Still Guilty Read online

  “We repeat, friend or foe?” one interrogated.

  Sighing, Cheney glared. “Look, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you—”

  “Elsie and I already know that,” the interrogator cut her off. “You’re not in uniform, and there are no other courts in session on this floor, so you must be a foe,” the unidentified woman stated matter-of-factly.

  Cheney happened to favor the black or earth tones she was wearing. They were sounding too much like a Mrs. Beacon tactical unit. “Miss Elsie and Miss—”

  “Vera, Miss Vera McDonnell, but not like the golden arches, young lady,” she interrupted.

  Cheney took a deep, calming breath before speaking. “Unfortunately, Grandma BB didn’t send a memo on the dress code,” she explained, glancing down at her business casual yet classy tan apparel for work. Cheney hoped to stop by her office at the telephone company later that day. As a manager, her schedule was somewhat flexible. “I’m definitely here to support her, but I’m already late.” Her friend had organized an army of supporters.

  “Not a problem, dear,” Miss Elsie cooed. She reached inside her overstuffed purse and pulled out a red ball. Once it was released, the object sprang into a skull cap. “Here, put this on. Don’t worry about lice. That doesn’t concern us black folks that much. Besides, it’s clean. I washed it last week in Suavitel. I love the way that fabric softener smells. Did you know Kmart always has it on a bargain?” she rattled on.

  Reluctantly, Cheney accepted it from Miss Elsie and adjusted the ball of yarn on her head, smashing her curls. “There,” she said, gritting her teeth. “The things I do for Grandma BB,” she complained as the pair nodded their satisfaction.

  Lifting her chin, Cheney added a bounce to her step and moved toward the end of the line to enter the courtroom. Ahead of her, three women and a man dressed in a red suit scooted closer to the door. The bailiff stepped in front of them and lifted his hand. “Sorry. There aren’t any more seats available. You’ll have to wait outside.”

  Behind the closed doors, Cheney could hear the roar of laughter before the deafening sound of the judge’s gravel pounded the desk. Without Cheney witnessing it, she feared her beloved Grandma BB was putting on a show. That was bound to get the woman locked up before her trial began. She had to get inside.

  Outraged, the women, minus the male, pushed forward as if they were about to stampede the bailiff. He smirked. Crossing his arms, he rippled his biceps, which danced to a secret beat. His actions mesmerized the group. The ladies almost swooned. The lone gentleman stood straighter, as not to be undone.

  The fascination ended quickly as Mrs. Beacon’s supporters murmured and grumbled as they broke up their orderly line. In a split second, they made beelines to the nearest vacancies on crowded benches.

  “That ain’t right,” Cheney heard one say.

  “The busload from Kankakee hasn’t even gotten here yet,” a whining voice complained.

  “Elsie, did you bring your cell phone? Call the team in Springfield, Missouri. Tell them to turn around.”

  “You’re not the boss of me, Vera. What are you going to do?” Miss Elsie huffed as she dug inside her bag to do as the other woman had ordered.

  “Humph! Your boss? You better be glad I’m your best friend. So that you’ll know, I’m going to send out a mass text. Maybe it’s not too late for our Little Rock team, which had a late start to turn around. The society from Bowling Green, Missouri, should be here any minute once they find a parking spot for a chartered over-the-road bus . . . .”

  Cheney tuned them out. Surely, as part of the plaintiff’s family, she would be allowed inside. “Excuse me, sir.” The bailiff huffed, annoyed. He glared at Cheney, but didn’t answer. “My father is the victim. I got separated from my family, but I know they’re saving me a seat.” She hoped God was going to make a way.

  His voice came out as a growl. “I have been instructed not to let another person enter, and that means you.”

  Cheney had no choice but to patrol the door until someone came out, so she could go in and snag their spot. It was an even exchange she was sure the wannabe warden wouldn’t mind. If Plan A didn’t work, Plan B would be to get Miss Vera and Miss Elsie to call a cease-fire long enough to take down her name and pass it on to Mrs. Beacon. Any explanation to her family about her absence wouldn’t be acceptable anyway.

  Cheney was about to patrol near the door when a tall woman who could only be described as majestic caught her attention. The stranger was five-ten, give or take an inch. She wore the red uniform. The dress was simple, but her head wrap was a twisted combination of a red cloth and purple ribbon. It was as unusual as it was beautiful. Her skin glowed, but Cheney couldn’t determine if it was a gift from God or a cosmetic counter. She didn’t appear to be old enough to be part of the “society.” Nosy, Cheney detoured in the woman’s direction.

  “Hi,” Cheney said, holding out her hand. The woman accepted it. “My name is Cheney Jamieson, and I’m—”

  “I know who you are. Mrs. Beacon—I mean, Grandmother B—told me all about you, Mrs. Jamieson. I’m glad you could make it. She will be pleased,” the lady said, speaking in proper English. Her eyes sparkled with delight.

  Cheney had two questions: who was this woman, and how did she know so much? “Grandmother B? I’m sorry for asking, but you are . . .?” Cheney leaned forward, her mouth open, waiting for the woman to fill in the blank.

  She gave a polite chuckle. “My name is Josephine Yaa Amoah.”

  Neither the woman nor the name seemed familiar. Cheney thought a few minutes before she guessed. “Oh, so you’re Grandma BB’s houseguest, Josephine. Thank you, Jesus. For a moment I thought she had a man . . . never mind.” Cheney patted her chest in surprise.

  As Josephine spoke, Cheney cataloged her poise and features: flawless coffee-rich skin, enviable slanted eyes, and a nose that seemed to be finger-pinched below her eyes then expanded to her nostrils. Her smile was so perfect that Cheney’s orthodontist brother would want to take the credit. “May I ask your native country without being offensive?”

  She nodded, resting one hand on top of the other. “Of course, you may. Ghana, Africa.”

  Cheney’s eyes widened. “Really? Please tell me you didn’t leave your continent for Grandma BB’s trial.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m a candidate for a master’s degree in library science. I’m taking classes at various locations, but primarily at the University of Missouri at St. Louis, and Mrs. Grandmother B graciously offered me free room and board in exchange for sharing my culture and providing her company. She’s a lonely widow, you know.”

  Cheney released the hinges on her jaw as her mouth dropped open. Lonely? Right, and these ladies are here to sightsee. Cheney did her best to contain a smirk. The woman didn’t know the real Grandma BB.

  She eyed Josephine’s head wrap. “We call her Grandma BB, and the university, UMSL.”

  Josephine’s quick frown and stiffened posture was faint. Cheney couldn’t determine if she was offended by the correction or not.

  Moments later, Josephine’s full lips spread into a warm smile as she fingered her head. “Mrs.—I mean, Grandma BB insisted I represent her in my native garb.” She chuckled. “This is not my usual dress.”

  They shared a laugh. Josephine had a calming effect, but Cheney couldn’t linger. She had to call Parke and tell him not to bother leaving his meeting only to be turned away when he arrived at the courthouse. “I’m late, but I’m determined to get into that courtroom to support my father and defend Grandma BB. If that makes any sense.”

  “You need not fret.” In a surprising move, Josephine whispered, “All things work together for good.”

  Cheney stepped back. “What did you say?”

  “I’m quite sure you’ve memorized Romans 8:28, so love Him, and walk in His spotlight,” Josephine instructed, nodded, and moved on to speak with someone else.

  What were the odds of a Bible-quoting woman from Africa living i
n the house with a professed gun-toting backslider? Cheney quietly finished the quote: And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to His purpose. She couldn’t wait to see how this was going to play out. With a satisfying grin and a deep breath, Cheney whirled around to reclaim her post near the door. She didn’t see the bailiff, but she met the scowl on Rainey’s face.

  From Mrs. Beacon’s flamboyant getup to her overdose of arrogance, Rainey was ready to roar his frustration. While she carried on as if she were a celebrity, prosecutors were collecting evidence to paint his father—a doctor—as a criminal for an upcoming trial. Rainey had saved his sister a seat, but she hadn’t come. He wondered if her response for not choosing sides was to not show up. Would she come when her father took the witness stand?

  Rainey did not take off work for entertainment. Mrs. Beacon’s hat was fire engine red and shaped like a bell; the rim was wide enough to set place settings for dinner. It appeared Rainey caught on to Mrs. Beacon’s hand signals at the same time as Judge Kendall. When Mrs. Beacon pointed her red glove-covered hand to the right, she glanced back at her bull pen of supporters. In a synchronized move, they would lift their purple fans and swish it once.

  “Hold on, counselor.” Judge Kendall interrupted the opening statements. Her facial expression gave away what was about to come. “Mrs. Beacon, my courtroom is not the place for theatrics. Armed criminal assault is a serious charge. I’ll overlook your choice of attire, but keep up with your shenanigans, and I’ll have no problem having you disrobed and thrown in jail.”

  Mrs. Beacon leaped to her feet despite the efforts of her two attorneys at her side to restrain her. “Your Honor, in all fairness, I didn’t interrupt the man. You did.” Mrs. Beacon turned to her group and they nodded in sync. “I’m harmless and old enough to be your grandma. I’m—”

  “Enough!” Judge Kendall slammed her gavel. “If you don’t behave, today won’t be your best day. Now, sit down and take off that hat. This is a courtroom, not the Kentucky Derby.”

  “But Your Honor, I feel naked without my bonnet—” She didn’t finish, as her attorneys wrestled her to her chair. One had an arm wrapped around her waist, while the other was brave enough to cover her mouth while apologizing to the judge. When Mrs. Beacon bit down on his finger, he released the muzzle.

  Rainey had enough. He got up from his seat as the judge added more charges to Mrs. Beacon’s slate. Exiting the Barnum and Bailey arena, Rainey exhaled to release the jumbled emotional mess from thirty minutes in Mrs. Beacon’s presence.

  Outside the courtroom, the scene was just as maddening. The number of people had swelled. It was as if Santa’s elves, topped off in red hats, were scurrying, doing nothing. As he tried to head to the restroom, a bunch of old women refused to let him through, mumbling something about his name wasn’t on Mrs. Beacon’s list. What list?

  “I’ve heard of a key for access to the men’s room, but a list. I just walked outside this courtroom.” Rainey was dumbfounded.

  “Hmm-mmm. That’s what they all say,” a woman with a long face and Jay Leno chin argued.

  “Excuse me again, but this is a public building,” he had politely informed them, trying his best not to yell.

  “Exactly, young man, and we are here to enforce the building code. You’d make one person over the mandatory limit. We need all the space we can get. With so many women here, we’ve taken over the men’s restroom. Sorry. Just hold it a little while longer,” one cute little woman advised. “Whatever you do, don’t drink any more water. Coffee, teas, and soda could also act as diuretics.”

  He was losing patience and about to forgo his impeccable upbringing when he spotted a woman who seemed to garnish his attention as if he were a tourist admiring the Statue of Liberty. The ladies’ ramblings faded as he zoomed in across the room, filtering out those in his line of view. Cheney was chatting up a storm with the woman, instead of being inside the courtroom. He was willing to test the effectiveness of his bladder to find out why.

  Rainey was tempted to push his way through their barricade when Cheney turned around, smiling. Since it wasn’t considered a day of celebration, why was she so happy? Cheney left the woman and headed his way. He cursed at the missed opportunity for an introduction and a beautiful diversion. He couldn’t believe his mood swing from disgust to intrigue. Maybe it was the poison from his bladder getting to his brain.

  Somehow, Cheney’s acquaintance stood out in the sea of red. Even the ridiculous rag on her hair didn’t distract from her allure. Rainey was used to attractive women, but he didn’t trust them. At one time, he wanted it all: to be a third-generation doctor, have a loving family, and to live a satisfying life. As far as he was concerned, two out of three goals achieved weren’t bad, although he was becoming less and less satisfied.

  Rainey shook himself. Cheney was right. The moment wasn’t about him, but his dad’s trial, which was tearing apart his only family. Since Shanice, he felt a relationship wasn’t worth developing, and there wasn’t anything satisfying about not having a soul mate. So, how could a woman yards away, separated by a mob of busybodies, beckon to him without batting an eye? He didn’t know the answer, and was weary about finding out.

  Cheney walked up to him, and in a surprising move, hugged him. Rainey had no choice but to begrudgingly return her embrace. Briefly, he basked in their carefree affection, but that didn’t change the reason why they were there. Once she released him and stepped back, they engaged in a stare-down again. Rainey wanted to recall his anger, his purpose for being down there, but the best he could muster was a kitten-size meow instead of a lion’s roar.

  “How’s it going in there?”

  “Aren’t you feeling guilty that you’re not inside, but talking to your friend over there?” he baited her, expecting a confession.

  “Nope,” she replied with a white, perfectly aligned smile, an asset Rainey couldn’t claim his medical training assisted. She was born that way.

  Clearing his throat, Rainey dismissed the temporary distraction. He was not in his office doing a consultation, but in a courthouse, facing his father’s accuser. “How come you’re not in there watching her proceedings?”

  “Look around you,” she said, sweeping her hand in the air. “There’s no room, but Josephine assured me Grandma BB is well represented inside.”

  Josephine. He rolled the name in his head, trying to remember if he had ever known a Josephine. The conclusion was if he had, they never looked like her or held her immediate magnetism. Suddenly, the day wasn’t as doom and gloom as it was when he came out of the courtroom.

  “You can have my spot. I needed some fresh air while your friend is putting on a show.” Rainey remembered his bladder. Maybe Cheney could get him a pass to the restroom. He dropped the idea because he didn’t feel like the hassle.

  As Rainey turned and led the way back to the room, the bailiff sabotaged their pathway.

  “Sorry, you can’t go in there.” He folded his arms and frowned at Cheney as if he recognized her.

  “I don’t think you understand; we’re part of the family, and I just came out a few minutes ago.”

  “That’s too bad. As the saying goes, you move, so you lose. Now, I think the ladies set up a table for cookies and punch. You might want to help yourself.”

  Rainey groaned. He was back to his sour mood.

  CHAPTER 4

  Three times, Parke circled his neighborhood before deciding he wasn’t going home. He didn’t have a near-death excuse to explain to Cheney why he didn’t make it to the courthouse on the first day. His doghouse was getting smaller; all because he didn’t call his wife. How inconsiderate. His secretary had pulled him out of the conference room in the middle of an important meeting to take a call from his new attorney. The rest of the day was a blur. How did he get himself into these situations?

  This is not of your doing. Only I can work all things for the good to those who love me, the Lord had spoken earli
er that morning.

  “How, Jesus? Make a believer out of me.”

  You will know by the trying of your faith, God reminded him, referring to James 1:3.

  Groaning, Parke wished God had a daily limit of trials per person. He felt he had reached his when a judge informed Twinkie that his possible son’s adoption was a done deal. The news couldn’t have come at a worse time, as he strolled into his office to do some paperwork before heading to the courthouse for Mrs. Beacon’s trial for shooting Roland.

  “But I could be the father. I probably am the father. Don’t I have a say?” Parke yelled into the phone, delirious with grief.

  “Would you calm down? Give me time—”

  Parke rubbed the back of his head and took a deep breath. “Twinkie, I don’t have time to wait. My son could be getting his driver’s license. For two months, he’s been calling a stranger Daddy.”

  “Listen to me.” His attorney raised her voice. “First we have to prove he’s your son; then we have to have justification why he never should’ve been adopted. Do you have time now to go over everything you’ve told me?”

  “Of course.” Parke didn’t glance at his watch. However long it took, he would make the time. Locking his office door, Parke listened as Twinkie verified his story.

  More than once, Twinkie forced Parke to elaborate on details: dates, places, and conversations. When the call ended, he had a pounding headache. Opening his desk drawer, he pulled out a bottle of Tylenol and downed three gelcaps. Gagging, he raced to his adjoining bathroom for a cup of water.

  He returned to his desk in a daze. “Okay, God, you are trying me. I hope my heart holds out.” Regaining control, Parke rolled his shoulders. Booting his computer, he pulled client files from the drawers and scanned their portfolios, noting the market change. He was about to sign off when Twinkie called again. Her probing questions made Parke recollect more things about the woman he once dated.

  Glancing at his watch, Parke figured he had time to get to the courthouse before the judge adjourned the court for the day. He couldn’t risk turning off his phone and missing another call from Twinkie.