Lost in the Garden of Eve

Book 2: Keke McCoy Mystery Series

by L. Divine

Genres: Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Nancy Drew meets P-Valley in a unique blend of thrilling crime fiction, timely social commentary, and the power of sisterhood in this captivating homage to the “lesser dead” for readers of Rachel Howzell Hall, Kellye Garrett, Wanda M. Morris, and Denise Mina.  When former Atlanta stripper-turned-reporter Keke McCoy finds fame after solving the gruesome ritualistic murder of a fellow dancer, she’s tapped to investigate the unsolved disappearance of underage dancers from her teenage stomping grounds, The Pimp Palace.

Keke’s head is still spinning—and not just because of the hit she took securing a bombshell confession for her last story. On top of her full-time job with the Metro Journal, Keke now has an online column devoted to exposing unsolved murders of young people of color. She’s also freelancing as an investigative journalist in Indian Springs, where she maintains her rekindled relationship with her former employer and mentor, Honey Pot club owner Josephine “HoneyMama” Thibodeaux.

Keke’s Metro boss, Charlie, isn’t impressed with her extracurricular fame, but she’s soon back at her teenage stomping grounds, The Pimp Palace, where several off-the-books, underage dancers have gone missing under suspicious circumstances. When she unearths troubling connections between some of the cases, Keke calls on the assistance of Detective Drew Lewis—her former man, occasional lover—and maybe her future . . .

To up their game, Keke and Drew realize they need someone on the inside. Keke recruits Dulce, a talented Honey Pot dancer and one of the victim’s girlfriends who helped to crack the last case. Even HoneyMama is willing to put her neck on the line—again—to find out what happened, since several of the victims’ belongings included her contact information.

With a common mission, all involved dive down a very dangerous, very corrupt rabbit hole no one saw coming—except the mastermind who anxiously awaits their fall—especially Keke’s . . .

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 272

Sample

IF IT WEREN’T FOR THE LEGOS, CLOTH DIAPERS, PACIFIER HOLDERS, and other kid items strewn across the couch, I might say that Shelley’s living room is the perfect write-eat-chill space, which is what it’s been for me this week. It’s more useful than the small guest room that also serves as another storage space upstairs between the kids’ rooms. Even with very little privacy, the open, airy space is perfect, complete with a sixty-inch flat-screen television with all the cable in the world, my iPhone hooked up to the home pod on the coffee table, and plenty of pillows to make myself right at home.

“‘Murder Undressed: Death in Disguise at The Honey Spot, A True Crime Story by Keke McCoy,’ ” I say aloud, reading and rereading the corny-ass title my boss and his new intern, Andrea, decided on for my first lead story.

As the paper’s editor, Charlie gets the final say, but most of the time his say is bullshit and this time is no different. Although I’m grateful to have moved in his mind from the paper’s street girl to the true crime reporter, it still is what it is. He wants the blood and gore first, boring details later, if ever.

“While Monaka’s murderer awaits trial in the Butts County prison hospital, the gruesome details of the events leading up to the night of her murder are still unfolding. What we do know is that it wasn’t because she was a stripper, or the unapologetically sensual lives that the women lead at The Honey Spot. It was because of a sick, twisted, and disturbed man’s fantasies about wanting to be something, someone that he wasn’t. And unfortunately, Monaka paid the ultimate price for his obsession.”

Even with my firsthand account of Walter’s final show where HoneyMama, Couverture, and myself almost became his last victims, I still can’t claim sole reporting rights on a story like this. The sheer scope of Walter’s crimes, including the attempted murder of Tiramisu to cover up Monaka’s murder, ensures that there’ll be multiple stories a week at every news outlet in Atlanta once the trial begins. Pete and I are pretty much the entire Metro Journal’s newly minted true crime reporting team, that is when he’s in the office. Ever since his daddy, who also happens to be one of the paper’s owners and publishers, found out about his extracurricular activities with Tiramisu, he’s been removed from covering The Honey Spot on location.

Pete’s taken his restrictions seriously at work, but that hasn’t stopped him from seeing Tiramisu one bit. As a matter of fact, he might as well be living at her house right outside of Indian Springs since her near-death experience. Tiramisu’s parents have been keeping her four kids, and Pete’s been keeping her.

“Three other dancers were brutally attacked and left for dead by Walter Adams, the only son of Indian Springs’s mayor, Conrad Carter. At the time of the attack, all three women were assisting local police in the murder investigation of Monaka and the attempted murder of Tiramisu, after noting that one of the murderer’s patterns was to leave epitaphs at the scenes of each crime. There were also elaborate floral decorations left at each memorial site, creating a makeshift shrine for his victims. Although the investigation into why Adams committed the heinous crimes and whether there are more victims out there is just beginning.”

Thank Goddess for his confession and for us all being witnesses to his mental breakdown, which was also caught on tape thanks to my wire. Drew and John also heard the twisted version of Monaka’s last dance, and Walter’s plans for us that awful night, too. Otherwise, I’m not sure that he would’ve been arrested for Monaka’s murder or Tiramisu’s attempted murder. Him trying to kill Couverture, HoneyMama, and me was just icing on his sick cake. Investigators are working to gather more physical evidence in both cases, but Walter’s nothing if not cunning. Him being a well-connected, wealthy white man doesn’t hurt, either. His mayor-daddy has already threatened to sue everyone involved, including the victims, for luring his son into sinful acts.

“The fact that the reputations of The Honey Spot and its owner, Josephine HoneyMama Thibodeaux, have been restored cannot be disputed. It’s no secret that the lives and deaths of strippers aren’t among high society’s top concerns. So, when one falls, typically the only ones that care are their own. This was exactly the case with Monaka’s murder.”

If it hadn’t been for HoneyMama’s insistence on telling the truth rather than believing the salacious lies about Mr. Graves— her longtime groundskeeper—being the murderer, he might be the one still locked up instead of Walter. Unfortunately for Tiramisu, but fortunately for Mr. Graves, she was attacked while Mr. Graves was in jail, but Butts County still wanted to keep him locked up just for old time’s sake. When it was clear that they’d made a mistake, they let him go but not before he was roughed up. I’ll make sure to include that little tidbit in my story as well. Police brutality is as true a crime as any in my book.

“I was called back to my former club and home to investigate on behalf of HoneyMama as well as for my current job at the Metro Journal. Here, I’m able to tell the impartial truth to all of the readers, not just those interested in a stripper’s life, although I’d be lying to myself and to you, my readers, if I said that wasn’t a large part of it. Monaka’s life was about more than her death, and I hope that the next time you come across the death of someone not like you, typically looked upon as an outcast, you’ll think twice before judging.”

It’s been one hell of a month. With HoneyMama still healing from her wounds at home and me in and out of the doctor’s office three times a week, I haven’t had much time to work on the rest of our story. Walters’s arraignment is coming up and we all have to get ready for the hell storm that’s sure to come from the mayor’s office. So far, they’ve been content just letting us be now that Mr. Graves is out of jail. The mayor and all his men probably think we’re somewhere licking our wounds at the moment. However, Drew’s been hot on the case and digging into Walter’s past and his connections throughout the South as the mayor’s son. Not only are we working on building a rock-solid case to lock him up for Monaka’s murder, but Mocha’s now at the forefront of his investigation too, and my next story.

I want to go back to work as soon as possible not only to dig further into the details of Mocha’s murder almost twenty years ago, but also into what happened during the cover-up, which is always the bigger story. I have a sneaky feeling that something went down at The Pimp Palace, her last known place of employment before her disappearance and ultimate death. The only way to find out what really happened is to get my ass back in the saddle as an undercover dancer like we planned before Walter tried to kill off HoneyMama’s dancers one by one, including me.

Speaking of, C’s been radio silent ever since our brush with death and she is still in the hospital recovering. Lucky for her. Otherwise, she’d be in a jail cell for almost getting us killed. Even though there was a deal in place when she helped us finally snag Walter’s psychotic ass, something tells me that she’ll still end up walking away without serving a day on the inside. Still, I don’t think it’s going to be without some severe repercussions, or at least I hope not, mainly for Dulce’s sake. After finding out that C had a hand in her wife’s—Monaka’s—murder, the girl’s one snap away from a murder rap herself, and there won’t be anything to investigate. Dulce’s never done anything without taking full credit for her actions—good or bad.

“Keke, here. Drink this,” Shelley says, handing me a glass of cold water. “It’ll help the Vicodin go down smoother.”

“Thank you so much, girl. The only way to stay in front of this pain is to never let it start in the first place, just like cramps.” I place the laptop down on the cluttered wooden coffee table and swallow the bitter white pill.

She and her husband have been gracious enough to look after me during the healing process. It’s been something staying in a house full of kids. In my current state, I do have to say that even with the noise and the mess, I prefer staying here to being home alone. I could use a break from the forever romper room but I’m not comfortable going out by myself yet. Not that I think Mayor Carter would send his goons after me, but I also wouldn’t put it past him. From what little I know about the mayor and Walter’s crazy-ass mother, the apple can’t have fallen too far from their twisted family tree.

“Keke, remember you have a video visit with the surgeon at noon,” Shelley says, ever the doting caretaker. I know sometimes it works her husband’s nerves, but we’re all grateful for her tenacious organization and skill for remembering multiple schedules every day—all those except for her own. She needs a personal assistant just to take care of her.

I walk through the cluttered living room into the bright and airy kitchen. “Thank you, dear,” I say, putting the empty glass down on the kitchen counter. I take a bite of one of the leftover egg, turkey bacon, and whole wheat English muffin sandwiches she made for the family earlier this morning. The girl’s nothing if not a multitasker. “So, what are you up to today?”

“Oh, you know. The usual,” she says, emptying the dishwasher. “Probably meet up with my fancy friends and go to all the fancy places that fancy people go to. You know, a typical day in the life of a stay-at-home mom.” She removes the kitchen towel from her left shoulder and tosses it my way as I take another bite of the cold food.

I catch the soggy towel with my free hand. “Real funny,” I say, returning the throw with a little more power.

Shelley catches the towel, impressed with my throw. “Glad to see you’re almost back to your old self. Pretty soon you’ll be able to get the hell out of my house, and wine cabinet.”

“I haven’t been that difficult of a houseguest, have I?” I say, swallowing another bite. “Besides, my alcohol consumption has been drastically reduced by the strong-ass drugs the hospital sent me home with.”

“True, true,” she says, closing the dishwasher and turning her attention to the full dish rack next to the sink. Housework’s never done around here. “And, you know I’m just joking. I love having the company.” Shelley takes the silicone toddler dishes and stacks them on the countertop one by one. “It’s nice having an adult to talk to all day. Believe it or not, you help me just as much as I help you.”

“Speaking of help,” I say, limping over to the kitchen sink to wash my dish and help her put away the others as much as I can. My internal injuries are healing slowly but surely. “I need a ride to the paper this afternoon to pick up some files. Pete left them at the front desk—I won’t even have to go upstairs, thank goodness.”

“Keke, you know the doctor said that you’re not supposed to go back to work for at least another two weeks,” Shelley scolds. “I’m sure that includes going inside the building no matter what floor you end up on.”

“I’m not going back to work per se. Just picking up a couple of files, promise,” I say, crossing my heart and raising my hand like we’re in grade school.

“That sounds like work to me. And I for one am not going to be a party to you disobeying doctor’s orders,” she says, wagging her chipped-purple polished index finger in my face. “Besides, I’m sure whatever it is can wait until you’re officially off disability. You don’t want to mess up your benefit checks.”

“Technically, everything can wait, Shelley.” I remove a clay plate from the bottom rack and carefully place it in the wooden tray next to the sink. Dishes are easily broken in this kitchen, but she refuses to give up using the real stuff no matter how fascinated her kids are with watching things fall apart. “That doesn’t mean that it should. I need to get those files and look through them before the arraignment. There may be something important that we overlooked. It could make the difference between Walter getting bail or staying behind bars where he belongs, once he’s out of the intensive care unit, that is.”

“With any luck he’ll be dead before then,” Shelley says, nearly busting a mason jar in the oversized farm sink. “Save the taxpayers some money.”

My cell phone vibrates with a call. “Speak of the Devil,” I say, glancing down at the phone. “Drew, any news?” I answer, balancing the phone between my left shoulder and cheek.

Shelley rolls her brown eyes hard. She disapproves of us talking every day, pretty much all day, but they don’t call it trauma bonding for nothing. Me, HoneyMama, Dulce, and Drew have formed an even tighter bond since the night of our nearly botched attempt to get Walter’s confession. Pete and Tiramisu are on the outskirts of our little circle, but we still keep them informed if there are any pertinent developments. They’re supposed to do the same for us.

“As a matter of fact, there is,” he says, his buttery chocolate voice making me tingle all over. “I’m pulling up to Shelley’s house in about a minute. Up for a little drive?”

“Absofuckinglutely.” I walk as fast as my limping ass will allow past the kitchen island and into the living room to grab my work bag. I’ve never needed a break from mommy-and-me time so badly before.

“Keke, what are y’all talking about?” Shelley yells from the kitchen. She walks in just as I slip into my Adidas slides and open the front door.

“I’ll be right back.” I wince as I try to mask the discomfort in my shoulder. I never knew how heavy a computer bag could be until I got body-slammed by a crazy person.

“Would you mind swinging me by the paper real quick? I need to grab some paperwork. It’ll only take a second.”

“For you, I’ve got all day.”

Drew pulls up in the black, unmarked squad car with government tags—part of the perks of being a detective. He puts the car in park, steps out, and opens the passenger’s-side door before kissing me on the cheek. He closes the door behind me as I make myself comfortable in the air-conditioned sedan. I need a breather from Shelley’s well-meaning nagging, and I’ve missed being around Drew and The Honey Spot. One day at a time, I know, but I can’t wait to get back on the grind in more ways than one.

IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE ME AND DREW HAVE HAD A MOMENT TO ourselves in person, especially in such close quarters. The last time we met we almost had sex at the dinner table, damn the audience. So, I’m glad there’s at least a few wounds to keep me from crossing the armrest of his government-issued vehicle and mounting him like an antelope in the wilderness or wherever the hell antelopes live. From the way he’s shifting in his seat, I’d say he’s not too far off from feeling the same way.

“So, how’s the wife and kids?”

Drew glares at me without taking his eyes completely off the congested Atlanta roads. We’re not too far from the paper’s headquarters, but with traffic it’s at least a half hour from Shelley’s posh Druid Hills neighborhood.

“Not funny.”

“Wasn’t trying to be. Wedding plans coming along well?”

“Keke McCoy.”

“That’s my name, Elijah Drew.”

He stops at a red light on Ponce and turns to look me square in the eye. Hate to admit it, but I think I just came a little bit, even if he is silently scolding me with his narrow brown gaze.

“I didn’t know anything about the wedding, Keke, I promise. Don’t you think I would have told you if I knew that I was getting married?”

“You can’t be serious, right?” I say incredulously. “Remember me, the one you lived with and hid all of your other so-called relationships from for years including the one where you have a daughter to show as proof?”

Drew looks genuinely hurt by my assessment, but facts are facts, and the truth is the truth no matter how much he wants to change the past. I’ll never forget all that we’ve been through. No matter how much I’m still attracted to him I’d never go back to the way things were before.

One thing I can say for sure is that Drew’s an excellent liar, which is why he’s probably such a good detective. He can get anyone to trust him just by saying the right words in the right order. I don’t think it’s a bad thing. Hell, it’s a skill I wish I had. I’m just saying that I wish he’d only use his powers for good rather than to get into women’s panties like he did when we were together. At least he’s over running the streets, or I hope so for his sake. Corrine’s not too far from crazy to go to jail over some stupid shit.

“I can’t change the past, Keke. And I am sorry for lying to you repeatedly back in the day. If I could change the way that I acted during our relationship I would.” He takes my hand in his and brings it to his lips. “Moving forward, I hope you know that I’d never lie to you about something so serious ever again. The fact that you were able to find out more about my surprise wedding trip than I was without even asking is a problem in more ways than one.”

“Oh yeah?” I laugh, reclaiming my hand and replacing his on the steering wheel. “Why’s that, I wonder?” I know I sound like a bitter bitch, but I can’t help it. Corrine’s getting the wedding I always dreamed I’d have with Drew, even if it is on a goddamn ship in the middle of the ocean without their closest friends and family to witness the occasion. If Drew had asked me to marry him, I would have done it in a heartbeat anywhere at any time back in the day. With my recent stroke of bad luck with men, I don’t know if I ever want to get legally married to anyone now. If I did, I think it’s safe to say that Drew’s out of the running, and that pisses me off.

“Come on. Don’t be like that with me. You know me better than to think I’d ever go for something like a surprise wedding, especially on a family cruise, no less,” he chuckles. “That’s not my style, girl, and you know it.”

The problem is that I do know it and I know him. Drew’s a family man through and through and would want his entire family around to see him jump the broom. I’m sure having his daughters in the wedding was part of Corrine’s plan, but they’re not his only relatives and she knows that. Why she thought he’d go for an elopement, especially when he didn’t even know about it, is beyond me but not surprising, really. The chick has always reeked of desperation.

“I do know, Drew. And that’s a large part of the problem.”

Drew rounds the corner and joins the rest of the traffic en route to downtown Atlanta. It’s a beautiful day and we can feel the fall weather coming soon. I kind of miss being in the city and able to walk almost anywhere. I mostly miss my favorite Greek restaurant near Trader Joe’s but it’s not like on my salary I can afford to eat there all that often anyway. Shelley mostly cooks some sort of recent recipe provided by her mom, me, or chat groups. Sometimes we just eat pizza. The kids really rule the household when it comes to anything edible unless it’s got weed in it.

“Knowing me could never be bad for you, Keke. I hope you know how much it means to me to have you back in my life, even if we are just friends.”

“Oh, we’re just friends now? Somebody’s finally listening.”

Drew can’t help but smile. For the past two weeks he’s done his best to try and convince me that he’ll figure out a way for us to try again while still being a full-time dad to his girls. We both know that’s a pipe dream because Corrine would raise all kinds of Cain if he tried to leave her, including suing for full custody. It would break him if anything ever happened to his daughters. He already has full custody of his oldest from a previous relationshi. . .