She looked up at the quaint little house that sat about twenty-five feet from the curb. A stone walkway traveled right up the middle of the yard to the front door. Deborah contemplated for a moment before opening the car door. She stood up to look for any signs of life inside. The sun had just started to go down, so she wasn’t surprised not to notice any lights beaming from any of the house’s windows.
She contemplated a few more seconds before grabbing her messenger bag and purse, all the while keeping her eyes glued on the house. She closed the car door and set the alarm with the remote. The clickety-clack of the heels of her leather winter boots sounded eerie as she headed up the walkway. For a moment there, fear tried to rear its ugly head. “Lord, you have not given me the spirit of fear”—she spoke out loud in an effort to chase away the unwelcome spirit—“but of love and power and…and…something else, only I’m too scared to remember it right now.”
Finally reaching the door, Deborah admired the heavy, oak double doors and the lovely Christmas wreath hanging on them. What she noticed, though, was that one of the doors was slightly cracked. “And a sound mind,” she said, recalling the final line of the scripture she’d been confessing.” Being that God had given her a sound mind, she knew that what she should have done was turn around and hightail it back to her car. Of course, she didn’t. The curiosity of it all had too much of a stronghold on her to allow her to do that.
Slowly, Deborah placed her hand on the gold door knob and pushed on the door just a little. She had fussed out many leading women in thriller movies for doing this exact same thing. Knowing what had become of those leading ladies, she still proceeded to push the door open.
I can’t let fear get to me, Deborah told herself. Mr. Born could be inside hurt or something. Deborah continued to try to convince herself that perhaps God had brought her there to that place at that specific time to intervene in what could possibly be a tragedy. Perhaps Mr. Born had fallen and couldn’t get up. After all, she didn’t know his age. He could be some eighty-year-old man lying helpless on the floor. She’d never forgive herself if that were the case; if she let fear prevent her from doing God’s will. Yep, all those were things she told herself just to keep from facing the truth: that she was more curious than she was a Good Samaritan.
Taking a deep breath, Deborah pushed the door all the way open, simultaneously calling out Mr. Born’s name. Not hearing a response, she stepped inside the foyer while calling out his name again. “Mr. Born. Mr. Born, it’s me, Deborah Lewis.” Although she didn’t hear him reply, she did hear some soft music coming from what sounded like the next room. She couldn’t see inside the room, but she could see the opening. It appeared dark with the exception of a very dim light.
“Mr. Born, are you in there?” Deborah called out. When she didn’t get a response, she slowly took steps toward the room from which the music was coming. She stopped in her tracks when something flickered. “Mr. Born?” She knew calling out his name would probably be in vain; still, she did it anyway.
She looked behind her at the door she’d left open. She could turn around now and leave if she wanted to. She could turn all five feet, seven and a half inches and one hundred thirty-five pounds around and get the heck out of there. She turned and faced the room again, wondering if Mr. Born was in there injured. Murdered, even. Now she looked back behind her, this time focusing on the door knob. If I leave now and Mr. Born is in there, victim of a murder, perhaps a robbery gone bad, my prints are all over the door knob.
A stinging sensation ran through Deborah’s veins when she thought there was a chance that this was all a setup: that she’d been set up to take the fall for a murder. She shook the thought out of her head before saying, “The devil is a liar and I have to stop watching all of those prime time crime shows.”
With that final thought, Deborah held her head up high, straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked into that room like she owned the place.
“Oh my God!” With her hand over her mouth in complete shock, Deborah wasn’t prepared for the sight before her eyes.
Chapter Two
“I still can’t get over what a beautiful wedding you and Blake had,” Mrs. Robinson said to her daughter through the phone receiver. “And I couldn’t believe how beautiful your dark chocolate skin looked in that snow white gown.”
“What I can’t believe is that I got this size sixteen body in that size fourteen dress.” Paige laughed, revealing her deep dimples even more, dimples that were apparent whether she was smiling or not. “I’d planned on losing weight by next April, which was our original wedding date, of course, but when Blake and I decided we couldn’t wait that long to become husband and wife, well…” She batted her thick, long eyelashes.
“Girl, you know you just big boned like your mama and all your aunties,” Mrs. Robinson reasoned, although she herself wasn’t very big at all. “But you’re still beautiful, and for once I got to see your hair in something besides that slicked-back ponytail you always wear.”
“That style makes my face look thinner,” Paige said as she rubbed her cheek. “Not that I’m trying to look like something I ain’t, because thin I’m not. But that’s all right, because I found me a man who likes all two-hundred-plus pounds of this big-boned woman.” No longer able to contain her excitement of being a bride all of a week, she shouted, “Ma, I’s married now!”
The mother and daughter both chuckled at the line from the Oscar-slighted movie, The Color Purple.
Mrs. Robinson got her laughter under control then sighed. “But it’s a shame you two had to postpone your honeymoon.”
“Yeah, I know, but this was Blake’s golden opportunity on his job to prove himself. So, when his boss told him how important it was that he be at the closing, Blake knew it was now or never. It was really never up for debate between the two of us.”
“Let me tell you, that man is just lucky he married such an understanding wife. Some women might have seen it as the man putting his career before his family. After all, you two did have to cancel a honeymoon in Jamaica.”
“Actually, we didn’t cancel it; we just postponed it. Had we gone, Blake’s mind would have been back here in Ohio in his company’s boardroom anyway. Blake had been trying to get a meeting with some big shot for months. It just so happened that the day he gets it would have been the third day of our honeymoon.”
“And you’re not the least bit upset?” Mrs. Robinson sounded slightly doubtful.
“Disappointed maybe, but not upset. Disappointed that I couldn’t be like Angela Bassett in How Stella Got Her Groove Back, running on the beach, minus the tight bod,” She chuckled. “But elated that his company is going to reimburse us for any loss we had to take, plus pay for the honeymoon once we do take it.”
“Well, you sound convincing.”
“Ma, I’m not trying to be convincing. Blake proving himself to his company means a higher position, which ultimately means more money, which means I’ll be able to get that dream house I want built from the ground up. I’ve been visualizing it so that it will manifest just like it says to do in that book The Secret.”
“Girl, what secret? It ain’t no secret. It’s God! The Bible been done let that cat out the bag. You being a Christian should know that. What they teaching y’all up there in New Day Temple of Faith anyway?” Mrs. Robinson was using playful sarcasm with her only daughter.
“You know what I mean, Ma. Stop playing. But anyway, when it comes to Blake and his job, I’m straight.”
“Child, you are going on thirty years old and are somebody’s wife; talking about you straight. You better leave that talk for the