Accident Prone

by Michelle McGriff

Genres: African American; African American Urban; African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Misery loves company. More than an old cliché, those words become an obsession for Phoebe DuChamp. Once the popular and pretty all-American high school sweetheart, Phoebe lost it all when she married the wrong man soon after graduation. Harold, the star quarterback and king of the playboys, has made Phoebe's life miserable for ten years. Instead of divorcing Harold, Phoebe finally devises a way to make his life miserable too. Her plot backfires, however, when she becomes a victim in a tragic boating accident. When Harold is unable to collect on her million-dollar insurance policy, it appears that Phoebe may have won out in the end. Shy and quiet, Lacy was less than popular in high school, and often walked in the shadow of her unlikely best friend, Phoebe. Now she's content to live behind the scenes as a voiceover actress for a well-liked cartoon character. When she finds herself the beneficiary of Phoebe's insurance policy, Lacy's quiet life is thrown into the spotlight—especially when cryptic clues start to point to murder. Phoebe's brother, homicide detective Marcel DuChamp, just won't allow "The Case of the Accident Prone Prom Queen" to rest. If he's not careful, he could trip into something that will take him on more turns and loops than a rollercoaster ride.

Release date: April 24, 2012

Publisher: Urban Renaissance

Print pages: 288

Sample

It was Sunday night; Lacy sat at her small but functional cherry wood desk. She sat on the edge of her simple but comfortable straight-backed chair, staring at the blank paper in her typewriter.

The quaint three-bedroom cottage had everything Lacy could ever need. Shellacked hard dark wood covered the floors, and the walls were papered with a paisley paper that must have resembled anybody’s grandmother’s walls. She liked it like that. She was eccentric and knew it, so why fight it.

Large bay windows on both the west and east ends of the house gave it an extraordinary amount of light during the day and an eerie, often unnerving, amount of transparency during the dusk and night hours. Perhaps if she closed the high-mounted drapes she would have more privacy, but then again who else lived on this cliff?

She had a crackling fire blazing in her fireplace. The Southwest décor added to the homey feel of her home. She had covered the largest area of the main living room’s wood floors with a large, shaggy throw rug, which made the perfect bed for her two large dogs. The cage for Pete, her precocious talking parrot, hung at eye level for those moments when deep thought required a two-minute stare down with him. Yes, she was eclectic and eccentric, but it made life good from her point of view.

She made sure her kitchen was fully equipped with all the latest gadgets for cooking, though she had to admit she used hardly half of those utensils as she had yet to have any guests. She recalled the cashier totaling the hundreds of dollars spent on the heavy Alumacast pots and pans. Lacy had convinced herself that soon she would be the charming, trendy hostess of the housewarming party to end all housewarming parties. She imagined that winter evening, just two weeks after moving in, as she unpacked the trunk of her car, that she would soon fill her place with the sounds of old friends and warm wine and laughter. But now, after a year, it seemed like a foolish fantasy. It was already winter again, a day much resembling the one on which she moved in, and still only the sounds of her own voice and that of her bird, filled her empty home.

She remembered the moving guys, as she ran her hand over the sanded repair made to the edge of her desk....

Yeah, she remembered the moving guys; the big guy was the worst.

“Hey, aren’t you the voice?” he asked with a wide grin. Lacy nodded reluctantly, knowing what would surely come next. “Ya know this wouldna happened if you had a man around to move ya. You can’t get rid of all of us.” He grinned at her, his comment filled with innuendo. Again, her job and the reputation that had come with the cartoon character Amazon Queen Hynata the Manslayer had preceded her. The men snickered, chortled, and pointed, no doubt noting the lack of resemblance between the bulky cartoon woman and the string-bean, homely-looking woman standing before them, resembling, more than anything, a well-tanned, red-headed, freckle-faced Olive Oyl—with biggo, scary-looking blue eyes.

I’m not that bad, am I? she asked the large wall mirror. Shaking her head, she realized it didn’t matter. It would never matter. Maybe those men saw a nobody, but inside Lacy knew that she was a somebody. She was a “shero.”

“I’m Hynata, friggin’ Queen of the Amazon,” she said out loud with a chuckle, as she thought about the children’s television show that appeared on television every day, right when the kids got home from school. Never appearing before the camera, she would live vicariously through the beautiful queen, as a guide, taking the children on the Amazon adventure.

Two years previously, she had started out just on the writing staff for the cartoon, and, by a fluke, ended up also becoming the voice-over for the Queen Hynata, who hated all men. To change the negative focus of the show, her hatred was translated into a hatred for “bad” men, who sought to destroy the Amazon Rainforest with their greed and neglect for the ecosystem. She was a character with the power to turn these “bad” men into salt whenever they did something bad to the earth. She didn’t hate men at all, really; they just got on her nerves ... Okay, so maybe there was a little love/hate thing going on, but she’d have gotten over it had one really, actually started “acting right” ... ever.

After a few months of her successful run as the queen, the writing team had yet to find her equal, although the show’s producers were building up to finding her a male counterpart who would, through love for her and Mother Earth, touch her heart with ...

True love ...

Bleech. She gasped, thinking about the possibilities.

Sensing her dethroning, Lacy began doing a lot of thinking about her future, and started writing in her spare time. Soon she was writing fiction, and, to her surprise, her first published effort as a writer landed her on The New York Times Bestseller list. It was funny how quickly all talks of adding to her fame subsided, but still it was only the cartoon that her bosses focused on.

“Not the book,” she said, again in full voice, and smirked, thinking of the nonexistent book signings. The publisher felt it best not to destroy her air of mystery stimulated by her life as a cartoon voice-over.

“They must just think I’m ugly, that’s all,” she told her uninterested dogs. Lacy always came to that conclusion when unhappy or feeling rejected. But, in her opinion, the mirror didn’t lie, and in her case beauty was definitely in the eyes of the beholder. Tall and lanky, less than shapely, with red kinky hair and blue eyes from her blended racial mix of Australian and Black always had her wondering just exactly where she fit in on the beauty scale.

“But at least I’m smart,” she huffed, causing the female dog to look up at her.

The sudden ringing of her phone caused her to gasp loudly in a start, which sent her Australian shepherd/ black Labrador mixed dogs, Harriet and Oz, into a tizzy, ready to protect her from the enemy on the unseen side of the telephone. The loud-ringing house phone usually signaled a call from someone she didn’t know. Those who knew her and wanted to find her and actually talk to her called her cell phone. The soft, tiny, seldom-ringing cellular phone, playing the catchy little jingle in her purse, was usually the only call she would take.

“Loner” was an understatement in describing Lacy’s life. She’d always been alone, or at least felt that way. She’d come full circle in life. From standing behind the most popular girl in school to standing behind the camera that addressed millions after school hours and just recently on Saturday mornings too, she’d gone full circle only to end up feeling like an unnoticed, unappreciated weirdo outcast standalone.

As an only child, Lacy felt odd and displaced. By the time she got to high school she felt even worse about her life. She was not a member of the in crowd, and although she fought the hateful feelings she felt while watching them practice their cheers and hug up with the quarterbacks, she had to be honest—they had their appeal. Okay, so, yes, she was jealous. Maybe that was why she was drawn to Phoebe DuChamp, or maybe it was just to get close to her brother, Marcel. Grrrrr-roooowlllwow, she purred at the memory of her high-school crush.

Marcel was the boy next door and the sister of the girl she loved to hate the most—Phoebe. In her more shameful moments, she would even admit to stalking Phoebe and accepting her pathetic attempts at friendship, and often humiliating abuses, just to get close to him. Many people assumed that she and Phoebe were the best of friends; only she and Phoebe knew the truth about that relationship. Or, better yet, maybe only she did. It was way one-sided. If they did anything together, it was purely due to Phoebe’s need for a coat rack with legs, at least that’s how Lacy felt about it.

Nonetheless, when Phoebe was bored, or especially during the winter months when things would slow to a crawl, they did things together and sometimes even resembled best buddies. One night, during a sleepover, they promised to will all their earthly possessions to each other. Lacy actually did put Phoebe in her will. She told her about it, too. It was after they’d graduated high school and Lacy started college. They continued to see each other occasionally when visiting their folks who still lived next door to each other. For Lacy, Phoebe still was just about her only ‘friend’–use that term loosely. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had anyone else to will things to if life went the way it was supposed to and she outlived her parents. So why not? she’d thought at the time as a broke and starving college student. Why not will all my fortunes to Phoebe DuChamp?

Lacy remembered that Phoebe seemed touched by the will. That’s when Lacy knew that Phoebe really wasn’t all that evil. She had a vulnerable side. She just wanted someone to love her, but that was conflicted with a more aggressive side, one that also knew how to take what she needed—even without permission—and that included love.

Phoebe just used her because she was there for the using. It wasn’t Phoebe’s fault, and she wasn’t that bad of a person, she was just one of the “them” in Lacy’s life. Lacy knew that Phoebe was on the side of all those who made her feel small. “Yeah, I was pretty small back then,” Lacy continued thinking back at some of the most embarrassing moments in life. The phone rang the memories came. It was as if time stood still for a moment. eerie and surreal. The memories seemed to pass like hours, yet it was as if a flash in time. Like that night in the DuChamps’ backyard.

Blame it on the thunder, blame it on Phoebe, but it all worked out. The girls from the cheerleading squad had a sleepover in the backyard of the DuChamps’ house, and Phoebe had invited her over. During that autumn night, the weather took a freakish turn and lightning crossed the skies. Lacy was terrified. Everyone else showed no fear. It was more than obvious that no one wanted to be the first to run inside. But Lacy wasn’t about to play chicken with the weather. It had won hands down, no competition with the “it” girls. They weren’t “it” to the thunder. She wasn’t scared of much, but thunder and lightning were at the top of her short list. Often in their region there would be thunder and lightning but no rain. California could have some of the most fantastically beautiful autumn nights, and some of the scariest, weather-wise.

The girls, growing tired of her whimpering, sent her out of their tent into the darkness. “Go on home, ya big baby,” one of the girls had said.

Lacy didn’t look back to see who it was. She didn’t really care. She was planning to head for home and the safety of her own bed. Lacy’s trip was cut short by loud booms. Instead of crossing the fence line she dashed into the boys’ tent, which held only Marcel and his friend Winston. Both boys had been assigned by Phoebe’s parents to sleep out with them for protection ... supposedly.

Lacy dashed into the tent and quickly into Marcel’s sleeping bag. Although uninvited, Marcel didn’t ask her to leave, but instead stared deep into her eyes. It was obvious he saw her fear, and instead of making her feel even more foolish, he wrapped his arms around her and held her.

“I’m so scared,” she whispered into his chest.

“Don’t be, Lace, it’s just noise,” he whispered back.

His voice was low and deep, rumbling with a comfort Lacy had never felt before but from that day forward would crave. Snuggling closer, she felt a strange thing rubbing against her thigh. She started to raise the sleeping bag flap to see what it was, but Marcel stopped her.

What happened next was natural, pure, and beautiful.

Lacy thought back to that night: the tent, the sleeping bag, the thunder, Marcel’s best friend, Winston, snoring loudly in the bag not too far away. They were quiet as mice, nobody heard anything, but she felt everything.

Marcel was gentle. It was obvious it wasn’t his first time. Maybe he assumed the same for her, but it wasn’t true. Marcel was the first boy to venture between her thighs. She’d not even worn a tampon, so all the sensations he caused to come up were quite new. Sometimes Lacy thought back to how easily she allowed that to happen and how unaccountable she allowed Marcel to be afterward. “Pretty small of me,” she mumbled, shaking her head at the sad memory.

Lacy sighed heavily at the memory. The next morning, Phoebe had gasped loudly after she busted into the tent while in a mad search for her. Lacy was mortified. Standing there as if frozen, Phoebe just stared as if she’d stolen something. Or maybe she was wondering what it had been like to have sex with her brother. She never asked, nor had she told the others; at least, it seemed as though she hadn’t, as the others continued to see Lacy as the “can’t get a guy” loser that she was.

Loser, she thought. Can’t get a guy, she went on thinking, as her mind dripped on and quickly off of Marcel.

“But that was then. This is now. Now, I’m a success. I’m a biggo fabulous success and can’t be daydreaming over some childhood crushes and stuff.” She was being sarcastic, but who was there to hear it?

Nobody, she thought.

Lacy’s ride to success had been far from fabulous, however. The trip came with frequent recurring nightmares, insomnia, headaches, and hives as fare. Her therapist suggested that a move near the water might relax her mind and spirit. Her physician concurred. Living there on the cliffs was indeed a stress-free lifestyle, though sometimes, as she lay in her king-sized netted canopy bed hugging her body pillow, she wondered if it had been worth it.

Her stress level had gone down tremendously since her move up to the cliffs of Half Moon Bay, California.

At least until tonight, she thought as her mind came back to the ringing phone.

“Hello, hello,” Lacy answered. She was almost short of breath from the excitement brought on by the dogs’ overreaction to the ring. Their barking had awakened Pete the bird, who was now cursing loudly, as was his normal vocabulary.

The telephone line was silent.

“Hello,” Lacy repeated.

There was no sound from the other end. She hung up and glanced at the clock. Wrong number at eleven P.M.? How frickin’ rude, she thought. You’d think people would know who the hell they were calling at eleven P.M.

The weather outside had taken a turn for the worse and the promised storm was coming in fast. Crashing winds against the rocks and the thunder could be heard in the distance. The waves crashed against the cliffs, sounding like an explosion. Lacy was terrified. She wondered now if this house truly had been the best of investments for lowering her stress.

The phone rang again. Lacy grabbed it quickly. The sound of the hard rain fell against the window in rhythm with the murmuring of the trees, groaning with the harsh bullying of the winds shoving against them.

“Hello!” she barked.

“Lacy?” The voice was soft and whimpering. “It’s Phoebe ... She’s dead.”

Lacy dropped the phone in shock. When she picked it up again, the line was dead. Immediately she called her parents. If indeed Phoebe DuChamp was dead, her parents would have heard it first from Phoebe’s parents next door.

What a reunion after all these years, Lacy thought as she watched lines of cars and limousines pulling into the cemetery. She could see so many familiar faces through the car windows as they passed. Many of the people she had gone to school with were here. Many of the DuChamps’ relatives from out of town had arrived. Lacy recognized many from the years of living next door to the DuChamps. Lacy had even spotted her own parents’ car parked with the others near the gate. She had known they were coming, but hadn’t made plans to drive in with them. She’d not even been the one to tell them about Phoebe’s death. By the time she’d called, they already knew. But, then again, they still lived next door to Phoebe’s parents, Pia and Theloneous DuChamp.

The rain was heavy and it was hard to distinguish the drops of water from the falling tears on the faces of many. Pia and Theloneous climbed out of the back of one of the limousines as it pulled to a stop. Right after ...

“Marcel,” Lacy heard herself say in an undertone.

Lacy’s heart jumped. She was a little surprised at the reaction in her chest. Could there still be that ... something. . . there? Could there still be that something that always fought against the reasoning, the reasoning that told her that if he hadn’t contacted her in nearly two years, chances were he really wasn’t that into her?

Bad timing, Lacy; bad time for being reasonable, she told herself.

Lacy hadn’t seen Marcel in a long time, but even with that, today he really didn’t look like the Marcel she remembered. As he waved to the man handing out umbrellas, signaling him to shelter his parents, she could see his thick, dark hair was flat from the rain, his face was stony and cold, and the smooth Mediterranean complexion that he and Phoebe had shared was pale and lifeless. He walked slowly behind his parents, who were shielded from the rain by the large umbrella.

Suddenly, he looked around slightly as if looking for someone, and then only straight ahead. She had imagined that she had pulled at his heartstrings. She wanted to believe that, for surely he had pulled at hers.

Lacy didn’t cry at the gravesite as the minister gave the eulogy. He was very to the point and covered Phoebe’s life succinct. . .