Deadly Satisfaction

Book 2: Dangerous Love Novel

by Trice Hickman

Genres: African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

It's been two years since Johnny Mayfield's murder rocked Amber, Alabama. His death, along with the illicit personal scandals that preceded it, created more drama than the town had ever seen. But now life is back to normal, at least for his widow, Geneva. Or so it seems.

Happily remarried, Geneva has to admit her life is better than ever. Her upscale salon is thriving, and she finally has the baby she always wanted. But when she hires nanny Morgan Whitman, she discovers the deceptively matronly woman is stirring up drama, causing Geneva to question many things - including who really killed Johnny. Add local gossip columnist Shartell Brown and tell-it-like-it-is Donetta Pierce to the mix, and soon vicious rumors, terrifying threats, and long-held secrets may add up to another shocking murder - one that will rival even Johnny Mayfield's.

Release date: February 1, 2016

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

The elegantly sleek interior of G&D Hair Design was alive with chatter, laughter, and gossip. Even though G&D was a high-end salon situated in the trendy Arts District section of town, the owners, Geneva Owens and Donetta Pierce, made sure their establishment was as down home and welcoming as sweet potato pie, which they often served their clients as treats. And on this particular Tuesday morning, the salon was unusually busy. It was two days before Thanksgiving, and as Donetta had said, “Every woman in town is tryin’ to get their style on for the holiday.”

From one side of the salon to the other, each stylist’s chair, shampoo bowl, and hooded dryer was occupied, and even more women were patiently waiting in the lobby, sipping coffee and tea from the complimentary beverage station. From blowouts to twist-outs, to full sew-ins, roller sets, and everything in between, the ladies of Amber, Alabama were primed and ready for the royal treatment that had become G&D’s trademark. Geneva and Donetta had worked hard to overcome many obstacles to open their salon, and now they were reaping the rewards with their thriving business.

“I’ve been doing hair for as long as I can remember, and this is the busiest holiday turnout I’ve ever seen,” Donetta said. “You’d think we were giving away weaves up in here.”

“Everyone wants to look good when they visit with their families,” Geneva said with a smile as she reached for her flat iron.

“Speak for yourself and these other women,” Shartell Brown huffed as she sat in Donetta’s chair. “As for me, I’m gettin’ fly for me, myself, and I. My family is on my last nerve right now, and I’m glad I only have to tolerate them once or twice a year during the holidays.”

Donetta made a tsking sound as she measured a track of hair for what would become part of Shartell’s full sew-in weave. “Girl, why’re you stressing about your family?”

“’Cause ever since I blew up, they’re always coming to me with their hands out and a whole lotta foolishness.”

“Shoot, if they know you like I know you, they’ll leave you alone before they end up in one of your columns, or maybe even that new book you’re writing.”

Shartell smiled slyly. “You know, Donetta, that’s not a bad idea. I can write a juicy story from all the shenanigans that go on in my family. Real life is much more scandalous than fiction.”

Donetta pursed her lips. “I was just joking.”

“Girl, that’s not a joke, that’s a good idea.”

“Shartell, that would be flat-out wrong to put your family members’ business on front street. That’s cold.”

“Honey, please. That’s business, and it’s called being shrewd.”

“How ’bout it’s called being coldhearted.” Donetta quipped in return. “Where the hell are your morals, Shartell? Don’t you have a conscience anymore?”

“Of course I do. But if I’m telling the truth, what’s wrong with that? Even the Good Book says the truth shall set you free.”

“Don’t use the Bible to justify your mess.”

“I stand behind the things I say, that’s why no one can ever accuse me of a being a liar, and that’s the truth.”

Geneva chimed in. “Just because something is true, that doesn’t mean you have to say it.”

“You better listen to Geneva,” Donetta said as she parted Shartell’s hair with her comb. “And don’t think about putting anyone in this salon in your book because if you do, you’ll end up having to do your hair your damn self, ’cause you know I won’t touch your head again.”

“Whatever,” Shartell said.

“Heffa, you know I barely like you anyway,” Donetta teased.

Geneva shook her head and laughed. “You two talk so much junk.”

“Donetta knows she loves me,” Shartell said with a chuckle. “And hey, I might be a heffa, and I might even be coldhearted, at times, but I’m one of the realest chicks you ever gonna meet, and there ain’t a phony bone in my body.”

Everyone within earshot nodded in agreement with what Shartell had just said. Shartell Brown, who had once worked as a stylist with Geneva and Donetta a few years ago, at Heavenly Hair Salon, had been nicknamed Ms. CIA, because she was a known gossip with intel on everyone in town. Now she was a respected news and entertainment reporter for Entertainment Scoop, a wildly popular online website that was giving TMZ a run for their money. Shartell had risen to prominence thanks to the most salacious and talked about murder case the town of Amber had ever seen.

Two years ago, Johnny Mayfield, who had been Geneva’s ex-husband, had been murdered inside his home. Johnny had been a charismatic but nefarious man who’d amassed a legion of enemies, both male and female. The list of suspects had been as long as a hot summer day, but thanks to Shartell’s contacts, inside information, and her uncanny ability to find out the word on the street before it ever hit the pavement, she’d provided the authorities with useful tips that helped them solve Johnny’s murder and had cemented a new career for herself in the process.

Geneva shook her head. “Shartell, try to go easy on your family. You should count yourself blessed that you have relatives to spend the holidays with. I’d give anything to share a meal with my mother again, God rest her soul.”

“That’s because your mother was probably just as nice as you are, Ms. Pollyanna,” Shartell teased. “My mama, on the other hand, could drive Jesus to drink hard liquor. And my four siblings . . . let’s just say that if the devil needed extra disciples he’d come looking for them, and their badass kids.”

“Shartell!” Geneva chided. “That’s an awful thing to say.”

Donetta threaded her needle and nodded her head. “That’s the kind of truth telling she probably shouldn’t have said, but you have to admit, it was funny as hell.”

“Thank you,” Shartell said, reaching up to give Donetta a high five. “My aunt is coming in town for the holidays and I have to pick her up from the train station tonight, but once I drop her off at my mama’s house I’m gonna be in the wind and they won’t see me again until Thanksgiving dinner, which I plan to cut short.”

“You’re seriously not going to spend time with your family?” Geneva asked.

“I’m gonna try my best not to. Besides, I have work to do. I’m writing an article about finding love during the holidays, and it’s due tomorrow afternoon so it can run on Thanksgiving Day, and I know none of my knuckle head, backwards-ass relatives can help me with that subject matter.”

Geneva adjusted her smock as she spoke. “You two are the most jaded human beings I know. Where is your optimism? Where’s your hope?”

Donetta sighed. “Oh Lord, we’ve gotten her started.”

“I’m serious.” Geneva put down her flat iron and reached for a hair clip as she continued to speak. “Try not to be so pessimistic about everything.”

“We’re not pessimists, we’re realists,” Donetta said, hand on her slim hip. “Hell, I know exactly what Shartell’s talkin’ about when it comes to family. Every time I spend the holidays with mine I end up needing a double dose of therapy. They’re just way too much, and that’s why I’m not foolin’ with them this year.”

“Donetta, you know you’re more than welcome to spend Thanksgiving at my house,” Geneva said, “but your aunt is going to have a fit if you don’t stop by and visit with her and your cousins.”

Donetta smirked. “She’ll just have to have one because my backstabbing relatives won’t see my face this Turkey Day. I refuse to go over to my Aunt May May’s and listen to the bullshit that I know she’s gonna be serving. I got my life to live and I’m doin’ just fine without them.”

“I’m truly sorry to hear that,” Councilwoman Harris spoke up from Geneva’s chair. “Donetta, I’m going to say a prayer for you, and you too, Shartell, that you and your families will find peace.”

Charlene Harris was one of Geneva’s favorite and most loyal clients, and over the last two years she had become a close friend and confidant. Charlene was a pillar of the community, and much like Geneva, she was a woman who’d mastered the art of reinventing herself. Two years ago, after putting up with years of infidelity from her husband, she’d ended her long-suffering marriage and had started a new life. She’d updated her look and style from classic conservative to contemporary chic, but she’d kept the same elegant grace and comportment that she’d become known and respected for, along with her humility.

Geneva smiled at Charlene. “You understand what family is all about, and I know you can’t wait to see your children when they come to town.”

“Yes, I can’t wait to see Phillip and Lauren. We haven’t all been together since last Christmas, so I’m certainly looking forward to it.”

“That’s a blessing,” Geneva said as she worked her flat iron through Charlene’s razor-cut, chin-length bob, putting the finishing touches on her chic hairdo.

Although no one else listening to Charlene speak could recognize the catch in her voice when she’d mentioned her children, Geneva had. And that was because Charlene had omitted any reference to her eldest child, Brad. Brad had moved to Los Angeles over ten years ago, married a tall blonde from the Valley, and hadn’t spoken to his family since. It had hurt Charlene to her core, knowing that her firstborn had basically disowned his entire family, but she’d learned to make peace with it over the years through prayer, and the hope that someday her son would come to his senses. But until then, she poured all her love and care into the two who still remained close in her life.

“Yes, it is,” Charlene said with a nod. “Lauren’s doing well in med school at Johns Hopkins, and Phillip was just named senior associate at his law firm.”

“That’s impressive,” Donetta said. “You did a great job raising them.”

“Thank you, Donetta. But I have to say they made it easy because both of them have always been very focused, self-directed kids who never followed the crowd. They stayed true to who they are, and that’s why I’m so proud of them. They’re good, kindhearted human beings who care about people, and that’s what’s most important in my book.”

Geneva nodded. “Yes, it certainly is.”

“Amen to that,” Donetta chimed in, along with Shartell. “Not everybody has the opportunity to pursue their dreams and still remain true to themselves while they’re doing it. That takes a lot of effort and sacrifice.”

Geneva looked at her co-owner and best friend and smiled. She knew that it was a topic near to Donetta’s heart. It had been a little over a year since she’d undergone gender reassignment surgery, commonly known as SRS; or as the trans community called it, bottom surgery, so that her outward physical appearance reflected who she was inside. It had taken Donetta many years, tremendous sacrifice, and at times, painful heartache, to pursue her long-held dream of living life the way she’d always felt she was meant to.

“Your words speak so much truth, Donetta,” Councilwoman Harris said with a nod. “Life is a journey filled with many paths we can take to arrive at our intended destination. The key is knowing how to navigate your course, regardless of what anyone else thinks, and then master how to stay on it.”

“And the best way to reach any destination is in a pair of Jimmy Choos,” Donetta replied with a wink.

They all laughed at Donetta’s joke, but suddenly the room fell silent when Shartell looked up at the fifty-inch television screen hanging on the wall and let out a loud gasp. Every eye was glued to the face on the screen that put panic in each of their hearts, for very different reasons.

Geneva stood frozen in place while Donetta reached over her, grabbed the remote, and turned up the volume. The “Breaking News” caption rolled across the screen with a photo of Vivana Jackson above it. A hush came over the entire salon as they listened to news that left everyone’s mouth hanging open with questions.

Vivana Jackson—formally known as Vivana Owens—had been convicted of murdering her ex-lover, Johnny Mayfield, in cold blood, and was serving a twenty-five-to-life sentence for second-degree murder in the Alabama state penitentiary. But according to the information coming out of the reporter’s mouth, Vivana was now being represented by a prominent local attorney who’d taken her case pro bono, and had found compelling evidence that suggested Vivana was innocent of the crime for which she’d been convicted. A murder committed impulsively, and without premeditation.

“I’ve uncovered evidence that corroborates my client’s claim that she is innocent of killing Jonathan Mayfield,” Leslie Sachs, Vivana’s attorney, said. “I can’t go into detail now, but when I present the evidence to the judge next week, it will be clear that Ms. Jackson, formerly known as Mrs. Owens, was not only framed, but the real killer is still at large, and is quite possibly watching this interview right now.”

The reporter ended the clip by telling viewers that an exclusive jailhouse interview with Vivana would air tonight on the evening news.

Everyone remained silent while their eyes fell on Geneva, who was still frozen in place.

Donetta looked at Geneva. “Honey . . . you okay?”

Geneva shook her head from side to side. “No, I’m not. I need to go home.”

From that moment forward, the salon was filled with voracious gossip, wild speculation, and unfounded theories about the murder case that had rocked Amber. Johnny Mayfield had done so many people wrong that a different suspect had popped up each week after his death. Mostly everyone in town believed that his scorned ex-lover, Vivana, had done it, while there were a select few who believed Vivana’s claim that she’d been framed. But there were only four people who knew without a doubt that Vivana was innocent. One of them was dead, one was sitting in jail, one was Johnny’s real killer—the honorable and well-respected councilwoman, Charlene Harris—and the last person who knew the identity of Johnny’s real killer was the person who’d sent Councilwoman Harris a mysterious text, telling her that they had proof that she’d done it.

Later that night, nearly everyone in Amber was held captive in front of their televisions as they watched Vivana’s defiant face and listened to her lawyer’s self-assured words. People from one end of town to the other were abuzz with chatter and speculation, and there were a few who were more than a little concerned, namely Geneva, Donetta, and especially Charlene Harris. Each one of the women knew that in the days to come, this would be a holiday they’d never forget.

The two loves of Geneva Owens’s life were her loving husband, Samuel, and their adorable ten-month-old daughter, Gabrielle. They added meaning and purpose to everything she did, and she looked forward to coming home to them at the end of each day. But this afternoon wasn’t one of those days, and as Geneva drove home—ten miles above the speed limit—she prayed that Samuel and Gabrielle wouldn’t be there when she arrived.

Geneva breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she opened the garage door and saw the empty space where Samuel’s SUV was usually parked. “Thank goodness Samuel’s already on his way to the airport,” she whispered to herself.

A small twinge of guilt pulled at Geneva’s stomach for feeling that way, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want her husband or daughter there because she needed to be alone so she could sort out her thoughts in peace. She’d been stressed and anxious ever since she’d seen Vivana’s face flash across the television screen at her salon this afternoon. From that moment forward, Geneva had not been able to shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

After she removed her clothes and changed into her comfortable lounge pants and matching shirt, Geneva went into her den. She curled her feet under her hips as she leaned back into the comfort of her brown chenille sofa. She looked to her right and picked up a beautifully framed picture of Samuel, Gabrielle, and herself, and let out a sigh. “I’ve got to keep them safe,” she said. “Nothing else matters.”

Geneva didn’t know what Vivana was cooking up, but there was one thing she was certain of, and that was the fact that nothing good could come of anything Vivana Jackson was involved in. The thought was nearly too much for her to process, and again, she was glad the house was empty. She looked at her watch and noted the time. “They probably won’t be back home for at least another hour or two.”

With Thanksgiving only two days away, Samuel’s parents were coming to town to celebrate the holidays and he’d taken Gabrielle with him to pick them up from the airport. Geneva had been excited about her in-laws’ visit. She loved Samuel’s mother and father as if they were her own parents, and their love for her was equally sincere. But at the moment, Herbert and Sarah Owens were pushed to the back of Geneva’s mind, thanks to her new worries surrounding Vivana.

Geneva picked up the TV remote control and flipped to the local news station that was set to air Vivana’s interview. “Whatever craziness that woman is scheming, I know it has trouble written all over it,” she whispered as she sat on the edge of her couch, as stiff as a park statue. She stared at the TV in disbelief. “This can’t be happening,” she whispered again, bringing her hand to her mouth at the sight of Vivana’s face on the screen. “What in the world is that psychopath up to?”

Geneva was struck by the change in Vivana’s appearance. Vivana had once been a full-figured beauty who had been meticulous about her appearance. But in the span of the two years that she’d been incarcerated, the woman looked as though she’d aged a decade. Her smooth skin had become wrinkled, her vibrant eyes had lost their sparkle, and the apples of her cheeks had begun to sag. She fidgeted back and forth, constantly tucking and retucking her salt-and-pepper strands behind her ear. Geneva knew that was the nervous habit of someone who had something to hide.

Geneva watched without blinking as a haggard but defiant-looking Vivana Jackson spoke freely, proclaiming her innocence. Geneva paid close attention to Vivana’s every word and movement, and she noticed that the woman’s eyes, now weathered with tiny crow’s-feet on each side, still harbored a wild emptiness that was almost frightening. She had the look of someone whose burdens ran deep and whose capacity for ruthlessness flowed even deeper.

“My story has never changed and it never will,” Vivana said resolutely.

Geneva gasped because Vivana looked into the camera as if she was speaking directly to her, and it sent chills up her arm.

“I said it two years ago, and I’ll say it again,” Vivana continued, “I didn’t kill Johnny. He wronged a whole lot of people, and that’s where the focus should’ve always been . . . on those other people, not me. I’ve been locked up for a crime that I didn’t commit while the real killer is still out there. But believe me,” she said as a menacing smirk overtook her lips, “what’s done in the dark always comes to the light, and that light’s about to shine real bright because—”

“Yes,” her attorney said, cutting Vivana off in midsentence. “Ms. Jackson is innocent of the murder of Johnny Mayfield. She was framed and was wrongly convicted and incarcerated while the real killer is still at large. Once I present the judge with the new evidence next week, I’m confident that my client will be vindicated.”

The news reporter launched question after question, aimed at both Vivana and her attorney, hoping to get more detailed information about what type of new evidence was going to be introduced that would prove Vivana’s innocence. Although it was clear to see that Vivana wanted to say more, as was evidenced by her edgy behavior and shifting eyes, she remained silent under the advice of her attorney. Finally, after several minutes of unsuccessful probing, the reporter gave up and went to commercial break.

“I don’t know what to think,” Geneva whispered aloud as she shook her head. She knew from firsthand experience what Vivana was capable of, and that knowledge made her feel a little afraid. “I’ve got to shake this off. I can’t let this get to me.”

Not since Johnny’s death had she felt so many conflicting emotions. But oddly, her anxiety and heavy heart hadn’t come from the grief or sadness that most people experienced when losing someone; rather, Geneva had been unnerved because she felt an overwhelming amount of guilt.

Geneva hadn’t been completely surprised on the fateful morning she’d learned that Johnny had been murdered. At the time, she and Johnny had been estranged. Geneva had left him, and they’d been separated for several months pending divorce. In that time she’d moved on, met and fallen in love with Samuel, and had been more than ready to start a new life after the hell Johnny had put her through during their five and a half years of marriage. He’d been a dishonest, deceitful, womanizing dog whom Geneva had grown to detest toward the end of their turbulent union. And even though Johnny had been the guilty party in their relationship, he had contested the divorce and had vowed to fight her to the bitter end.

The week before Johnny was killed, he had come by the salon where Geneva worked and begged for her forgiveness. He’d told her that he was remorseful about the way he’d mistreated her and taken her for granted for so many years. But in the process of his apology he’d caused a scene in front of her clients, and Geneva had no patience for him or his drama. All she’d wanted to do was remove him from the salon and from her life. She told him to leave and she even walked him to the front steps, and that’s when things turned from bad to worse.

Geneva and Johnny had exchanged heated words before Geneva made the misstep of telling him that she was in love with another man. Hearing that news sent Johnny over the edge. He’d impulsively grabbed her arm, and as she pulled away, she’d lost her balance, and caused them both to tumble down the salon’s steep steps and hit the hard concrete one story below. That single fall cemented both their fates. Geneva had ended up in the hospital, where the doctors revealed that she’d been pregnant and had lost the baby. Her grief had been heavy, and was made worse by the fact that Johnny came out of the accident without so much as a scratch.

That night, as Geneva lay in her hospital bed, she’d prayed for Johnny’s death. She’d prayed that he would befall a slow and painful demise, and that he would suffer greatly. A week later her plea was answered. Johnny was shot in the chest at point-blank range, and he’d died slowly, suffocating on his own blood as a result of his fatal wound. When Geneva had heard the news, guilt had crept in.

Geneva shivered at the thought. She turned off the TV and slowly rose from the couch. She walked into her spacious gourmet kitchen, filled her stainless steel teakettle with water, and reached into the cabinet for a box of her favorite herbal tea. “I need this to calm my nerves,” she said aloud. She shook her head when she thought about the fact that there was a time not too long ago when a glass of wine would have been her drink of choice to calm her anxiety. But during her pregnancy, Donetta had persuaded her to start drinking herbal tea. “Honey, folks sleep on tea, thinking it’s weak. They just don’t know that it’s the liquid of the gods.”

Geneva had to admit that Donetta had been right. Orange hibiscus had become her favorite lately, but as she stood by the stove waiting for the water in her kettle to whistle, the anticipation of the flavorful taste was overshadowed by whatever scheme she knew Vivana was plotting.

Geneva hadn’t been shocked that Vivana had killed Johnny; after all, she was the same woman who had deceived Geneva for months. Vivana had walked into the salon where Geneva had been working and said her name was Cheryl, and that she was newly divorced and had just moved to Amber for a fresh start. She’d struck a chord with Geneva, who’d been on that same path and had just filed paperwork to divorce Johnny.

But as time went on, Geneva, as well as everyone else at the salon, quickly realized that Cheryl was unstable and had major problems. She was moody, attitudinal, arrogant, and obnoxiously rude. Geneva eventually found out that Cheryl’s real name was Vivana, and that she’d assumed that identity so she could find out everything there was to know about her, and then kill her. During Johnny’s murder trial Vivana had even confessed that her plan had been to kill Geneva first, and then do away with Johnny as payback for all the pain they’d both caused her. But she’d said that someone had gotten to Johnny first, foiling her plans.

Geneva’s mind kept replaying the look she’d seen in Vivana’s eyes when the disturbed woman had been on the witness stand. It was the same look Vivana had during the interview tonight, and Geneva knew that meant that if Vivana got free, she’d come looking for her to finish what she’d started.

As Geneva poured her tea an. . .