When Rain Falls

Book 0: Victory Gospel

by Tyora Moody

Genres: African American; African American Christian

Synopsis

First her mother, then her detective husband Frank and now her best friend Pamela Coleman: Murder keeps striking down those who Candace Johnson loves most, and now she faces a terrible crisis of faith. Enter Detective Darnell Jackson. He’s determined to track down Pamela’s killer, but he’s going to need Candace’s help. In Darnell, she sees a chance for justice in Candace, he sees a beautiful, dynamic woman who desperately needs God in her life. As Candace reluctantly opens up about some unsavory aspects of her friend’s life, Darnell starts to see disturbing connections between Pamela’s killing and Frank’s. But the culprit is still out there, and if Candace and Darnell can’t put the pieces together soon, they may be the next victims!

Release date: April 24, 2012

Publisher: Urban Christian

Print pages: 288

Sample

“What’s going on?” Candace Johnson sat up in the bed and waited. Either the cellular company had dropped the call or her friend was on the line, probably twirling a lock of hair, her mind elsewhere. She fired off, “Pamela, are you still there?”

“I’m here,” Pamela shot back. Her friend let out a deep sigh. “There’s a lot I’m trying to process right now. It’s late. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. “You’re kidding me, right?” Nothing rattled Pamela Coleman, but only a few minutes ago Pamela had called with a shaky voice, saying, “We have to talk.” There was no way Pamela could leave the conversation hanging until the morning.

“I’m tired, Candace. To be quite honest, I may not be thinking straight.”

Candace pulled the covers up closer to her body. It wasn’t unusual for them to talk until the wee hours of the morning, but she knew not to push her friend. “Where are you, anyway? Are you still at the art gallery reception this late?”

“No, I’m on my way home.”

“All right, girlfriend. I hope you get a good night’s sleep. There will be no excuses tomorrow. I expect you to spill everything.”

“I hope I can. You get some sleep, too.”

The dial tone buzzed in her ear for a few seconds before she hung up the cordless phone. Sleep. That’s a joke.

Out of habit, Candace slipped out of the bed and walked over to the window. She lifted one of the blind slats to peer out onto the street. It had been over a year and a half since the police department had provided protection for her family during the night. Now it seemed the police no longer cared. Other cases took priority, she guessed. Maybe it was all her imagination, overcome by grief and loss.

Rain pelted the roof and windows. The kind of rain that could coax a person into a deep, restful sleep. Candace wished. A full night’s sleep had become a lost luxury, but she would try to close her eyes. As she climbed under her favorite quilt, uneasiness settled over her mind. Again. Another long night awaited her.

She could blame her sleeplessness on the late-night pizza session with the kids, but she knew better. Even Pamela’s ominous call didn’t help matters. It was the past that kept her staring at the ceiling, walking beside her like a maddening visitor, just hanging around, with no signs of departure.

Stealing her sleep, her peace.

She gripped the quilt, hugging it close to her body. Her aunt always said, “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Candace didn’t care about being strong. She wanted answers.

She stared into the darkness, beyond the clock, to where the glow illuminated a man’s features. The photo was barely visible, but Candace had it memorized. In her mind, she could see Detective Frank Johnson dressed in his uniform. Though his smile was serious, his deep dimples still made an appearance.

Almost seventeen years of marriage. Her protector.

Seemed like everyone these days told her the same thing. “Frank would’ve wanted you to move on.” How could she? Her Frank believed in justice. In the end, her husband received none. That haunted her.

She did need to get herself together. Her children had been through enough. She didn’t need Rachel and Daniel worrying about their mother. More than anything she wanted them to enjoy their youth. She didn’t want them to experience the pain she struggled through at their age from losing a parent.

So Candace meditated on the rain, willing her eyes to grow heavy.

Mama!

Her eyes flew open, and then she smacked the pillow. Even as she resolved to put the familiar memory out of her mind, questions lingered. Why now?

Almost thirty years had passed since that night. It seemed like every now and then Mama decided to visit her in a dream. Images of the beautiful, troubled woman who birthed her often were like a bittersweet reunion. But sometimes he would show up, too.

Candace was no longer afraid of him. She’d made sure to track down his whereabouts after Frank’s death just to be sure her childhood bogeyman had not returned. She knew he wasn’t a threat to her anymore.

Still, she knew sleep would not come tonight. She refused to close her eyes. Like that night long ago, it felt like God had stopped by to shake her around like one of those snow globes. Where would the pieces of her life fall like those flakes? Candace wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Candace focused her thoughts on the earlier phone call. Pamela, what do you have to tell me tomorrow?

I will never leave you or forsake you.

He made sure to park the car a distance away. Then he walked, being careful to avoid the streetlights, closer to the house. He was in a crime-watch zone. No need to make neighbors suspicious. The night’s events had put him on edge. All he wanted to do was bury the past and move on. But no, she had dug it all back up again, practically accusing him. He would deal with the situation soon enough.

For now, it was time to visit an old friend.

With the stealth that he’d used many times to break into homes, he crept forward until he reached the oak tree located parallel to the house. He peered around the trunk and looked up toward the window.

The house was dark, but he knew. She’s awake. Thinking about me.

He smiled.

He couldn’t take it anymore; he was ready to run. The sun remained hidden, but his body told him to get up and move. Without looking at the clock, Detective Darnell Jackson leapt from the bed. He slipped on a light blue Tar Heels sweatshirt and then a dark blue pair of sweatpants. Inside the bathroom of his master bedroom, he rubbed his hand across three days’ worth of stubble on his face. He certainly was no Denzel Washington, but most of the time he felt pretty good about his looks.

What he saw in the mirror this morning—just plain scary. His dark brown eyes were haunted from years of studying the evil ways of people. The case from this past week still weighed heavily on his mind, locking stress deep down into his neck and across his shoulders. Was there any rest for the weary? He needed to burn off some of this tension so he could enjoy the rest of his day off.

Darnell headed to the living room. This was his place, but he spent so much time on the job, some of the walls still remained bare, and in other areas, stacked boxes served as the decor. He bent down over the coffee table and pushed around two weeks’ worth of newspapers, several ESPN magazines, and a stack of junk mail.

As items fell off of the table, his golden Lab/Beagle mix, Zack, came alive from his corner and began putting his nose to work. It didn’t take long for the dog to discover remnants from his owner’s late-night snack—a few cold, greasy fries. Finally locating his shades, Darnell placed them on top of his head. The sun would certainly meet him on his way back.

He glanced over at his four-legged housemate and laughed. That dog brought him a lot of joy. The irony continued to boggle his mind, since it was only three years before that he’d brought home the shy, mistreated dog for his now ex-wife. But it had been too late. Apparently, a raggedy mutt didn’t make up for his frequent absences. Two years had passed since the divorce, and Darnell considered Zack his best asset. “All right, boy. Let me grab your leash, and we’re out of here.”

The dog nearly ran into his owner as Darnell walked over to grab the leash from the hook behind the door. Zack jumped in the air and then stood on his hind legs. Darnell laughed again, trying to snap the leash on Zack’s collar. His hand was on the door when his cell phone chimed from the coffee table. Man and dog traded glances.

If he answered the phone, his gut told him he could forget about running. And so much for the afternoon off. Despite the effort he and his partner had put into gathering evidence, it simply wasn’t enough for the district attorney to send before a grand jury. He needed a break. Sometimes Darnell hated the job he loved.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Man, I got issues. I’m talking to my dog like he’s a person.

Zack howled in protest and dropped to the floor in a doggy huff.

Darnell looked at the caller ID. It was his partner. He sat down on the black suede couch and flipped the phone open. “Yeah, Brunson. What’s up? Thought you were hanging with the grandkids today.”

Detective Steven Brunson spewed out a string of words interspersed with a few profanities. Darnell winced and held the phone from his ear. Darnell was no saint, but since the divorce, he had embraced God in his life again. His failure as a husband affected his psyche far more than he wanted to admit. This time he intended to keep on the straight and narrow path. The raucous humor and language around the office made him downright uncomfortable these days.

Darnell interrupted the tirade. “Slow down, man. I’m not following you.”

“The captain wants us at this address, pronto,” Brunson wheezed.

Darnell wanted to ask him if he had started smoking again, but he already knew the answer. The old man had a death wish. As Brunson relayed the events to him, Darnell stared at his reflection in the twenty-five-inch flat-screen television. The more Brunson talked, the more Darnell wished he’d gone for his morning run.

Her legs were exquisite. Darnell tore his eyes away to refocus on the scene. He’d developed strange habits over the years. Whenever he entered a crime scene, he focused on details that really didn’t matter. In some weird way, it helped him concentrate on the lifeless body, heightening his senses to find the clues he needed to seek justice. Right then, he needed to piece together this crime scene. Those legs belonged to a prominent defense lawyer.

Darnell tended to have a bad taste in his mouth about most lawyers, but he liked Pamela Coleman. Definitely nice on the eyes, but not the only reason he liked her. Despite her beauty, she gave prosecutors nightmares as they fought to prove her clients’ guilt. Hundreds of criminal cases. Her list of enemies could span a decade or more. He had to figure out who hated Pamela enough to smash in her skull, leaving her blood across her two-car garage floor.

Flashes bounced off the walls as a young crime scene investigator Darnell didn’t know snapped photos nearby. He turned his attention to the victim’s face. Her brown eyes were wide open; her full lips slightly parted. What was she thinking in those last moments? Did her assailant allow her time to speak? A spaghetti-strapped red dress peeked out from under Pamela’s black trench coat. Was she on her way out or returning home?

Buzz.

What was that? Darnell looked away from the corpse and cocked his head to the side. The sound vibrated nearby. Dropping to one knee on the cold concrete, he peeked under the white Volvo. A cell phone lay inches away. “Hey, Brunson, bring over an evidence bag.” Perched on his elbow and knees, Darnell reached under the car and grabbed the black phone with a rubber-gloved hand. He didn’t much like phones with the fancy keyboard. Probably good for text messaging. Darnell barely liked typing on a full-size keyboard. Pen and paper worked just fine.

Brunson walked up with the bag. “You know how to work that thing?”

“Nope.”

“Good luck. Better you than me.”

The phone vibrated in Darnell’s hands. A number appeared on the screen. “Hey, Brunson, write this down.” Darnell called out the phone number to his partner. He slipped the phone into the evidence bag and placed his initials on the bag. The forensic lab could examine it better in a sterile setting. He’d check the phone records later. For now, he needed to focus on the victim.

Blood had seeped into the concrete, tinting her mass of dark hair with dark reddish tones. Her chocolate brown complexion appeared ashen underneath the bright fluorescent lights.

The medical examiner, Lou Reynolds, tilted his head to the side. Darnell knew Lou longed for his approaching retirement but remained dedicated. “Ah, Jackson, I tell you our boys started the season well the other night.”

Darnell grinned. “Yes, they did. They need to keep it up, though.” Being a die-hard Tar Heels fan and basketball lover had its advantages. Especially with his transfer from California still being fresh. It felt good to have some common ground with guys who clearly felt passed over for the coveted detective position. “So, Lou, how long you think she’s been dead?”

Lou looked over his rectangular glasses at Darnell. “Well, it looks like rigor mortis has set in pretty well. I estimate ’bout ten to twelve hours.”

“Any ideas about the murder weapon?”

“We got guys searching the garage. As you can see, we have quite a few to examine.” Lou tilted his head toward the neatly organized back wall. Either Pamela had enjoyed being a carpenter on the side or she’d had a fetish for tools.

“So, did she die immediately?”

“Hard to say right now. With no immediate attention, some bleeding could’ve occurred inside her brain over time. Depending on the strength of the blow, she could’ve hit this concrete dead.”

“Mmm, so who found her?”

“Um, well ... her dad.”

“Ah, man, that’s rough. Is he inside?”

Lou exhaled. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Huh?”

“Her dad. Judge Bill Coleman.”

Darnell rubbed his hand across his closely shaven head. A judge’s daughter. Man, this case could get worse before they got started. A stretcher arrived for the corpse. “Thanks, Lou. Keep me updated. I guess it’s time to stand before the judge.” Darnell balked at his own humor, almost running into the fresh-faced forensics investigator with the freckles and red hair. Howdy Doody meets Forensic Files. He needed to quit while he was ahead. But he couldn’t help it.

The Howdy Doody look-alike grinned. “Hey, Detective. I think all the essential items have been found, but I have something you have got to see.”

Darnell glanced at some of the marked items. With her wallet, car keys, and the car still in the garage, robbery didn’t appear to be a motive. From the collected Baggies, the young man reached inside one and pulled out an item. “Check it out.”

Darnell whistled as the pear-shaped stone caught the sun rays, projecting a shimmering reflection against the garage’s back wall. “Man, that is some serious bling-bling. Where did you find it?”

“Over in the corner. Looks like it was torn from around her neck. See? The clasp is broken.”

He studied the gold chain links. The defense attorney must have ticked off somebody close to her. He headed toward the house, thinking it was time to talk to Pamela’s father, to see if the judge knew who had it in for his “little girl.” Right now this scene had “crime of passion” written all over it.

Pamela, where are you? She better have a good excuse. Candace monitored the clock for the tenth time that morning. She’d called Pamela’s home phone, her BlackBerry, and the office phone. Nothing. Pamela had asked her if she wanted to attend the art gallery opening last night, but Candace had declined.

Now she kind of regretted not accepting her friend’s offer.

Even though her own life seemed to revolve around being a mom and owner of Crown of Beauty Salon, she was still curious about the other side. That is, the sophisticated lifestyle her best friend lived as a high-profile defense lawyer.

A fit of hacking interrupted Candace’s stream of thoughts. She realized, her one client who showed up on time that day had grown quiet. “Mrs. Roberts, is everything okay?”

Fredricka Roberts talked to anyone who would listen. Most people couldn’t help but listen to the seventy-six-year-old. Feeling sheepish, Candace realized she’d lost focus on the woman’s conversation a few minutes before.

“Well, honey, I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I have so many things going through my head today.”

“That’s okay, sugar. I appreciate you fixing me up at the last minute. My son sent tickets for a seven o’clock flight Saturday morning. Lord, have mercy. I’m getting too old to be flying around those clouds. God might decide to say, ‘Well, the old bat’s so close, I may as well take her on home with me.’”

Grinning, Candace responded, “Mrs. Roberts, you need to stop. You got too much to offer us young things down here for God to take you yet.”

“Sugar, you are a sweetie pie. Life is scary enough on the ground. If someone decided he wants to terrorize me in the air, I may have to take him down.”

Candace laughed as she adjusted the chair for her client’s lithe frame. As a result of her years with the Katherine Dunham Company, a modern dance company, the older woman probably could knock a terrorist off his feet with her strong, shapely legs.

“So, is your granddaughter going with you?”

Mrs. Roberts’s smile faltered. “No, I can’t get that girl to go anywhere.”

“Well, like you tell me, we have to be patient with these young‘uns and pray for God to do a work in their hearts.”

“Well, you know what? God may not be through with me yet. Always something to bring Him to clean up.”

Both women laughed.

From behind her, Candace heard a voice. “Is that Miss Roberts, with her grown self, over there acting up?”

After she grabbed a bottle of shampoo from the shelf, Candace turned and winked at her stylist, Beulah Samuels. “Ain’t she something else?”

Beulah placed her hand on her round hips and shook her head. “I tell you, if I grow up to look like this woman, you couldn’t tell me anything.”

“Ah, now, Beulah, you are already in a class by yourself, Miss Thang.” That was for sure. Well into her fifties, Beulah wore a short, recently dyed platinum blond Afro with the finesse of a much younger woman. The colors blended well with her creamy, smooth complexion.

“Thank you, honey.” Beulah leaned in closer to Candace’s ear. “Honey, you okay? You’re not looking too good.”

Candace grabbed the hose to rinse her client’s hair. She knew Beulah meant no harm, but now wasn’t the time. She should’ve known Beulah would eventually pick up on her lack of sleep. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Now, Tangie is the one you might want to worry about.” This morning must be the day for Divas Missing in Action. First, Pamela, a no-show. Now one of her stylists was almost an hour late. Yet again, somebody who didn’t know how to pick up the phone out of courtesy.

Beulah frowned. “She is making this a habit. Don’t be too hard on her now.”

Candace grunted. That was the problem. People tended to take her being nice as confirmation to do what they wanted. At this stage in her life, Candace could empathize with Tangie, being a single mom, but time was money.

Beulah came back out the supply room with an armful of towels. “Candace, you got to take care of yourself, too.” She raised her thinly arched eyebrows. “You sure you don’t need to take some time off?”

“How can I? We have clients booked, and not everyone is showing up to do their job. Look, I will be fine, but yeah, a vacation would be real nice.”

“You the boss lady. Take one. And if you need help, you holler. Loud.”

Candace murmured, “I will.” She had no intentions of being a burden on anyone, especially Beulah. The woman took on more than was necessary. She’d almost become a surrogate mother to Candace. Only Beulah and Pamela knew how she had clawed her way back after losing Frank.

“By the way, sugar, I wanted to know when you were going to let me introduce you to my nephew.”

“Ah, Beulah, come on. I’m sure your nephew is a wonderful man, but right now I can’t.”

“Honey, I’m not trying to pressure you.” Beulah grinned. “I just know you two should at least meet each other.”

Candace balked at Beulah’s matchmaking. The one and only man she’d dated in her life, she’d fallen head over heels in love with, and they’d had two beautiful children, and then God took him from her. She had accepted Jesus in her life as a young girl, but over the years she had grown distant from God. Her mother’s murder had pierced her faith. As she struggled to understand Frank’s death, she felt the farthest away she had ever been from God. Her eyes stung. She bit her lip.

From the sink area, Candace heard the salon’s back door open. Water from the hose splashed up into her face. Thank goodness Mrs. Roberts had drifted off into la-la land. As she grabbed a towel to dry her face, Tangerine Nelson, better known as Tangie, poked her head into the sink area.

Tangie’s micro braids were held elegantly at the top of her head; the braided tresses curled at the ends and trailed down to the nape of her neck. A pair of gold hoop earrings danced as she moved her head. Almost six feet tall, the ebony-skinned woman had had aspirations of being a model. A bad marriage and three children later, Tangie devoted her life instead to making others beautiful. Well, at least when she decided to show up to work on time.

“Hey, Candace.”

“Nice of you to show up this morning, Tangie.” Her retort came out sharper than she wanted. Candace didn’t want to be confrontational, but she didn’t want to hear any excuses. She could’ve at least called.

Tangie sucked her breath in sharply. “I’m sorry. My babysitter went out of town again without telling me. I had to take the boys all the way across town to Mama’s house. She wasn’t pleased.” In the mirror above the sink, Tangie did a quick check. Candace thought her makeup looked flawless. Tangie thought otherwise, as she reached in her purse to pull out a tube of lip gloss.

“To make matters worse ...” Tangie applied the shimmery burgundy liquid to her lips. “I would’ve been here sooner, but Mama’s refrigerator was empty. I had to run around the corner to get some groceries. You know my three little monsters can eat.”

Candace reached for a towel from the basket behind her and threw it across her shoulder. She didn’t bother to look Tangie in the eyes. They were going to have to talk soon. She had a business to run. “So, you were nowhere near a phone to call and say, ‘Candace I’m going to be late.’”

Tangie shook her head. “I’m sorry.” Despite her apology, she narrowed her eyes and faced Candace. “I’ll call next time, okay?” The gold bracelets on Tangie’s arms clattered to a beat as she walked away.

Candace’s neck and shoulders began to tighten. She didn’t need this drama. Once again she glanced over at the clock. She needed Pamela there. Her friend could make her laugh like nobody else. Make her forget about all her issues.

Pamela, where are you? And what is it you couldn’t tell me last night?

He hated this part. Darnell hesitated at the door, scanning the white sofas, Oriental rug, and large paintings. A fireplace took center stage, the mantle lined with exotic statues. People were everywhere in the room. He could fit his entire apartment in this area alone. Pamel. . .