Chapter 19
C
HARLENE
C
harlene had been sitting at her breakfast table all morning, unable to move as her mind continued to race. She'd been concentrating so hard that a worry line had formed across her forehead. “Who could've sent that text?” she questioned, trying to figure out who had sent the cryptic message to her phone. She desperately needed that answer because she knew it was going to be the key to preventing her undoing.
She wished she'd dealt with the troubling situation when she'd first received the message. But at the time she'd been stressed beyond her limits. She'd justified killing Johnny by likening herself to a moral Robin Hood, exacting justice for the innocent. It had been the only way she'd been able to live with the sobering fact that she'd allowed her hurt and anger to turn her into a cold-blooded killer.
But at the time what had concerned Charlene even more than the fact that she'd killed someone were the disturbing changes she'd begun to see in her daughter. After Lauren and the rest of the family had discovered that Lauren's boyfriend was actually her half brother, it had changed her daughter from the inside out. Her mannerisms and her outward appearance began to morph into those of a person whom Charlene didn't recognize. Charlene had also been so drained from the multitude of her life crises that a few times she'd actually considered turning herself in so at least she'd finally have peace of mind about something. That was one reason that, although the text had frightened her, she'd never acted upon it.
Charlene had fully expected to receive another cryptic message right behind the initial one, this time asking for hush money, the way Johnny had done. She'd been prepared to tell the mysterious blackmailer no, and let the deck of cards simply collapse around her, because she had no intention of entering into the same type of blackmail scheme that had led her to become a murderer in the first place. But a few days went by without so much as a peep. Eventually, days turned into weeks, and those weeks morphed into months. “I can't worry about the things I can't change,” Charlene had told herself. “I have to move forward with my life, regardless of what happens.”
Charlene shook her head. “I should've put fear aside and gotten to the bottom of it a long time ago,” she said. “I should've addressed that text the same way I addressed all the other problems going on in my life. But instead I put it off, and now it's coming back to bite me.” Charlene let out a deep breath of frustration. But again, she knew she couldn't beat herself up over something she couldn't change. She couldn't undo Johnny's murder, or the fact that there was someone out there who knew she'd done it. Suddenly an idea occurred to her. “The person who texted me has got to be Leslie's source of evidence.” But the more she thought about it, the more confused she became.
The mysterious texter had said they had proof that Charlene was the murderer, and during Leslie's solo interview this morning, she'd hinted that the new evidence she'd uncovered had come from something Vivana had said in a conversation that she and Leslie had had. This meant there were actually two separate sources that could point the finger back to Charlene. She knew she had to think strategically about what her next move should be. “I'll handle each problem one step at a time,” she told herself. She'd deal with Leslie next Monday morning when they were scheduled to meet for coffee. But right now, Charlene's main focus was to uncover the identity of the person who'd sent her the text.
“I need to think about everyone who has my number.” Charlene used two cell phones; one for business and one for personal calls, and she rarely allowed her contacts lists for the two to merge. The text had been sent during business hours while she'd been in her office at City Hall, but it had come through on her personal phone. By the process of elimination, she knew the texter had to be someone within the tight-knit group of people who had access to her private cell. She immediately eliminated her children and other close family members as suspects, then she thought about her friends and acquaintances. Charlene had always been very private and selective about her home life and who she allowed into her world, so the list was small.
“The texter probably knew Johnny, as well,” Charlene mused aloud. “Who could that be?” She thought about the other women whom Johnny had blackmailed. But she dismissed that theory, because each one of them had said that although they didn't kill him, they'd wanted to shake the killer's hand and thank them for a job well done. Then Charlene thought about Mark and Marjorie Thomas, the couple who'd referred her to Johnny. But then she dismissed them, as well, because the two had been far too busy at the time with a toddler and a newborn to involve themselves with murder. “It has to be someone who wants something from me,” Charlene said aloud. “But then again, they haven't asked for any money.” The only other person she could think of who had her private number, and who'd been associated with Johnny, was her stylist, Geneva.
She'd become close to Geneva in the nearly two and a half years that Geneva had been her stylist. Charlene admired Geneva's professional skills, and she respected the fact that she always stayed above the fray of petty salon gossip. Geneva was one of the few people Charlene truly trusted. After Johnny's death, ironically, Geneva had come to Charlene privately for legal advice. The two lead detectives assigned to Johnny's murder had begun to hound Geneva and Samuel, and although both of them were innocent, their motives were the strongest of nearly all the other suspects. Charlene had been more than happy to help Geneva, though, as it kept Charlene close to the investigation with inside information.
But as Charlene thought more and more about Geneva possibly being the texter, she had to dismiss her, as well. She'd gotten to know Geneva during the dozens of times she'd counseled her, and there wasn't anything about her character to make Charlene believe she'd do something so conniving.
“It has to be someone who's devious, deceptive, and cunning,” Charlene whispered to herself. The person didn't want money, so she knew there had to be something non-tangible they stood to gain. She also knew the person had to be someone who enjoyed playing games, because they'd dangled the threat over Charlene's head, probably taking pleasure in knowing Charlene would live in fear of it each day of her life. “The person wants power and control.” Then, as if a light switch had been turned on, Charlene knew exactly who it could be. “Why didn't I think of her before now?!”
Just then Charlene heard a loud
thump
that jarred her from her thoughts.
“Hey, Mom!” Lauren screamed with excitement as she burst into the room. She rushed over to Charlene's chair and wrapped her heavy arms around Charlene's chest. She squeezed so tightly Charlene could barely breathe. “I'm home!”
Charlene was so startled she nearly fell out of her chair. She'd been in such deep thought about her circumstances that she didn't hear Phillip's rental car pull up, nor did she hear him roll Lauren's enormous suitcase against the hardwood floors.
“Mom, are you okay?” Lauren asked.
Charlene wanted to tell her that no, she wasn't okay. But as she scanned Lauren from head to toe, she wanted to ask her daughter the same thing.
Each time Charlene had seen Lauren during holidays and school breaks over the last two years, her appearance had changed, and not for the better. Lauren used to be a well-dressed, meticulous, attractive young woman who took care of herself and had pride in her appearance. Her hair had always been neatly styled, her clothes had always fit well and were appropriate for her shape, and she'd always paid close attention to her diet, exercising regularly so she could maintain a healthy weight for her medium-size frame. Lauren had also been very focused and highly driven in her approach to everything from school to her social life. Charlene had often told her to loosen up and not be so serious about things. But now, Lauren had gone in the opposite direction, and Charlene was more than a little worried.
Charlene had begun to notice the change almost immediately. Lauren went from wearing a combination of trendy shirts, classic blouses, and flirty dresses, to sporting sweatpants and T-shirts. She'd gone from a neatly tapered pixie cut that had suited her angular face, to a dried-out, misshapen Afro that did nothing for her appearance. And her once-fit body that had comfortably carried a size eight, had ballooned to a size twenty. There was once a time when if Charlene had called Lauren to check on her, she'd have been deep in a book at the library, or studying in her off-campus apartment. But these days, no matter when Charlene called her, Lauren was hanging out with friends, or she wouldn't pick up at all, giving Charlene no other choice than to leave a voice message and hope that she called her back within a week.
Charlene had become so worried about the changes she'd observed that she'd asked Lauren what was wrong several times. “Baby, I know the things that have happened in our family have had an impact on you,” Charlene had told her, “but I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. Please tell me, what's going on with you?”
Despite Charlene's constant probing, Lauren would simply smile and tell her not to worry because everything was fine. That was another reason Charlene knew without a doubt that something was very wrongâLauren rarely smiled or acquiesced if she felt she was being challenged about something. She was the type of young woman who stood resolute in her beliefs and serious in her demeanor.
Now Charlene longed for those days, because Lauren had become a serious party girl, and if Charlene's guess was right, her daughter hadn't seen the inside of Johns Hopkins' library in weeks.
“You startled me,” Charlene said as she gave Lauren a kiss on her cheek. “I'm so glad you're home, baby. Let me stand up and give you a proper hug.” Charlene's embrace used to envelop Lauren, but now her arms barely covered less than half the surface of her daughter's back. Lauren didn't even smell the same. There was a time when she'd always emanated a sweet scent of some new lotion or perfume she'd be trying out. But, as Charlene inhaled, her nose was filled with the smell of onions.
“What did you eat this morning?” Charlene asked.
“I got a burger from Steak 'n Shake on our way from the airport. Why?”
“Because you smell like onions. Why are you eating hamburgers this early in the morning?”
“Restaurants start serving lunch at ten thirty, Mom. Besides I haven't had a good burger in forever.”
“Okay, well, you could've gotten a salad. The last time we talked, you said you were going to start eating more healthy.”
Lauren let out a deep, frustrated breath and rolled her eyes. “It's good to see you, too, Mom.”
“Don't get sarcastic with me, and don't roll your eyes, young lady.”
Lauren walked over to where her suitcase was propped against the wall and started rolling it toward the hall. “I wasn't being sarcastic.”
“Stop right there,” Charlene said in shock. She couldn't believe how blatantly disrespectful Lauren was behaving. She walked over to her daughter and looked her in the eye. “Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you. What's gotten into you?”
“I'm fine, but it seems that you have a problem with me for some reason, because instead of being happy to see me, all you can do is find fault about what I eat.”
“I told you I was glad you're home when I hugged you. You're only upset because I called you out about the way you've been eating. Lauren, you're in medical school, so you've got to know that eating the way you've been doing this past year isn't healthy.”
Lauren put her hand on her wide hip. “Oh, I get it. You're embarrassed because you have a fat daughter now.”
Charlene was appalled. It was as if she was standing in front of a total stranger, trying to make sense of the irrational, defensive things coming out of the mouth that used to belong to her once logical and responsible daughter. “I'm not embarrassed, I'm concerned.”
“Not everyone can be a size six,” Lauren said, looking at Charlene's slim frame.
“I didn't say a word about your weight, because your health is more important than your size. And I'm telling you right now, you need to tone down your attitude. Like I said, I don't know what's gotten into you, but you need to change itâquickly.”
Just then Charlene looked down the hall past Lauren to see Phillip coming in the front door pulling two large suitcases. Two travel bags also hung from each of his shoulders, and Charlene could tell they were heavy because her strapping son looked weighed down.
“Hey, Mom,” Phillip called from down the hall. He left the luggage at the foot of the stairs and walked back to where Charlene and Lauren were standing. “How're you feeling, Mom?”
Charlene remembered that the last time Phillip had seen her was last night, when she'd been passed out drunk on the couch and he'd left her a note and a glass of water. She saw that he was dressed nicely, as usual, but she also suspected his outfit was what he'd worn when he'd left the house last night. She wanted to talk to him about it, but this wasn't the time to have that conversation. “I'm a whole lot better today,” she said, then she looked at Lauren, “I think.”
The expression on Phillip's face told Charlene that he knew exactly what she was talking about, and that perhaps Lauren had been a little salty with him as well. Charlene looked at the pile of luggage down the hall. “Lauren, why did you bring all that luggage home for a such a short trip?”
When Phillip folded his arms and looked at his sister with raised brows, Charlene knew the answer wasn't going to be good. Lauren hesitated, so Charlene asked her again. “Lauren, why did you pack so many bags?”