Then Sings My Soul Read online

  "Guess we'd better be getting home." She tossed the empty paper bag, used napkins and empty soda can into the trash bin and started for home pushing Ma’dear slowly so as not to wake her.

  Once she got her grandmother home, and in bed, Shanell turned to go, but Ma’dear held her hand. Once again she patted the space on the bed to indicate she wanted her granddaughter to sit beside her for a while. Shanell noticed tears in the corner of her grandmother's eyes as she tried to speak, slowly at first; as she went on, her voice grew stronger. She told Shanell about her life in New York with Willie Joe and Sadie. After Melvin was born, she sent him to live with her mother. She spoke about meeting and marrying Grandpa Livingston and Hazel's birth.

  Shanell realized that Ma’dear wasn't talking to her; it was as if she needed to relieve herself of a weight she'd been carrying so long. Finally, when she stopped, after a long moment of silence, Shanell asked, "How did your first husband die? Was he killed in a car accident or lynched or something?"

  "No, he just got sick and died."

  "Tell me more about Sadie. What happened to her?"

  Ma’dear didn't answer. She turned over on her side, away from her granddaughter. Shanell took that as a sign her grandmother wanted to sleep, so she turned off the TV and tiptoed from the room.

  That evening as the family sat down to dinner, Shanell related her afternoon to her mother and sister. "Ma’dear and me was talking about the time when she was young. She told me about her first husband. I didn't know she'd been married before. Did you, Momma?"

  Hazel seemed preoccupied. She'd been out all day, trying to find another job without much luck.

  "Yes, I think I remember something about it. Melvin told me."

  "She said her husband got sick and died. He wasn't that old, was he?" asked Shanell, as she sprinkled a generous amount of salt over everything on her plate.

  Hazel frowned, "No, I don't think so." She picked up the saltshaker and moved it to the far side of the table out of her daughter's reach.

  "Ma’dear told me about her friend Sadie, too. She didn't say much though."

  "Why are you so curious? Sound like a detective or something," Tricia said. Hazel didn't respond.

  "Did you know Sadie, Momma?" asked Tricia, reaching over for a slice of bread.

  "I heard your grandmother speak of her at one time," said Hazel.

  "Wasn't she your friend Tyreshia's aunt?" continued Tricia.

  "Now who's being nosey?" Shanell said.

  Looking up from her plate, she glared at Tricia. "How do you know about Tyreshia?" Hazel asked in a harsh voice.

  "I remember when I was about ten, this woman came to the house," responded Tricia, seeming not to notice her mother's sudden tenseness.

  "It's a long story and it's not important," Hazel answered hoping to close the matter. They ate in silence when suddenly the phone rang, startling everyone. Shanell jumped up to answer it.

  "It's for you, Momma," she said handing the phone to her mother. "It's the police."

  The old fear that had gripped them when they were involved with Donald and his troubles came back hovering over the family like a time bomb. Each had believed or hoped that the matter had been resolved, though Hazel knew better. As she spoke into the receiver, Shanell and Tricia strained to listen.

  "They want me to come down to the station tonight," she said as she hung up the telephone.

  "You're not going, are you?" Shanell asked. "Why do they want to see you? What for?"

  Tricia jumped up. "I'm going with you."

  Hazel tried to dissuade her but her daughter insisted.

  "Can I come too?" Shanell asked.

  "No, you stay home and look after Ma’dear." Hazel gathered her things as she and Tricia started for the door, "And clean up the kitchen," she called before going out.

  Once they had gone, Shanell felt dissatisfied. So many unanswered questions. Ma’dear was asleep, the apartment was quiet, and TV was a wasteland. She didn't feel like calling her friend Babe, and after she finished washing and putting away the dishes, pots and pans, she felt restless. Reluctantly, she decided to finish the boring book she needed to write a report on for her English class.

  Trying to remember where she'd laid it, she looked around the living room and the bedroom she and Tricia shared. Then she remembered. She'd left it in Ma’dear's room. Quietly slipping into the room, she looked around. Ma’dear's gentle snoring comforted her somewhat. Searching quickly for the book she spotted it on the floor beside Ma’dear's suitcase. The suitcase was open and an old notebook was sticking out. Curiosity got the best of Shanell. She slid the notebook from beneath her grandmother's winter clothes that Hazel had promised to pack away one day. Shanell recognized it as a journal written in her Ma'dear's distinct handwriting. She glanced over at her sleeping grandmother and then at the notebook.

  Sliding silently to the floor, her back resting against the closet, she opened the notebook and started reading.

  "I remember when I was a little girl..." Before long, Shanell sank deep into the yellowed pages. When she heard her grandmother's deep sigh, she jumped. Pushing off feelings of guilt, she stashed the notebook beneath her tee shirt and quietly made her way from the room. Once in her and Tricia's bedroom, she propped herself on the bed and continued to read.

  Two hours later she heard the front door open and knew that her mother and Tricia were back. She greeted them, not even asking details about their adventure at the police station. Once her sister and mother had gone to sleep, she slipped backed into her grandmother's room and put the notebook back where she found it. Tomorrow she'd continue where she left off. In those hours of reading her grandmother's journal, what she'd learned about Willie Joe and Sadie whetted her appetite for more.

  Chapter 47 - Tricia

  When Momma and I walked into the police station, I was more than a little nervous. This was the first time I'd been in a place like that. I had expected it to look like those places I'd seen in those old movies set in a big city, a grimy old building with a tall ceiling, dingy walls and huge wooden desks where a mean sergeant peered down on everybody, and sweaty cops hauled in suspects; noisy with a lot of shouting.

  I was surprised to see how the place looked like a regular office with cubicles, like where Momma worked. It was neat, quiet and except for the men in uniforms, I wouldn't have believed this was a police station. Don't get me wrong, it didn't look all that innocent but it wasn't a bit like I had expected.

  While Momma went up to speak to an officer at the desk, I sat down and waited. On the walls I saw photos of all the past police chiefs. There was only one other person who seemed to be waiting, a small man who looked like he'd seen better days. He smelled bad, like he needed a bath, his head kept dropping to his chest, as if he was trying not to fall asleep but couldn't help himself. I slid to the other end of the bench as far away from him as I could.

  As I sat there waiting, a tune started playing in my head, not a complete song, just a melody that had been bugging me off and on. You know how you get a jingle in your head and can't let go. I started to put words to it. It'd been a good month since I'd even thought about singing. That time with Hi C just knocked the desire right out of me. When I think about that time, I start to shake. Now, all of a sudden, I was feeling the urge to write down the words. And it's strange because I never before thought about writing a song. I never even thought I could write. That was what Kanisha did. Gracie and I just sang. Maybe it was seeing Darien again. No, I wasn't ready to deal with that.

  I looked around for something to write on. Somebody had left a stack of flyers on the table next to me. I glanced at the announcement telling people about scams. "Don't be a Victim!" I didn't think anybody would miss a few pieces of paper so I took a couple and started writing on the back. I wrote down the lines in my head. I got so caught up in writing, I didn't see Momma when she came out and stood in front of me.

  "Let's get out of here," she said as she headed for the door.

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p; I shoved the paper in my pocket. "What happened inside? What did they want?" I hurried to keep up with her.

  Momma stopped to light a cigarette before unlocking the car door. "I'm so sick of this mess. I wish I'd never heard of Donald Porter." She seemed to be talking to herself.

  "What did they want?" I asked again.

  "They found my name and address in Manfield Jones's apartment and they wanted to know if I knew him."

  "What did you tell them?"

  "What could I tell them? That he and his friend assaulted me, and that I picked him up at a bar and drove him home? No, I told them I didn't. I said I don't know how he got my name and address. Then one of the detectives that came to the house remembered seeing me and asked if I'd heard from Donald. I think they know there's some connection, but they haven't figured it out yet. Another thing they asked me that almost scared the life out of me. They asked about Foster. I said I never heard of him. I don't think they believed me."

  She was speeding down the freeway, clutching the steering wheel. I could see she was scared and it was scaring me. But by the time we reached home, she was calm.

  She smiled and said, "You go on upstairs. I'm going to see Kevin for a little while. I'll be back soon. Look in on 'Nell and your grandmother. I'm sorry I laid this all on you."

  "That's alright, Momma. We're a team, right? We'll get through this thing together." I tried to smile back. "Don't worry. Are you sure you're alright?"

  She pulled me over and hugged me. "You're growing up to be a beautiful young lady. You and 'Nell make me proud." She kissed me on the cheek.

  I got out of the car and started up the steps. I stopped halfway up and watched the car as it disappeared down the street. As I reached in my pocket for the door key, my hand touched a scrap of paper. I pulled it out. On it was written a telephone number. Then it came back to me.

  Earlier that day I had run into Kanisha. I was coming out of the grocery store and who should be on her way in but Kanisha. I hadn't seen or spoken to her in months. I use to avoid her whenever I spotted her before she saw me. We didn't like each other, I suppose. It wasn't that I didn't like her. I was uncomfortable around her. When she was high, she seemed to be mad all the time, always yelling or cursing somebody out. This time, though she had a big smile on her face when she saw me.

  "Tricia, what have you been up to, girl?" She hugged me.

  "Nothing much. Just trying to finish school." Pulling away carefully, I tried to hide my surprise.

  "I miss you. Never heard from Gracie again. Guess she's still down South or wherever the hell she went. I guess she's planning to stay. Anyway, I wrote some new songs, got me a new manager, and a guy I met down at the studio is looking for a lead vocalist. I thought about you. You've got a fantastic voice. You got a piece of paper? I'll give you his number."

  She tore off a corner of the paper bag I was carrying and wrote down a name and number.

  "Now, you be sure to call him."

  I told her I would, though I wasn't sure I wanted to.

  "Gotta go," she said. "Good seeing you." She grabbed a shopping cart and walked into the store.

  I waited until she was out of sight. Then caught the bus home

  Chapter 48 - Hazel

  Hazel was more shaken than she wished to admit. The police had questioned her and warned her about withholding evidence. She'd hoped that since she hadn't heard from Donald or anybody else, it had all blown over, leaving her to concentrate on finding another job. But no, the problem was still there, waiting. Damn! She thought. When will it end?

  Glancing down at her watch, she debated whether to disturb Kevin. It was 1:30 AM and he was probably asleep. Yet she needed to talk to someone; she needed him. After ringing his bell several times with no answer, she remembered he was out of town on business and wouldn't be back until next week.

  She sat down on his steps and let the tears that she'd been holding in flow. The frustration of having lost her job; the fear of her being arrested for something she had no control over; the danger she'd put her family in because she let Donald use her home as a mail drop. Feeling completely alone and overwhelmed, she cried until she felt weak and extremely tired. When they finally stopped, she pulled herself up from the steps and went back to her car and drove home.

  The next morning, Hazel was awakened by the telephone ringing.

  "Mrs. Porter?" the voice on the other end asked.

  "Yes." Hazel's voice sounded hoarse to her ears. Covering the mouthpiece, she cleared her throat.

  "You don't know me but I know you and you have something that belongs to me."

  Hazel sat up, her heart beat rapidly.

  "Are you still there?" A man's voice asked.

  "Yes, I'm still here."

  "As I was saying, you have something that belongs to me and I'd like to have it back." His voice was cold and detached, like someone planning a funeral. She felt shivers run down her spine.

  "You know what I'm speaking of?" he continued.

  She nodded then mumbled, "Yes."

  "Would you prefer I sent someone to pick it up or will you bring it to me? I'd rather not disturb your mother and your daughters if I don't have to."

  "I'll bring it to you," she said, holding the receiver with both hands, aware of the trembling fear she felt.

  "Good. This is what I want you to do." He waited while she got a pencil and paper to write down the directions.

  "One last thing, If I were you, I wouldn't tell anyone else about this. Don't you agree?"

  She nodded, catching herself. "Yes."

  It was 10:15 AM. He gave her an hour. Hazel leaped out of bed, hopped in the shower, dressed, and after looking in on her mother who was asleep, she picked up the tray holding the empty breakfast dishes, and quietly closed the door. Tricia must have given her breakfast before going to school. Grateful, Hazel made herself a cup of coffee, stuffed the black book into her purse and started on her way.

  Traffic was heavy driving out to the Marina. Finding a place to park was not easy. By the time Hazel reached the restaurant where she was supposed to hand over the book, it was almost 11:20. Though lunchtime was forty minutes away, Fishermen's Haven was already crowded—Middle-aged men, a few dressed in suits, others dressed casually in polo shirts and slacks, women in floral sun dresses, skirts, and some in shorts, with expensive looking necklaces, earrings and bracelets.

  Hazel stood for a moment in the foyer behind two couples waiting. Surveying the crowd she didn't know whom she was supposed to meet. The man on the phone had given her the address and only told her to be there in an hour.

  Suddenly she felt a hand on her arm and being pulled roughly to the side. Stifling a scream, she slapped her hand over her mouth when she saw who it was.

  "Donald! What are you doing here?"

  "Quick, come with me. Don't look back!" He dragged her out to the parking lot and over to his car.

  "Get in! Hurry!"

  She scrambled in and closed the door.

  He jumped behind the wheel, backed out and headed for the exit.

  "What's this all about? What are you doing here?" she asked.

  It was all she could do to get her seat belt fastened as he drove recklessly down the busy highway.

  "Did you bring the book?" he glanced over at her.

  "Who was it on the phone this morning?"

  "I'll explain it all later. Did you bring the black book?"

  She reached into her purse and pulled it out.

  "What's going on? There's been two murders, I've been threatened, my family has been threatened, my house ransacked. I'm scared out of my wits, Donald. How could you do this to us?"

  "I'm sorry I got you involved. Really I am. It's almost over."

  "The restaurant. I was supposed to turn this book over to some man at Fishermen's Haven. Who is he?"

  "He owns the book. If you'd given it back, you would be just as dead as Foster and Jones. You know too much."

  "But I don't know anything, that's the pro
blem. I haven't a clue about what's going on."

  Just then, Donald glanced in the rearview mirror.

  "A car is following us. Hold on!" He pressed the accelerator to the floor. The car shot forward doing almost 90 mph. The Mercedes behind kept up.

  'Look, I'm not going to be able to outrun whoever's following. There's a place just up ahead. I'm going to pull in and let you out. Don't worry; it's always packed. You'll get lost in the crowd. Give me the book and take this." He handed her a thick envelope. "This will explain everything." He exited the freeway and made a right into the parking lot of the Malibu Colony Plaza.

  "Hazel, I've always loved you. Wish I hadn't let you get away. What's that thing they say, 'you never miss the water..."

  She scrambled out of his car and dashed into the nearest souvenir store. As she watched him pull out, she saw the silver Mercedes come up, maneuvering slowly between the hordes of people climbing down from a tour bus. Donald managed to put distance between him and the Mercedes, turning left and speeding back the way they had come.

  Finally getting free from the mass of people, the Mercedes reached the exit, turned left and continued on its pursuit.

  "May I help you?" A smiling young lady greeted Hazel.

  "No, thank you," Hazel responded. "Where's the ladies room?"

  Once safely in the stall, Hazel felt her heartbeat slow. She took a deep breath, pulled out the papers Donald had given her and began to read.

  "So that's what this is all about," she muttered. With trembling hands, she tucked the papers back into her purse.

  *****

  That evening, as the family watched the news on TV, with all the usual disasters - police standoffs, kidnapping, freeway chases, - one story in particular caught Hazel's attention. It was about a car crash on PCH.

  "Earlier today," the announcer read, "there was a horrendous accident on Pacific Coast Highway. A 1975 red Datsun tumbled down the cliff, hitting the rocks below and falling into the ocean. Witnesses say the car was traveling at over 100 mph when it hit the guardrail and plunged over the side, probably killing the driver instantly."