Criminal (Will Trent 6)

“A very astute man.” Kenny winked at Amanda, too. She took a large drink of wine to cover her embarrassment.

“He’s a pimp,” Evelyn said. “We met him at Techwood Homes last week.”

Amanda felt her heart lurch in her chest, but Evelyn kept talking.

“He runs white women.”

“My favorite kind.” Bill refilled Amanda’s glass. She hadn’t realized she’d finished the first one already. Amanda looked down at the food on her plate. The vegetables had obviously been frozen. The meat was overcooked. Even the roll was burned around the edges.

“This prostitute, Jane—” Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Her apartment was not what you’d call tidy. What was it you said, Amanda? ‘I’ll look for back copies of Good Housekeeping’?”

The men laughed, and Evelyn continued the story. “She was an absolute terror to deal with.”

Amanda sipped from her wineglass, which she kept pressed to her chest as she listened to Evelyn talk about the Techwood apartment, the mouthy whore. They all laughed when she mimicked Jane Delray’s trashy accent. There was something about the way Evelyn told the story that made it sound funny instead of frightening. She could be relaying the plot of a television sitcom where two plucky gals stick their noses where they don’t belong and end up escaping through wit and humor.

“Exit, stage left,” Amanda said.

They all laughed, though Evelyn’s smile wasn’t quite as genuine. She tugged at the back of her hair.

Bill reached out and affectionately slapped away her hand. “You’re going to snatch yourself bald.”

Amanda asked, “Was it hard getting your hair cut?”

Evelyn shrugged. Obviously, it had been, but she said, “After Zeke, I didn’t have time for it.”

The wine had made Amanda brazen. She asked Bill, “Did you mind?”

He took Evelyn’s hand. “Anything that makes my girl happy.”

“I cried for at least an hour.” Evelyn laughed, though her heart wasn’t into it.

“I think it was closer to six,” Bill said. “But I like it.”

“It’s very stylish,” Kenny offered. “But long is nice, too.”

Amanda patted the back of her hair. She was worse than Evelyn.

“Why don’t you let it down?” The request came from Kenny. Amanda was both surprised and deeply embarrassed. She was also dangerously close to complete inebriation, which was probably why she complied with the request.

Amanda silently counted out the bobby pins as she pulled them from her hair. Five, six, seven. There were eight total, plus the hair spray, which made her fingers sticky as she ran them through her hair. It draped to the middle of her back. Amanda cut the ends once a year. She only kept it down in the winter, and then only at night when she was alone.

Evelyn sighed. “You’re so pretty.”

Amanda finished her wine. She was already dizzy. She should at least eat a dinner roll to absorb some of the alcohol, but she didn’t want to hear the sound of her own chewing. The room was quiet except for the record playing. Sinatra singing “Autumn in New York.”

Bill picked up the bottle and topped them off again. Amanda thought to cover the glass with her hand, but she couldn’t make herself move.

The phone rang in the kitchen. Evelyn startled. “Gosh, who could be calling this late?”

Amanda couldn’t be alone in the room like this. She followed Evelyn into the kitchen.

“Mitchell residence.”

Amanda pulled back her hair, twisting it around the crown. She stuck the bobby pins back in. Her movements were clumsy. Too much wine. Too much attention.

“Where?” Evelyn asked. She pulled the long telephone cord across the room and got a pen and paper out of the drawer. “Say that again.” She scribbled as she spoke. “And when was this?” She made some noises, encouraging the caller to continue. Finally, she said, “We’ll be right there,” and hung up.

“Right where?” Amanda asked. She kept her hand on the kitchen counter. The wine had pickled her brain. “Who was that?”

“Deena Coolidge.” Evelyn folded the piece of paper in half. “They’ve just found another body.”

Amanda felt her focus snap back. “Who?”

“They don’t know yet. Blonde, thin, pretty.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“They found her at Techwood Homes.” Evelyn pushed open the door to the dining room. “Sorry, boys, we need to step out.”

Bill smiled. “You’re just trying to get out of doing dishes.”

“I’ll do them in the morning.”

They exchanged a look. Amanda realized that Bill Mitchell wasn’t as naïve as she had first imagined. He saw through his wife’s funny stories the same as Amanda.

He raised his glass in a toast. “I’ll wait up for you, my love.”

Evelyn grabbed Amanda’s purse before letting the door swing closed. “I’m drunk as a lord,” she muttered. “I hope I don’t end up driving us into the creek.”

“I’ll drive.” Amanda followed her out the kitchen door.

Instead of heading to the car, Evelyn went to the shed. The men had finished the job except for the painting. Evelyn ran her hand along the top of the door trim and found the key. She tugged on the chain to turn on the light. There was a safe bolted to the floor. Evelyn had to try the combination three times before she finally got it open. “I think we drank that whole bottle between us.”

“Why did Deena call you?”

“I asked her to let me know if anything else came up.” Evelyn pulled out her revolver. She checked there was ammunition in the cylinder, then snapped it back into place. She took out the speed-loader, then shut the safe door. “Let’s go.”

“Do you think you’ll need that?”

Evelyn tucked the revolver into her purse. “I’m never going anywhere without it again.” She grabbed the shelf as she stood up. Her eyes closed as she oriented herself. “They’re probably going to give us both DUIs.”

“That’ll hardly make us stand out.”

Evelyn pulled off the light and locked the door. Amanda took deep breaths of air as she walked to her car, trying to clear her head.

Evelyn said, “You know this means Juice didn’t do it.”

“Did we ever really think he did?”

“No, but now they’ll know, too.”

Amanda climbed into the car. She threw her purse into the back seat as she waited for Evelyn to get in. The drive to Techwood wasn’t a long one, especially at eight o’clock in the evening. There was no traffic on the road. The only people who stayed in Atlanta after dark were the ones who had no business being there. Which was a good thing considering Amanda’s state of intoxication. If she accidentally hit a pedestrian, no one was likely to care.

The traffic lights were flashing yellow as she traveled up Piedmont Road. Amanda took the steep curve that turned into Fourteenth Street, then slowed for the blinking light before turning left on Peachtree. Another right on North and she was following the same pattern they’d worn last week: past the Varsity, over the interstate, left on Techwood Drive, and straight into the hell of the projects.