Games Divas Play (A Diva Mystery Novel) (22 page)

I looked down in my hand and saw a small key with an orange MTA tag on it. I nudged Terrence who looked down at the key and then took it and slipped it into h
is pocket.

As Terrence and I walked back down the hallway toward the stairs, I saw that the door for the apartment where the large tattooed man in the leather jacket had exited was slightly cracked. I could tell Terrence noticed it, too, because he suddenly took my arm at the elbow as if to hurry us along to the stairs. As we began to descend the stairs, we both heard a second door
slam shut.

We made it quickly down to the lobby and back out the front door of the building to the car. As we stood in front of the car doors, we looked up toward the eighth floor of the building. The man with the leather jacket was standing in the window, his massive arms folded across his broad chest, as he stared down at us, making sure tha
t we left.

Once we turned onto the West Side Highway heading back into Midtown Manhattan, Terrence took the key from his pocket and handed
it to me.

“What’s the tag say?” he asked. The short key, which looked like it was for some kind of old train station locker, had writing stamped into the plastic orange casing that covered the top o
f the key.

“Uh, it looks like Port Authority, Section one-four-six, Box fifteen,” I said, squinting at the worn letters. “I think that’s what
it says.”

“That’s strange, because ever since 9/11, none of the New York City transportation stations have storage lockers for fear of terrorists planting bombs. So it can’t be for one of those lockers, because why would Carlo have this key stashed in the bottom of his parro
t’s cage?”

“I don’t know, but he must not have wanted anyone to find it,” I said, turning the key over in my hand to i
nspect it.

“Well, he hid it in the place that no one looked because his apartment had been ransacked pretty thoroughly by whoever killed him.” Terrence thought some more and then reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket for his phone, punched in a number, and put the call o
n speaker.

“Yo, Peter. It’s Terrence. What’s up, man?” he said as he turned left onto Forty-Second Street and he
aded east.

“Well, well, well. If it ain’t Mr. Big-Time District Attorney Terrence Graham.” A deep voice with a thick New York accent fille
d the car.

“Aw, man. You know how I do. How’s your beautiful wife, Annemari
e, doing?”

“Pregnant. Again. Twins,” the voice said,
snorting.

“What? Pregnant again. How many is that for you guys? L
ike five?”

“Six, brother. You know we’re good Irish Catholics,
so . . .”

“I’ll say. Saint Peter must be loving you guys. Congratulations, man. You still the Port Authority
division?”

“Hell, yeah. Why, w
hat’s up?”

“I’m curious. You guys got any lockers still in your station for
citizens?”

“Nah, you know Giuliani got rid of those things after 9/11. If you can’t carry all your stuff, you’re shit out of luck at
the Port.”

“What about lockers for bus drivers and other e
mployees?”

“Yeah, of course, the employees have their lockers, but even those are likely coming
out soon.”

“Pete, I’ve got a key that says Section one-four-six, Box fifteen. That one of y
our keys?”

“Hold on a minute,” he said. We heard typing on a keyboard in the background for a few seconds, and then he was back on the line. “Yeah, that’s one of ours. Uh, it looks like it’s in the older area of the terminal on the southwest corner. It’s the one the bus drivers use. Computer says it’s assigned to Hector
Esposito.”

“Thanks, Pete. Anyth
ing else?”

“Wait a minute. Yeah uh-huh. Here it goes. It says Esposito’s retired, and the box hasn’t been re
assigned.”

“That’s perfect, Pete. Hey, when are you going to let me buy you a drink to celebrate tho
se twins?”

“My number hasn’t changed, and neither has my drink. You know where to find me, Mr. Big
-Time DA.”

“All right, I’ll catch you at McHenry’s next Thursday. First round
’s on me.”

“Second round’s on you, too,” he said. “Catch you next week, Chief. Hey, make sure you bring that supermodel fiancée that me and the guys see you with in all the papers. We need something beautiful to look at if your ugly mug is going to
be there.”

“Very funny, O’Doyle. See you next week.” Terrence ended the call and seemed put off by me hearing the end of the con
versation.

“Great, so we know that the key is for an actual locker,” I said, trying to sound cheerful and not reveal any of the ache that had suddenly gripped my stomach. Terrence pulled the car to a stop and parked in one of the emergency unloading zones in front of the Port Authority. Having police plates had its p
rivileges.

We headed into the cavernous Port Authority building. It was nearing rush hour, so the place was crawling with people in a hurry to catch a bus or train. As we moved deeper into the bowels of the station, the crowd thickened, and Terrence and I were separated as people weaved in between us. Terrence grabbed my hand and pulled me along. His large hand enveloped mine, and I held on tightly as he parted the crowd and followed a sign marked “Employee Lockers.” When he tried to push open the door, he found it was locked. Luckily, just that second a man came out. Before the door could swing shut again, Terrence stuck his foot in it. W
e were in.

The old locker room must have been a relic from when the station was first built. It was dank and dark with a hard stone floor and exposed pipes running overhead. Fortunately, no one else was in there. We made our way over to the section marked 146 and began to scan the rows of metal lockers, looking for
number 15.

“Got it. Here it is,” Terrence said as he sat down on the end of a long wooden bench and faced a box marked
number 15.

I handed him the key. He slipped it in the lock and turned. The metal-vented door swung open on
its hinge.

“Let’s see what Carlo’s been stashing in his old man’s locker that he didn’t want anyone to find at his apartment.” I peered over his shoulder into the locker. Terrence, not wanting to destroy any fingerprints, used a penlight to show the contents. There were four stacks of cash deep in the back, a couple of watches, some old family photos, a wallet, and two passports with different identities. Using a pen, Terrence flipped open the wallet to find a fake driver’s license with Carlo’s face and the name of Carlo Ramirez. When he tilted the wallet up for closer inspection, an airplane boarding pass slipped onto the ground. I took a tissue from the pocket of my blazer and used it to pick up t
he ticket.

“Look,” I said, gasping as I read the destination on the boar
ding pass.

It was for a flight t
o Phoenix.

“Well, what do you suppose Carlo was doing in Phoenix?” Terre
nce asked.

“I don’t know. But something tells me if we cross-reference the date on this boarding pass to the day of the murder of the Phoenix cheerleader, there’s going to be some overlap,” I said excitedly. I set my handbag down on the bench next to Marcus and then dug around to find my notebook. Flipping the pages, I located the key date. Kalinda was found shot in the head June 16; and the medical examiner said she di
ed June 7.

“That’s within forty-eight hours of our new friend, Carlo Ramirez, landing in Phoenix,” said
Terrence.

“So what’s a killer in the Diablo Negro cartel doing taking a trip to
Phoenix?”

“Looks like it’s a good thing we’re going to Phoenix, so we can figure that out,” Terrence said as he dropped the boarding pass back into the locker and shut the door and then put the key back in his pocket. Both of us were deep in thought as we made our way back through the even denser crowd to the front of the Port Authority. Terrence tried to take my hand again so that we could stay together, but I slipped just out
of reach.

Finally we reached the front entrance and stepped out into the cool evening air. I turned to Terrence, eager to get home to see if Eric and his hacker friends had dug up anything from the e-mails. Maybe they were tied to what we discovered toda
y as well.

“Thanks for today. I think I’ll jump in a cab and head home
,” I said.

“I can take you home. It’s not a problem. That way we can talk this out some more,” he said, looking at me qu
izzically.

“No, really it’s OK. I’ll see you in Phoenix.” I flagged down a taxi and jumped in before he could object further. I sank into the backseat of the car, which unfortunately smelled no better than the car Terrence had been driving, and let my mind wonder about what Carlo had been doing in Phoenix and why it was best that Terrence not take me home because I knew I wouldn’t be strong enough to turn him away a se
cond time.

CHAPTER 17

Vanessa

T
he private plane touched down smoothly on the tarmac in Phoenix. Damon clapped his hands
excitedly.

“Mr. and Mrs. King, welcome to Phoenix,” the flight attendant said into the intercom. “The local time is nine thirty a.m., and the temperature is a gorgeous eighty-six degrees a
nd sunny.”

“Daddy, we’re home!” Damon shouted, bouncing on his father’s lap as the plane continued to taxi slowly on the runway of the private airstrip. Damon didn’t yet consider New York home, so ever since we told him we were going to Phoenix, he’d been saying we were g
oing home.

“Well, you’re halfway right, little man,” Marcus said, hugging Damon tightly and leaning over to look out the window with his son. “We’re back in your hometown, but we live in New
York now.”

“We’re home, Daddy!” Damon squea
led again.

“Whatever you say, buddy,” Marcus said,
laughing.

“Are we going to our hous
e, Daddy?”

“No, Son. Remember I told you we sold our house in Phoenix, and we’re going to stay in a hotel t
his time?”

“O
K, Daddy.”

I loved the sight of the two of them together and the sound of their laughter, and that was why everything had to go according to plan this weekend because no two-bit trick was going to break up
my family.

I was glad to be on the ground as well. I had been running back and forth to the bathroom, fighting nausea so many times during the flight, I was sure Marcus would begin to suspect something was up. I’d never had morning sickness with Damon, but this time was clearly different. Luckily, Marcus had slept most of the way with his large Beats earphones glued to his ears while he rested up for the nonstop weekend of events. If anyone suspected anything, it was Nicole, who passed me some saltine crackers after my fourth time rushing to the bathroom. I knew she wouldn’t say anything, so I wasn’t
concerned.

When the plane came to a stop, I looked out the window and saw two black Lincoln Navigators parked at the end of a black carpet. Kareem and Desiree were standing next to one while they both talked on their ce
ll phones.

“You’re not coming to the hotel with us, Marcus?” I asked, turning back to look at m
y husband.

“No, babe. I have to go meet with Kareem and take pictures with the East team. I’ll catch up with you guys for a late lunch back at the hotel around one o’clock.” He turned and set Damon on the floor, and began to gather his earphones and magazines to toss into his Louis Vui
tton tote.

“Why don’t you take Damon with you?” I said, knowing as soon as I said it that Damon would beg to go until his fathe
r let him.

Five, four, three,
two . . .

“Daddy, please. Can I go with you? Please, Daddy!” Damon said, his eyes wide with the prospect of going with his dad and seeing his uncle Kareem. He hopped up and down on one leg
excitedly.

“You guys will have fun together, and I can focus on going over the final plans and review the auction items for our Midnight Gala tomorrow,” I said
to Marcus.

Of course I had an ulterior motive. If Damon was with Marcus, he’d have to take Nicole, too, and that meant he couldn’t get into any trouble with all the hoes trolling around everywhere. Although there was only one ho I was really focused on this weekend. Plus, that would give me enough time to have the important meeting I was
planning.

Marcus tried to look at me with pleading eyes, but I ducked my head, pretending not to see him as I gathered my things to toss in my Bottega Ve
neta tote.

“Have fun with Daddy and Uncle Kareem, sweetie,” I said as I kissed my little man on the cheek and then grabbed my bag and Gucci train case. I made my way to the front of the plane where the door had ju
st opened.

Damon skipped down the aisle, holding his father’s hand, and Nicole followed them out of the plane, carrying her purse and Damon’s bag filled with toys a
nd snacks.

As we all made our way off the plane, we could see luggage handlers taking out our suitcases from the luggage compartment. They piled the eight pieces of trunks, suitcases, and garment bags onto a trolley cart and rolled them over to the parked SUVs to begin loading everything into
the back.

“Uncle Kareem!” Damon squirmed out of his dad’s arms and ran over to his favorite uncle. Kareem dropped down on one knee and scooped up h
is godson.

“What’s up, D? How was your flight?” Kareem asked as he slipped his phone back in h
is pocket.

“Good, Uncle Kareem. Guess what?” Damon said, looking up at his uncle and taking his face between his two little chu
bby hands.

“What?”

“I’m coming with you and Daddy today! Daddy said
I could.”

“He did? Well, if Daddy says you can, then that’s all good with me.” I had watched Kareem’s face closely to see if he looked frustrated with this unexpected piece of news, but he took it
in stride.

“All right, baby. We’ll see you back at the hotel later.” Marcus leaned down to kiss me on the cheek, but I quickly turned my head so that he got my lip
s instead.

“OK, baby. Don’t be gone long. I have something important I need to talk to you about.” I looked deep into my husband’s eyes and kissed him back. After I pulled away, I looked over
at Kareem.

“Take care of my men,” I tossed over my shoulder as the driver helped me into my wa
iting car.

“Don’t I always, Vanessa?” he said with one of his fake smiles. I slammed the door closed. I smiled as I leaned back into the seat, knowing that I would have the pleasure of wiping that smile off his smug face for good thi
s weekend.

As the truck began to leave the airport to head to the Four Seasons hotel, I pulled my cell phone out of my bag and shot off a text message confirming the time and location of my afternoo
n meeting.

Your days are numbered, Kareem Davis, and you don’t even kn
ow it yet.

There was a knock on the door of the hotel suite right on cue.
Damn, that girl is never late
, I thought as I walked across the marble foyer to open
the door.

“What’s up?” I said, hugging Nia. She had called a few minutes ago, asking if she could come see me because she had some good news and some bad news to share. I’d never heard her sound that cryptic before, and she said she couldn’t tell me over the phone, so I told her to com
e on over.

“Hey, girl. How are you
feeling?”

“Good. Come in the bedroom. I’m trying to figure out which gown I’m wearing to the gala tomorr
ow night.”

“I only have thirty minutes. I’m meeting Terrence across town in an hour,” she said. That worked perfectly for me since my meeting was due to start in forty-five minutes, and I couldn’t afford t
o be late.

“Terrence? What’s Terrence doing in Phoenix?” I said as I held a red sequined one-shoulder gown up against my body and looked at my reflection in t
he mirror.

“You ought to know. His fiancée is modeling in your damn fashion show,” she said, flopping down on the king
-size bed.

“What on earth are you talking about, crazy? There’s no fashion show at our Midni
ght Gala.”

“No, not the gala. Vivica’s modeling at the Basketball Wives charity fashion show
bullshit.”

“Oh, that’s right,” I said, snapping my fingers. “I remember now. Girl, I barely even go to that thing. I pop in and make an appearance and pop right back out. My first couple of years in the league I was all up in there joining committees, hosting events. Shoot, now? I’m focused on me and mine. I don’t have time for the petty gossip and nonsense, which is all that thing really is
, anyway.”

“Whatever the fuck ever. The fact of the matter is he’s here becaus
e of her.”

“Look, that’s your own damn fault,” I said, turning back toward the mirror to hold a short strapless black lace dress with a train up agains
t my body.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” sh
e snapped.

Sighing, I turned around and came over to sit with Nia o
n the bed.

“What it means, dear sister, is that I know both of y’all are still in love with each other, and you need to just go ahead and tell him how you feel. Don’t be scurrrrr
ed, girl.”

“I can’t do that. He’s engaged,” N
ia whined.

“Look, until he’s married, all bets
are off.”

“Is that how you felt when you and Marcus got engaged and all those tricks were throwing their panties at your man, showing up naked in his hotel shower? You do remember that on
e, right?”

“Chile, I had forgotten about that one. He called me from the road, half-scared to death, telling me about the naked woman who had snuck into his hotel room and was hiding in hi
s shower.”

“And I had to talk you out of jumping on a plane to get to wherever the hell he was playing and tracking that bitch down.
Remember?”

“Yes, Lord, I sure do. Wow.” I got lost in my thoughts for a moment, looking at how far we’d come. We went from him being scared of the crazed groupies he found in his shower to me having to accept the Road Code to where we were today. My stomach jumped as I thought about what I had to tell hi
m tonight.

“Hey, on the phone yesterday, you said you had some good news and some bad news for me. W
hat’s up?”

“OK, which do you want first?” she said, sighi
ng deeply.

“Damn, girl. What is it? Give me the bad first so you can leave on a h
igh note.”

“OK, here we go. I hate to even mention this heffa’s name, especially since you and Marcus are in such a good place right now.” I felt my body tensing up as she went on to explain how her company had acquired the network that was producing Laila James’s reality show, that all the publications were required to support the show, and
DivaDish
was going to be the sponsor for her premiere part
y tonight.

“I really tried to get out of it, Vanessa. I swear I did,” Nia said as she searched my eyes p
leadingly.

“Let me mull that one over a bit while you give me the good news,” I said, thinking it better be great fucking news to get over the stinking betray
al I felt.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a magazine and placed it in
my hands.

“This is the good news. This is your magazine cover that I’m going to reveal at Laila’s party
tonight.”

I usually don’t like any pictures of myself, but I had to admit Nia’s team had done a wonderful job. She had selected the shot of me wearing a bright pink off-the-shoulder Oscar de la Renta dress. My neck was laced with piles of gorgeous silver necklaces, and my hair was blown out sleek and straight and swept to the side. The makeup was flawless. I looked confident, happy
, knowing.

And while the photo was gorgeous, the cover line stole the show: “Marcus and Vanessa King on rebuilding their marriage and welcoming a
new baby.”

There was also a quote: “ ‘We couldn’t be happier,’ ” I r
ead aloud.

“So what do you think?” Nia asked, leaning over my shoulder to look at the cover. “Please tell me you
love it.”

“It’s really beautiful, Nia. Thank you so much.” I hugged my friend. I knew she had no choice in the party, but she was more than making up for it by debuting my cover tonight. It was perfect. She had no idea what this meant to me and what it meant to o
ur family.

“Wait until you read the story. I think Che did a great job, although I was sorry to hear that Marcus was never able to sit down for an actual interview with her due to his crazy game-and-practice schedule. But the quotes he e-mailed we
re great.”

I slid off the bed and began to put the three gowns back on their hangers, fussing with the rack so that Nia couldn’t see the disappointment o
n my face.

“So how was your flight? Did your stomach bother you?” Nia asked as she slipped the magazine back int
o her bag.

“I’m good. Next week I’ll officially clear my first trimester, and all the morning sickness will be gone,” I said, laughing. “I’ll be so glad when I can stop all this sneaking around.” As soon as I said the words, I wanted to pull the
m back in.

“ ‘Sneaking around’?” Nia asked, walking over to stand in front of me. “What do you mean ‘sneaking around’? Oh my God, you still haven’t told Marcus,
have you?”