirrels scattered about as if they were frightened. Was someone there?
William strained his ears again and swore he heard the crunch of gravel. A car?
With the ax his hand, he rushed back to the house. Surely, Larry and Sheila aren’t returning early, he thought. They aren’t due back until December.
William bolted through the back door and scrambled to the kitchen. Josie still hadn’t come down. He hurried to the front door and glanced out of the peephole, but his heart dropped at the sight of the two menacing goons on the other side of the door.
Chapter 27
Ming and her team of police officers were welcomed to the Turner residence by the red-eyed widow. It was near noon, but Trisha answered the door wrapped in a pink robe and a pair of matching fuzzy house shoes. Despite the woman’s swollen eyes and glowing nose, Ming thought the forty-something socialite was still a striking woman.
“Morning, Mrs. Turner.” Ming went through the formality of flashing her identification, but Trisha hardly spared it a glance.
“Come on in.” Trisha stepped back and allowed Ming and her four companions entry. “Please excuse the mess, but I haven’t had time to straighten up.”
Ming moved into the foyer and glanced around. What was the woman talking about? The place was immaculate. “I know this is a hard time for you. We appreciate your help in this case.”
Trisha shrugged, seemingly unaffected by the mini-speech, and then lead the way to a handsome office. Three of the four lengthy walls were decked floor-to-ceiling with cherry-wood bookcases. The shelves were packed tight with books bounded in expensive leather, and the polished floor showcased the most beautiful Oriental rug Ming had every seen.
“This is nice,” Ming said, easing into the room. “This is where your husband worked?”
Again, Trisha shrugged. “He always said that he worked better in here than he did at Keystone,” she said. “Fewer interruptions.”
Ming noted that the widow’s tag dripped with sarcasm. Moments like these were always difficult.
Ming’s small entourage slid on latex gloves and promptly dispersed throughout the room.
Apparently, the sight of the officers dismantling her husband’s office proved too much for Trisha, as she turned and walked away.
Hesitant, Ming drew a deep breath and followed her. “Are you all right, Mrs. Turner?”
“Trisha. Please call me Trisha or by my maiden name Strauss.”
The correction told Ming a great deal about the widow’s state of mind. It also warned her to proceed with caution. “I hate to have to ask you…”