Page 15 of Happy Is On Hiatus
He chuckled. “From what I heard, she killed those clothes and tennis shoes. Jordans, Sharae? Your cousin was burnin’ classic Jordansin her driveway!” His incredulous tone had continued from when she’d called him after leaving the courthouse to tell him what had happened.
“When a guy rips your heart out, you go for the balls and squeeze until he passes out,” she replied. “I bet Nate’s trifling ass will wanna die the second he finds out those shoes are now a big black ash stain on the cement.” She wished she could have seen his face when Rita told him what she’d done. The look of shock and rage would be pure enjoyment for her—that is, if she could’ve restrained herself long enough without punching that bastard in his lying face.
“How would you know? When you never give a guy your heart to rip out?” Malik asked.
“Damn right,” she replied with no remorse. “They don’t deserve it.”
Malik grinned. “You might be right about that.”
Their topic of conversation switched to a comedian host on a radio show and some silly comment he’d made that was under heated debate between his cohosts. That foolishness managed to take Sharae’s mind off Captain Hall’s dismissive attitude toward her this afternoon. She should probably be thankful that a big break in a high-profile robbery-homicide case had come in about half an hour after she’d arrived back at the station from court. She’d gone into Hall’s office to deliver her report on the incident at Rita’s, knowing he was on his way out to a press conference, hoping he’d take the report and go on about his business. To her chagrin, he’d stuck around for the longest five minutes of her life to bluster and berate her before stomping off.
It was just as well. She’d been there and done that same dance with him on a few occasions before. And Hall was definitely one of those leopards who was never changing his spots. Sharae just didn’t have the time or inclination to deal with his old-school misogynistic mentality toward women on the force.
Malik parked the dark-colored sedan with the front facing the curb. This break in one of their most recent cases had led them to a townhome development where all the houses were neat and basicallyidentical—except for a three-color pattern of doors and matching window shutters. Sharae reached into the inside of her jacket pocket for her notepad.
“Alicia Watkins has lived here for seven years with her aunt and uncle. She has two daughters, who go to the local elementary and middle school a few miles from here. Two DUIs and four trespassing charges in the past eighteen months. Currently on a three-year probation plan, which includes weekly drug monitoring.” After reciting the notes she’d jotted down before leaving the precinct, she closed the notepad and stuffed it back into her pocket.
“Well, if this tip pans out, she’s violated that probation in the worst way,” Malik said before climbing out of the car.
Sharae followed him, grimly agreeing with his assessment. The narcotics division had picked up two junkies and a handful of low-level dealers during a raid in Ellicott City last night. One of the dealers was looking for a deal and dropped Alicia Watkins’s name as an accomplice to Sharae and Malik’s double homicide. They were going into this house to question Alicia and, if need be, arrest her.
After they rang the doorbell three times, a girl who looked to be no older than eleven or twelve opened the door. Her sandy-brown hair was styled in box braids and hung past her slim shoulders. She wore a school uniform—light-blue polo shirt and navy-blue pants.
“Hey.” Malik spoke first while the girl continued her blatant perusal of them both. “I’m Detective Jennings, and this is my partner, Detective Gibson. We’re looking for Alicia Watkins. Is she home?”
The girl shook her head. “Nope.”
It was a little early for them to be out of school, but their district could’ve had a half day today. Sharae had no kids, and the nieces she was closest to were adults, so she wouldn’t know that for certain. “Are your aunt and uncle home?” she asked, trying to sound a little friendlier than Malik had.
Keen golden-brown eyes zeroed in on Sharae and held her gaze. There was no fear in the depths of those young eyes, only intense sadness that rang all too familiar for Sharae. She took a deep breath before continuing. “If they’re home, we’d like to speak to them.”
“They ain’t here either,” the girl replied and folded her arms across her chest.
“Are you home alone?” Sharae asked. She thought about bending over so she would be eye to eye with the girl, but she wasn’t sure that would be helpful. Whatever her age, this girl was more mature than she should be. Sharae could tell by the way she opened the door and stood ready to answer any questions and protect whoever was in that house with her. Narrow shoulders were squared, one foot extended farther out than the other, as she waited impatiently for them to be finished here.
“Why?” was the girl’s response.
“Maybe we can come in and talk to you and your sister,” Sharae suggested.
Malik, whose demeanor was obviously better with women his age—whom he’d been intimately involved with—than with this younger girl, sighed impatiently. “How old are you?”
The girl rolled her eyes in his direction. “Eleven,” she said and then sucked her teeth. “Y’all gotta come back when somebody else is home. I can’t keep this door open long.”
Before Sharae could ask another question, the little sister she’d suspected was there came into view. She eased next to her older sister, staring at Sharae with almost identical eyes, except hers were filled with innocence and acceptance. “Hi,” she said in a tiny voice and gave a little wave. “Did my daddy send you here to pick us up?”
“Shut up, girl! These are police. They not here to take us to Daddy’s house,” the older sister yelled.
They were waiting for their father. Sharae’s chest instantly hurt, and her breaths became a little more labored as she tried to keep her focus.She’d never waited for Sanford Gibson to pick her up. She’d known he would be in jail forever, and she hadn’t given a damn about it either. That was where he’d belonged after the way he’d torn her family apart. Yet she couldn’t keep her mind from circling back to the lawyer’s business card she slipped into her pocket earlier today.
This time she did bend down until she could stare into the younger girl’s eyes. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Destiny,” the girl replied.
Sharae extended a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Destiny.” The girl happily reached out to shake Sharae’s hand. “Can we come in to wait for your aunt and uncle to return home?”
“Y’all can be lyin’,” the older girl said. “You ain’t show me no badge or nuthin’.”
Malik pulled out his badge, eased it close to the older girl’s face, and then stepped forward. “We’re coming in under suspicion that the two of you are too young to be left alone in the home of a convicted felon.”
