“How about Clarence?”
Rondell looked at Mitch blankly. “What about him?”
“Does he think you’re a fool?”
“Cee aspires to nothing more than an endless parade of party skanks.”
“Has he ever shown any interest in Kinitra?”
Rondell shook his head. “She’s not his type. Besides, if he goes anywhere near her, Jamella will tell Tyrone to send him packing.”
“You say that Tyrone thinks you’re a fool for feeling like you do about Kinitra. But he’s a married man himself now, soon to become a father. Doesn’t he feel that way about Jamella?”
“Love her, you mean? No, that’s not actually possible. Tyrone doesn’t know how to place someone else’s happiness ahead of his own. He’s not made that way. Jamella is what you’d call a career move. His future in the NFL depends upon him proving to the commissioner that he has matured. And nothing says maturity like a wife and a child.”
“You make it sound awfully calculated.”
“Only because it is. I’m not being critical. I love my brother. But he is who he is. And I-I…” Rondell choked back a sob. “I don’t know anything.” He hiccoughed, his eyes twirling around in their sockets. “Mitch, I don’t feel so good…”
A swarm of media people surrounded Stewart Plotka and Andrea Halperin as they stood outside the Grantham estate, holding their press conference. Andrea was waving an article of clothing for all of the cameras to see. It was red. A shirt or blouse.
Mitch had to honk at a dozen cameramen to move so he could pull into the driveway. Trooper Olsen was on duty there at the gate.
“What’s the earth-shattering news, Oly?”
“Plotka claims he has Katie O’Brien’s blouse with Grantham’s semen all over it. The lawyer’s demanding Grantham give up a DNA sample.” Trooper Olsen shook his head in disgust. “That Plotka comes off like a no-good shakedown artist.”
“Only because he is one.”
“But the insane thing is he could be telling the truth. Given Da Beast’s history with the ladies.”
“Yes, he could. I’m afraid there are no clear-cut heroes in this movie.”
Trooper Olsen peered across Mitch at his unconscious passenger. “Did Rondell get trashed or something?”
“Just had a bit of a shock. I didn’t think he should drive.”
The trooper opened the gate. Mitch drove on in and parked by the front door behind a black Escalade. He got out and rang the doorbell. No one answered it. He rang it again. Finally, he heard footsteps and the door was opened by the immensely fat Chantal Grantham. She had a Swiffer Duster in her right hand, a bucket of soapy water in her left hand and an intensely hostile expression on her face. A vacuum cleaner was running loudly in a nearby room.
“What do you want?” Chantal demanded. Before Mitch could respond, she turned around and hollered, “Don’t forget under the sofa cushions, too, Monique!” Then she turned back to him, eyeing him suspiciously. “Well?…”
“I’ve driven Rondell home, Mrs. Grantham.”
“Why you want to do that for? His Porsche break down?”
“His Porsche is fine, but he wasn’t in any shape to drive it.”
“He sick or something?”
“He’s passed out drunk.”
Chantal shook her head. “That can’t be. Rondell doesn’t care for alcohol. Never touches it.”
“Well, he touched it today.”
She glared at Mitch accusingly. “You got him drunk, didn’t you? I knew I didn’t like the look of you. Sneaking around in the woods like you was.”
“Mrs. Grantham, he was already drunk when he showed up at my place. He’s very upset about Kinitra.”
“Oh, I get you…” Chantal’s gaze softened a bit. “He’s so young. All of those college degrees of his yet he’s still a little boy when it comes to women.” She hesitated, her brow furrowing. She seemed to be making up her mind about something. “You be seeing that girlfriend of yours today?”
“Yes. We’re having dinner later.”
“Tell her from me that today was laundry day, okay?”
Mitch stared at her. “Laundry day?”
“Laundry day.”
“And she’ll know what that means?”
“Just shut up and tell her, will you?” Then she turned around and yelled, “Cee, get your bony ass out here right goddamned now!”
Clarence came running, looking freakishly tall and wiry in his tank top and gym shorts. He was drenched with sweat, his muscles popping. “Yo, whassup?”
“Rondell’s passed out drunk in this here gentleman’s pickup. Put him to bed, will you? And don’t say nothing to Tyrone.”
“Awright.” Clarence went out to Mitch’s truck, opened the passenger door and threw his little cousin over one shoulder with ease. “You were at my party last night with the trooper, weren’t you?” he asked Mitch.
“That’s right.”
“And you found Kinitra on the beach this morning.”
“Right again.”
“Hang out a sec. Want to talk to you.”
Clarence carried Rondell inside. Chantal followed him. Mitch waited there by his truck until Clarence returned, pulling the front door shut behind him.
“Tyrone and myself been doing some reps in the weight room,” he explained, mopping his sweaty brow with a gym towel. “Lifting settles him down some. Helps him deal with the monster inside. And the monster is definitely loose. I hear he almost tore up that whole clinic when he found out Kinitra’s pregnant.” Clarence glanced down the driveway toward the front gate. “We were watching ESPN in the gym just now. Saw that clown Plotka claiming he’s got Tyrone’s spooge all over some blouse. Big man was ready to sprint down the driveway and strangle the little bastard on live television. I told him, yo, that’s what he wants you to do. He’s trying to rile you.” Clarence wadded up the towel and tossed it at the front porch. “He freaks me out when he gets this way. He needs Jamella to calm him down. But she has to be at the hospital with Kinitra.” He eyed Mitch up and down curiously. “So what happened to little man?”
“He wanted to see where I found her. Showed up at my place drunk as a skunk.”
“Where’s his ride?”
“Parked at the foot of the causeway. It’ll be fine there until someone has a chance to fetch it.”
“I’ll go get it right now. I can use a run. It’s just under two miles from here if you cut through those woods at the end of Sour Cherry Lane.”
Mitch looked at him in surprise. “I thought only the old-timers knew about that footpath.”
“You thought wrong. I always familiarize myself with the surrounding terrain. Tyrone likes to take nature runs. Six, eight miles at a clip.”
“I can give you a lift if you’d rather. I’m heading right back there.”
Clarence’s face relaxed into an easy grin. “You talked me into it. Let me just get his keys.”
Mitch got in behind the wheel and waited for Clarence to join him, car keys in hand. The Studey’s cab wasn’t exactly spacious. Clarence had to fold his long self in carefully, limb by limb.
“You have enough legroom there?”
“Yeah, man. I’m good.”
“Think I need a new truck?”
“Why would I think that?”
“Just asking.”
Outside the front gate, Stewart Plotka and Andrea Halperin were still holding the media throng transfixed. No one paid any attention as Mitch rolled on out of there, working the Studey through its three-speed overdrive transmission.
Clarence said, “I wanted to thank you for that heads-up you gave the trooper about the hole in our fence. The fencing company’s going to put in a whole new section tomorrow morning.”
“What about until then?”
“I drilled some holes in a sheet of plywood and wired it into place over the hole. Should do the trick unless someone really wants in. And if they do, there’s no stopping them, am I right?”
“I’m afraid you are.”
“Chantal and myself paid a social call on the Joshua sisters and Mr. Lash. Brought them a mess of food.”
“That was nice of you.”
“Wasn’t my idea. Let me tell you, those are some strange old ladies.”