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Craig gone, who would look out for her now? Who would nag her about

closing those garage doors? Who would change the oil in her car if she

needed it done or repair all the little things that needed doing when you own

a home?

While these questions flitted through his mind, something flickered in his

peripheral vision. To his right sat the broken mower Craig was supposed to

look at. Among the rusty red paint, some of its newer parts stood out and a

few silver bolts, nuts and rubber pieces lay near it, twinkling and shiny in the

bright afternoon sunlight.

Damn Craig, why didn’t you let me go with you this morning? Maybe, if

I’d been there I might have been able to help.

He didn’t finish that thought, realizing he could sit here all day and do the

“What ifs.” What good did that do now? Clayton quickly brushed those

thoughts aside, got out of the car and walked up to the front porch.

The woman was too trusting by far. Her front door stood wide open and

through the screen door he could see straight through the house. From this

vantage point he could see down the dimly lit hallway, and beyond that he

could see the kitchen. Sliding glass doors stood open to catch the afternoon

breeze. His dark glasses warded off the blinding sunlight overhead as he

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looked heavenward and took in a fortifying breath. Looking down again at

his feet, what he was wearing suddenly dawned on him.

“Damn, I should have changed. Changed to what? What does a person

wear when delivering bad news like this? Certainly not worn out, beat-up

sandals or bright orange and blue swim trucks.

To make matters worse, he was bare-chested under an old denim shirt,

which had lost its buttons in the laundry years ago. Well, he thought, it was

too late to change any of that now, and pressed the doorbell. When he did

this, his left arm brushed against the screen door by accident, and it swung

open.

It was open
.

Taking off his dark glasses, Clay placed them in his shirt pocket and peered

into the darkened house for signs of life. He pressed the doorbell again and

tried to push the screen door closed, but it popped open again. In addition to

the mower, it appeared the screen door also needed repair. There were a

number of small, but important, repairs to be made around this house.

Standing there looking around, he wondered who would do them. He

mashed the doorbell again, and this time he heard a feminine voice come

from somewhere within the house.

“Craig is that you?” he heard her call out. “Come on in honey, I’m just

getting ready for work, I’ll be down in a minute.”

Clay didn’t respond. He slowly entered the front entry hall and pulled the

screen closed behind him. There was a staircase on the right as you entered

the house, leading upstairs. The sound of running water could be heard up

there. The living room was directly to his left and beyond that the formal

dining room. In front of him, and at the end of the hall, was the kitchen. A

kitchen table sat in the middle of the floor and beyond the table, bright

yellow curtains framed a window above the sink. The curtains billowed in

and out on the afternoon breeze.

As he waited, his body reacted to the unpleasant task he was about to face.

A lump the size of a golf ball lodged itself in his throat and his hands shook.

Thinking hard, Clayton realized he didn’t know how in the world he was

going to do this.

24

FOUR

Upstairs, Vivian Simpson ran her hands through curly, dark auburn locks.

Her no-nonsense hairstyle was shoulder length and required very little

attention, which was just the way she liked it. Although she was too busy to

fuss with her own hair, Vi took pride in making sure everyone walking into

her salon walked out with spectacular hair.

She was an attractive woman with expressive light brown eyes. She also

possessed a pretty good figure for having had three kids, working out and

keeping fit because it made her feel good, not so much to attract any man.

Besides, between work and the kids, she was way too busy to think about

men. After applying a small amount of lipstick, Vi smooched her lips

together and peered into the mirror. Satisfied with her reflection, she turned

off the faucet and wiped her hands on a nearby towel. Blessed with flawless

skin, she’d never worn makeup over her coffee with extra, extra cream

complexion.

Just before leaving the bathroom, Vi pumped a dollop of hand crème into

her palm, switched off the light and walked through her bedroom. As she

zipped down the stairs, working the lotion into her hands, she was brought up

short. Vi was expecting Craig to be downstairs. He’d promised to look at

the lawnmower today, so she wouldn’t have to call the landscaper this

weekend. When she saw it wasn’t Craig, but his roommate and partner,

Clayton Marshall, standing in her living room, she was momentarily

confused.

“Hello, Mrs. Simpson.”

“Oh, hello Clayton I wasn’t expecting Craig to drag you over here to help

with this chore, but I guess he needed reinforcements. So, where is he

anyway?” She inquired and gave him a bright smile. Not waiting for his

answer, she turned away from him and picked up her purse from the desk in

the hall.

“I’m sorry to cut into your afternoon like this. I know you guys planned to

go down to the shore today. I’m just on my way to work, but if Craig wants,

he can take a look at it. If it looks like it will be too involved, it’ll keep till

tomorrow.”

Rummaging around in her purse for her car keys, she turned around to face

him and continued to have a one-sided conversation. Glancing at him, she

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noted his appearance. He wore bright floral swim trunks and an open,

tattered denim shirt. Dark glasses hung from the front pocket of his shirt. He

and Craig were about the same height, she noted, but Clayton was broader in

the shoulders, more muscular and mature looking than her son’s tall, lanky

swimmer’s physique. Also, much fairer than Craig, she supposed his clean-

shaven head and equally clean-shaven jaw managed to turn many female

heads. When Craig moved out and decided to be roommates with this man,

who was seven years older than him, Vi thought surely it would not last.

However, she’d been dead wrong. Over the past four years, Craig and

Clayton had lived together, worked together and become very good friends.

Clayton was so much a part of her son’s life that everyone knew him and

treated him like part of the family at their gatherings.

While all these thoughts ran swiftly through her mind, she glanced at her

watch. Absently, she realized, she was probably going to be late for work.

Not giving it too much thought, she continued to search for her keys. Her

sister, Cynthia, normally got in early and could easily open up. Shortly after

Vi opened the salon several years back, she had asked Cynthia to join her.

Cynthia was good with figures and handled all the books and financial

aspects of the business. Although, she’d gone to school and knew how to run

the business end just as well as Cynthia, Vi enjoyed the people side of her

business and stayed active ensuring her customers were totally satisfied with

each visit. In addition to Cynthia, Vi considered her small staff, Andre,

Nicole and Liana, some of the best stylists in the business.

Finally locating the keys in her purse, Vi pulled them out and swung them

triumphantly in the air. It wasn’t until she was ready to leave that she

noticed for the first time that Clayton hadn’t spoken a word, since he greeted

her and she’d come downstairs. Studying him closely now, she saw that his

eyes were red and his mouth was pulled into a tight, grim line.

“Clayton, what is it? Is Craig with you?” she inquired, looking past him

now. When she took a step toward him, he swallowed hard, his Adams apple

bobbing up and down in his throat.

“Mrs. Simpson,” he started and then fell silent. The only noise came from

a radio playing faintly somewhere at the back of the house. Vi became

instantly concerned, she knew things about this young man that he didn’t

know she knew. She knew about his awful childhood and how his parents

treated him as if they wished he’d never been born. Craig was very quick to

tell her Clay was very proud and refused to let his past color his future. It

was why her son admired this man so much. His strength and conviction to

turn his life around is what made him a good cop, one who was respected by

all his fellow officers. Vi welcomed Clayton into her home and invited him

to every family gathering they had because she knew he had no one. Just last

week when she called Craig’s apartment, he was out and Clayton picked up.

26

Just before she hung up, she automatically invited him to the upcoming

Fourth of July BBQ. He’d thanked her and said he’d be there if he didn’t

have to work. Although, she really didn’t know him well, it was obvious

something was bothering him. Tentatively, Vi reached out and touched his

forearm in concern.

“Clayton,” she said, “do you need to talk?”

Clearing his throat twice, Clayton tried to dislodge the lump threatening to

close his windpipe. Forcefully, he cleared it on the third try and reached out

to capture both her hands within his own. The rose-scented lotion she rubbed

on her hands only moments ago teased his nostrils. Instead of feeling

slippery, he noted the hands he held were soft and small within his grip.

“Mrs. Simpson, something terrible has happened,” he finally said.

Searching her face, Clayton quickly decided the only way to get through this

was to just say it.

“There was a robbery this morning. Craig was caught in the middle of it

and got shot.”

“Craig’s been shot? How bad is it? Please, Clayton, take me to him.” Her

eyes registered instant alarm and she tried to dislodge her hands from his and

move toward the front door. But, instead of releasing her hands, he gripped

them tighter. She looked up at him and the confusion he saw in her eyes

made him swear viciously.

Dammit, she didn’t understand. After all the thought he put into this, he

hadn’t explained himself properly!

“Mrs. Simpson, I can’t take you to him. He…he’s dead.”

Two seconds. Three seconds. Five seconds ticked by. She continued to

stare at him as if he’d grown three heads.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

For the longest time she didn’t move, didn’t speak. Then, he felt the first

tremor when it hit. Her small hands, still clasped in his, began to shake as

the shock waves entered her body. Finally, she snatched both her hands out

of his grasp and covered her mouth. She stared at him, her eyes filling up,

glistening with unshed tears. He watched their light brown, gold-flecked

color change to a dark burnished gold, as the tears began to fall.

“Craig?” She uttered in a squeaky whisper of disbelief.

Clay began to ramble, running through what happened as if the hounds of

hell were nipping at his heels.

“He was on his way over here, when he stopped off to take care of some

errands. We think he walked in on a convenience store robbery. He was

27

off duty, so he didn’t have his gun on him, but he never would have had a

chance to use it if he did. The gunman must have panicked when he came

in.”

“
Ohmigod.”

Her hands dropped slowly to her sides and clutched at the denim skirt she

was wearing, bunching the material tightly in her fists. She stared at him

wide eyed, before crying out.

“No! Nooooooo! Not Craig! Oh, please not Craig!”

Uncontrollable spasms replaced her normal breathing. Her right hand flew

up and she splayed her fingers across her chest, as if that gesture could seal

the hole that this mess was ripping through her heart. Suddenly, her body

began to jerk and her mouth dropped open, but nothing came out.

Clayton caught her in his arms just as her knees buckled. She fell hard

against his chest and he felt his sunglasses scrape painfully across his chest

on impact. Yanking them out of his pocket, he flung them across the room

and his arms tightened around her, as she slid toward the floor. He held onto