Not Guilty of Love Page 4

  "Wrong. It's a good thing that place had an ATM machine. Parke and I put up ten percent of your bail, and I will get my money back," Malcolm stated, walking past her.

  Mrs. Beacon ignored him and fussed at Hallison. "I don't need you keeping a daily diary of my whereabouts. On my good days, both of my feet are planted in the church. Yep, I got baptized and laid across the carpet, speaking in a language I had never heard before, and it sounded good, too. Now this is personal. All bets are off. I've got one foot in church with one dangling out. If I need to, I'll consult with God later."

  Malcolm would have laughed if the situation weren't so serious. If her sins are washed away, then she needs a second rinse, he thought. The bickering didn't stop as Malcolm assisted Mrs. Beacon into the back seat.

  "Grandma BB, you can't have it both ways. I should know..." Hallison stole a glance at Malcolm, who was listening with interest. "I don't know why you would want to aim a gun at Mr. Reynolds, anyway. People are looking at us, watching churchgoers to see if we really are what we profess to be. There's more at stake than just you or me going to glory. We have to convince others glory is worth sacrificing everything in the world."

  Hallison heard God's warning that Sunday at church. Are you ready? I call many, but I choose few. Search Matthew 22. Is it evil for you to serve me? Declare, Hallison, this day who you will serve. If you deny me, I will deny you before the Father. Choose... choose this day who you will serve. Search Joshua 24... Choose...

  She remembered God's fading voice, but the warning intensified within her spirit. Hallison thought she was glued to the pew, but she sprang up with a force that chains couldn't confine. As God beckoned her to the altar, Hallison kept moving without looking back. She felt the moment when God had restored her spiritually after ministers surrounded her with prayer. Later, when she walked out the church doors, it seemed as if she'd never left God.

  The only child of middle-aged parents, Harold and Addison Dinkins, Hallison was reared in the church. During her youth, she loved the atmosphere: church functions, other children and the many mothers whom she called play-mommas or play-grandmas. Her only blood relatives in the church were her aunt Norma and Norma's daughters, Faye and Tammy.

  Once Hallison returned from Xavier University in New Orleans with a business degree in hand, she felt it was time to put away childish things. She heard the rumor about how the pastor counseled couples to stay in God's will and minimize temptation in order to stay pure. Impossible, she had thought. When the pastor advised a close girlfriend, Octavia, to wait before marrying her boyfriend, Hallison balked. When her friend rebelled and married anyway, Hallison cheered.

  She had been nitpicking for a while, trying to find any little fault in God. Hallison considered her former pastor's meddling in a couple's relationship the final straw. She left God's house a nomad, always searching for a new home, but never settling. At that point, the more God reached out to bring her back into the fold, the more Hallison resisted, snubbing the saints, their testimonies, and praises.

  Hallison later learned that Octavia survived through a nightmarish marriage. Octavia's husband had been on drugs and physically abusive. The only rainbow after the storm was David dying in a shootout during a drug bust, freeing Octavia. Hallison sighed. It was the wrong time to think about that when she had another drama unfolding from the back seat.

  Once their seatbelts were in place, Mrs. Beacon leaned forward. "Does Cheney know what happened to her old man?"

  Hallison shook her head. "Not yet."

  "Good. I'll be more than happy to give her the scoop." Mrs. Beacon nodded, crossing her arms.

  Mrs. Beacon refused to say another word as they drove to her house. Hallison doubted scriptures could fix the situation anyway. Once they arrived on Benton Street, Mrs. Beacon got out the car unassisted. Turning back, she smiled and waved goodnight, as if she had been on a date. They waited for Mrs. Beacon to flash her porch light, signaling she was safely inside.

  "So, back to us, Hali," Malcolm said a moment later, releasing an annoying sigh. He tapped the steering wheel until she made eye contact. "After all these months of soul searching, you're positive there's no way we can coexist with your beliefs and mine?"

  Hallison shook her head. This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation. To a warm-blooded woman, Hallison's reasons didn't make sense. To a warm-blooded church woman, it sounded good to confess, but in reality, God was asking too much of her to give up this man. She shivered as she recalled her first argument with Malcolm after the Lord restored His relationship with her.

  "Okay, Hali, tell me who is the real woman I fell in love with—the one I escorted to church, or the one who ignored me afterward," Malcolm demanded, his voice threatening.

  Hallison's shoulders slumped. "Both, I guess. I never mentioned church in our relationship because at the time that wasn't my concern. Neither of us had heavenly thoughts on our mind, just earthly desires. Maybe my mistake was that I made you my world. I couldn't get enough of you."

  He sighed. "You're talking as if you were an undercover church agent. Tell me this. You said you loved me, but—" He held up his hand to keep Hallison from interrupting. "—you forgot I don't drink, smoke, gamble, or whatever else is in the sinners' handbook. I'm a CPA with a healthy, steady income. I'm in high demand, baby. I'm not boasting, but I pack the good looks that my ancestors sent me. I'm a man who doesn't play games unless they're on a board. My personal resume is full of accomplishments, so don't you see, baby? God made me self-sufficient. I have need of nothing but you."

  "Our relationship was headed down a path I knew God wouldn't approve, but I wanted it anyway. I'm still soul searching."

  Malcolm didn't respond as he drove the few blocks to Parke's house. When he pulled across the street from her car, he nodded. "Okay, I love you, but I'm my own man. Today was a test. We've both passed and failed. We're still compatible and desirable to each other even after all these months. We've failed, because we're both at a stalemate. It's time for us to move on.

  "Evidently, your church obsession hasn't fizzled. I told you, I don't have a problem with church. You do. If we're meant to be with each other, we'll find our way back. If not, that means that there's a love stronger out there than what we have. My prayer is that you'll never find one."

  Chapter Four

  “She did what?" Cheney yelled, springing up in bed.

  The news interrupted her Saturday afternoon nap. Despite being somewhat drained from her pregnancy, she was fully alert. "What did you say?"

  Parke sat on the bed and massaged her arms in a subtle way to keep her calm. This was not the way he wanted to wake his wife. Usually, he would massage her stomach until Cheney slowly woke refreshed. He swallowed before repeating, "Baby, I said Grandma BB shot your dad."

  "When?"

  Parke cringed. "Last night."

  Cheney's lips moved before any words came out. "And I'm just now finding out?"

  Please help my wife, Lord. She's going to need it, and there's good reason, Parke prayed. Months before he married Cheney, Roland Reynolds approached Parke with a startling confession. The strained relationship with his daughter had less to do with her long-ago decision to have an abortion, but more to do with the sins of his own past.

  "Twenty years ago, I was the hit-and-run driver who killed Cheney's next-door neighbor's husband, Henry Beacon. It's ironic that I could point the finger at Cheney's sin, but couldn't acknowledge my own. After all, I was in residency, preparing to become a doctor, an obstetrician, when the accident happened.

  "I was supportive about her returning home until she moved next door to the woman I had wronged. I knew where the woman lived for years and avoided the area. I couldn't face Mrs. Beacon, knowing my cowardly act, so I let my baby girl believe I shunned her because of her secret abortion that wasn't so secret after I became suspicious and snooped around, enlisting the help of a colleague to disclose confidential information from Cheney's file.

  Roland had bee
n drunk the night of the accident. The next morning he had read about the hit-and-run in the newspaper. Without any witnesses, Roland suppressed any remorse, believing luck was on his side. He had told Parke he was prepared to take his secret to the grave until Cheney embraced a closer walk with God. Roland craved it, too, since the guilt had returned. Still, he remained silent.

  It wasn't easy for Parke to withhold the truth from Cheney, especially since Mrs. Beacon had become a surrogate grandmother to her, but Roland pleaded for more time. The two agreed to wait until after the wedding to tell Cheney and Mrs. Beacon, who was sure to lynch Roland before he would be able to turn himself in to authorities. Months later, Roland wasn't ready to admit the truth and risk losing the closeness he was regaining with his daughter. Evidently, time caught up with him.

  "Cheney, I don't want you to upset yourself. He's alive. He's alert and talking. It was a small wound to his shoulder."

  "Well, that should make me feel better," she bit out. "I don't care if it was his shoulder! It could've been his head or heart. Grandma BB is out of control." Cheney sighed to compose herself, rubbing her stomach to ease the baby's kicking. "Missouri should've never passed that conceal-and-carry ordinance and granted Grandma BB a gun permit ... I can't believe this." Tears streamed down her face. "Wait a minute. Daddy was over this way? He lives in the city. He didn't tell me he was stopping by for the baby shower—"

  He had no choice but to go in for the kill. "It wasn't an accident, honey. I believe she was purposely trying to take him out."

  Tilting her head, she squinted. "What do you mean?"

  Parke sighed, knowing he was about to ignite a firecracker. "Grandma BB thinks Roland is guilty of something—"

  "What?" Cheney grimaced as she wrestled with the covers, finally throwing them back. She didn't wait for Parke to finish explaining, nor did she welcome his daily pampering that had begun the day they learned she was pregnant. She was becoming hysterical. Despite her protruding stomach, she rushed into the bathroom.

  With a little more than three months to go, Cheney had cut back her hours at work as a building manager for Missouri Telephone and worked afternoons from their home, which was less than ten minutes away. The purpose was to get rest, not to be stressed.

  "Going somewhere?" He attempted to remain composed as he stood. He suspected her dash to the bathroom wasn't a nature call.

  "Yep, to get dressed. First, I'm going to see my dad." She paused. "Nope, scratch that. Let's do a drive by Grandma BB's." She balled her fist. "Then I'm going to the hospital to see my dad. Now who's driving, you or me?"

  "I guess I am," Parke resigned, grimacing. He patted his pants pockets for his keys, and then he went to wake Kami. Within twenty minutes, Cheney had freshened up. She performed her best speed-walk imitation out the door.

  Parke was in no rush to strap Kami into her booster seat. Once the task was completed, he tussled with his own seatbelt to stall the inevitable. Taking a deep breath, he hesitantly drove the five blocks to Cheney's former next door neighbor's house. Too soon, they turned off Darst to Benton Street and parked. "Let me make sure she's at home before you get out," he said, hoping for the contrary. When Mrs. Beacon didn't answer after three tries, Parke grinned to himself in relief. He returned to the SUV with his face draped in disappointment. "I'm sorry, she wasn't home, baby." He feigned frustration. "You want to head to the hospital and come back later?"

  Cheney twisted and manipulated her body out of her seatbelt. "No. We're on a stake-out. I'll wait until my bladder starts talking." Scanning the block, Cheney admired the changes to her former house, courtesy of her friend. Imani was a flight attendant who purchased it after Cheney married Parke. Too bad Imani was never home to enjoy it. Cheney had lovingly restored the abandoned three-bedroom house with a sunroom over the garage. The landscape and outdoor lighting were projects she had done before she met Parke.

  Her reminiscing ceased. Cheney wasn't on a sightseeing expedition. She squinted at her husband who seemed way too quiet in the middle of her drama He was about to slide in a CD when she touched his hand to stop him. "Parke, tell me what's going on now before I deliver this baby right here in my seat," she ordered.

  "I ... look!" Parke pointed. "There's the little criminal now." He scrambled out the vehicle and jogged around the bumper to the passenger side. Cheney was already opening her door and getting out the vehicle.

  "Parke, stay with Kami."

  Sure enough, while the Boyz II Men ballad grew louder, Mrs. Beacon's Cadillac cruised by and turned into the driveway. Parke unfastened Kami's buckle, and they trailed Cheney to Mrs. Beacon's car. Both women stared at each other, waiting for the other to cower.

  Tapping her foot, Cheney folded her arms. "Please, please tell me it's not true."

  "Okay." Mrs. Beacon shrugged fearlessly as she resembled Goliath's height. The sassy senior wasn't intimidated. She jutted her chin. "It's not true."

  "What were you thinking? You owe me some answers, Grandma, and I ain't leaving until you tell me the truth, and I mean the whole truth, or so help you God. You don't want to share a jail cell with me." Cheney's fair skin reddened as she balled her hand. Although she was angry, her baby was sitting on a vital organ and the pain was adding to her current stress.

  Parke squeezed his wife's shoulder. "Sweetheart, remember your condition," he whispered in her ear before he kissed her.

  Cheney elbowed her husband. "She better remember my condition." She pointed at her former neighbor.

  "Humph! You always were a snooty thang," Mrs. Beacon sassed, then did an about face to her front porch. "C'mon." Kami was the first to follow.

  Parke snickered until Cheney shot him an evil eye. He cleared his throat and mumbled an apology. Mrs. Beacon was known for her seesaw personalities. She could appear frail or be as energetic as a teenager. Either way, she was convincing.

  Inside her meticulous home, Mrs. Beacon's living room was decorated with contemporary furniture and accents— unlike the plastic-covered sofa and chairs associated with many senior citizens' homes. Bold colors mixed with white suede sectional pieces: throw pillows, vases, and artwork. Mrs. Beacon had the newest trend in window treatments, and her dining room set looked like it came from a Thomasville showroom.

  "Might as well get comfortable while I go change clothes," Mrs. Beacon casually said.

  Cheney barely cleared the doorway when she shouted, "I don't need you to change clothes to explain why you shot my daddy. Believe me. I wouldn't be offended if you were naked, although Parke might pass out."

  "Daddy, can I go with BB? I like her big box of jewelry." Kami gave Parke an angelic face, which contradicted her feisty personality.

  He nodded, and his daughter skipped behind Mrs. Beacon.

  "Listen, girl, my body is sacred. Only the privileged get to see it," Mrs. Beacon argued with Cheney while taking Kami's hand.

  Cheney rolled her eyes. "Umm-hmm. Don't use Kami to stall. I do know where your bedroom is located."

  "Yeah, but who's bad enough to barge into it? Umm-hmm, that's what I thought. Nobody. I'll be back." Mrs. Beacon turned around and switched her hips out the room.

  Parke sat unusually quiet, avoiding eye contact. Mrs. Beacon reappeared clothed in a floral housedress and wearing her legendary oversized Stacy Adams shoes, which once belonged to her deceased husband, Henry. After more than twenty years, Mrs. Beacon kept the shoes cleaned and polished. Her explanation for wearing them was vague except they once belonged to him. Kami followed Mrs. Beacon with bright red lipstick smeared around her mouth, and white pearl cluster earrings clipped on her ears.

  "Did you, or didn't you shoot my father?" Cheney asked, manipulating herself to stand. Big for six months, the doctor warned her about picking up too much weight. She couldn't imagine what she would look like at nine months.

  "Unless there were witnesses, no," Mrs. Beacon said, lifting a brow and daring Cheney to state otherwise.

  "And if there were witnesses?" Cheney challenged. Going ball
istic on her surrogate grandmother, former neighbor, and confidante wouldn't yield any direct answers because Mrs. Beacon thrived on drama. Yet, there was no excuse for the woman's behavior.

  Mrs. Beacon tilted her head and squinted. "Then I would boast, 'Yeah, I shot the sucker.'"

  "You're crazy!" As Cheney punched the sectional sofa in frustration, she swiped the side of Parke's jaw when he leaned in to calm her down. When he yelped, she asked, "What is wrong with you?"

  "Me? You smacked me," Parke said, stunned.

  Cheney blinked and looked at her husband. "Not you, her." She pointed to Mrs. Beacon. "Grandma BB, you've gone too far with your antics. Are you sure you repented before you were baptized? Your actions and words don't sound like you know Jesus."

  "Look, Heney," Mrs. Beacon said, reverting to her pet name for Cheney. "I'm going to say this once, because this whole conversation is tiring. Your father saw me at a market. We chatted for a few minutes. He said he needed to speak with me privately. I didn't suspect anything amiss, so I suggested we go over to the pond at Wabash Park. You know I like to stroll in my heels until my feet start hurting, then I wish for my old Stacy Adams shoes. It was a good thing I packed my Smith & Wesson. When he confessed he was the hit-and-run driver who killed my Henry, I nodded okay, then I opened my purse, reached for my gun, and shot him."

  In horror, Cheney patted her chest to control the palpitations and glanced back at her husband. Disbelief marred her face. "You've lost your mind. My father would never do such a thing! He's a doctor. He saves lives."

  Mrs. Beacon shrugged. "Think what you want. I left him alive so he could confess a little louder. Go ask him for yourself. Your father's a murderer!"

  "You're lying."

  "Don't call me a liar, little girl. God is my witness and his, too. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to pray and repent. You can let yourselves out."

  "I woke with a headache. Now I'm going to bed with a headache and heartache," Cheney complained to Hallison over the phone late Saturday night.