“Hey, Williams.”
Nigel, who had been staring at the computer screen, looked to his right. Marshall was heading toward him, his blazer wet. Clearly, he had been caught in the torrential downpour. It was the end of May, and the showers had been intense lately. Mostly because even though it wasn’t yet summer, the weather was extremely hot.
The good thing was that if the rain kept up this evening, it wasn’t likely anyone would be gunned down on the streets.
“How did it go with the mother and the family?” Nigel asked.
“They’re devastated, understandably,” Marshall said, shrugging out of his jacket. “They saw Garrett at least two hours before he was shot but don’t seem to know anything useful.” Marshall hung his blazer on the back of his swivel chair. “They gave me some names of people who might have had a beef with him. Some leads to follow.”
“Well, I heard from Dominiqua, the victim’s girlfriend,” Nigel told him. “Those early leads were right—she did see the shooting.”
Marshall’s eyebrows rose as he took the seat at the desk beside Nigel. “All right. She name the shooter?”
Nigel shook his head. “I tried to get her to come talk to me, or to tell me something over the phone, but she hung up before she did. She’s too scared to talk.”
Marshall nodded his understanding. “She’ll probably come around.”
“I hope so. If she loved the guy, I’m thinking she’s going to want to see the shooter brought to justice.”
“No doubt,” Marshall agreed. Leaning forward, he typed something on his computer screen. Then he said, “Guess who I saw today?”
“Who?”
“Callie.”
Callie Hart…Nigel felt as though someone had just punched him in the gut with a sledgehammer. “You did?”
“Yep. I dropped by the church earlier to pay my respects on my way to the dentist. As I was leaving, I saw her getting out of an airport limo.”
Nigel turned his attention to the pile of papers on his desk. He needed something to do, a distraction. “So you didn’t talk to her?”
“Nope. But get this—she’s got a child.”
At the news, Nigel whipped his head in his friend’s direction. “What?”
“A young boy was getting out of the car with her. Maybe eight. It must be her kid.”
Nigel felt a tightening in his chest. Callie had a child? “Was she with someone?” he found himself asking. “A husband?”
Marshall’s eyebrows rose at the question. “Still carrying a torch for her, hmm? Even after how she left you?”
“Just curious,” Nigel responded. “She’s got a kid, she likely has a husband.”
“I didn’t see her with anyone. It was just her and the kid. But that doesn’t mean she’s not married. Her husband could have stayed home while she came here for the funeral.”
Nigel nodded. He hated that he felt even mildly curious to know what she was doing in her life. Once she had walked away from him, he had vowed to forget her forever.
Obviously, she had forgotten him. If it was true that she had a son around the age of eight, then she had clearly moved on from him fairly quickly. Merely a year or so after breaking his heart, she had gotten involved with someone else and created a child with him.
Well, good for her.
“Another thing,” Marshall began, “she looked like she’d been hurt. Was wearing a sling, had a bandage on her forehead. I guess she may have fallen or something.”
“Hmm,” was Nigel’s reply, a noncommittal response. But curiosity was stirring in his gut, even though he didn’t want it to.
“You gonna call her up?” Marshall asked.
“Call her?” Nigel guffawed. “Why?”
“To say hi. It’s been what, ten years?”
But the look on Marshall’s face made it clear that he was simply stirring up trouble. Nigel wondered why his best friend was goading him like this. Marshall knew how brokenhearted he had been after Callie had left town without so much as a glance backward. The last thing Nigel wanted to do now was see her, even if he was over her.
He had already paid his respects to Dave Henry and other family regarding Jean’s passing. Thankfully, he hadn’t run into Callie at the time.
“Back to the murder case at hand, my friend,” Nigel said, turning to his computer. “Because we’ve got a job to do.”
* * *
Callie awoke with a start, her eyes popping open. She was surprised to see daylight pouring into the room. It seemed as if she had only gone to bed a short while before, and that the night had whizzed by.
And though she’d clearly slept like a log, she didn’t feel well rested. Her mind had been on Nigel before she’d fallen asleep, she had even dreamed of him.
She was anxious, the plight before her weighing on her mind.
Easing her body across the bed, she reached for her phone on the night table with her good arm and checked the time. It was six fifty-two in the morning.
Then she glanced across the room to where the daybed was. Kwame, who had also been exhausted from an early start and hours of activity yesterday, lay on his stomach, his form still. He was sleeping, which didn’t surprise Callie.
Quietly, she rose from the bed and exited the room. It was quiet. Perhaps no one had woken up yet.
After using the bathroom, Callie made her way downstairs. As she neared the kitchen, she finally heard soft voices. And when she rounded the corner, she saw Natalie and Uncle Dave sitting at the small, round table.
“Morning,” Callie said, then yawned. She wrapped an arm around her uncle, gave him a warm hug. Then she did the same to Natalie.
“I made tea,” Natalie said. “But if you want coffee, I can brew a pot.”
“I can do it,” Callie said.
Natalie stood. “With one good arm? Sit. Let me get you some coffee.”
Callie didn’t argue. She sat at the table beside Uncle Dave. “How are you feeling today?” she asked him.
“I keep expecting Jean to walk into this kitchen and start fussing about what she’s going to prepare.” Uncle Dave sighed. “I’m just trying to hang in there.”
Reaching across the table, Callie squeezed his hand. There were no words. She could only provide comfort.
Callie turned toward Natalie, who had spent much of the day before inconsolable. “How are you doing today?”
“Better. Definitely better.”
Natalie didn’t face her as she filled the coffee carafe with water from the sink, and Callie knew this wasn’t a good time to ask her about her husband. There would be time for that later.
“Hey, you remember Marshall, Nigel’s friend?” Natalie asked as she began to pour the water into the coffeemaker.
“Yeah,” Callie said. “Sure I do.”
“I saw him yesterday at the church.”
“Marshall was at the church?”
“Yeah. You must have just missed him, because I ran into him when I was heading down to the basement to use the bathroom. There he was, exiting the men’s room, what a surprise. He’d come