The technician installing her ankle monitor had left an hour earlier, ensuring the new device was transmitting a radio frequency signal with the location to the receiver and from the receiver to the service center. If Joanna breached the permitted range, the police would be notified of her whereabouts.
Despite her best efforts to not let her emotions show, they were written all over her face, the wealth of it puddled in the water that clouded her dark eyes. She was angry and frustrated. She was also hurt, unable to fathom how anyone could ever believe she could do something so foul. She cried when she thought no one was looking and Mingus couldn’t stop staring.
He stood against the pantry door in her kitchen, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He watched as Simone and Joanna made an earnest effort to prep the evening meal, both pretending like nothing had happened. His sister was tossing ingredients for a large garden salad into a glass bowl. Joanna stood at the stove stirring a simmering brew of meat sauce in a cast-iron pot. Pasta boiled in a second pot on the other burner. Joanna was going through the motions, pretending to be okay when she really wasn’t. She was broken and just barely holding it together. He found himself wondering how long it would take her to snap, betting that she was probably not far from her breaking point.
Joanna’s parents sat at the kitchen table, visibly shaken by the news. Their frustration painted the walls a dank shade of blue as they peppered their daughter with questions she wasn’t able to answer.
“I just don’t understand,” Lillian Barnes was saying, her silver-gray hair waving with each shake of her head. “How can this boy say those things about you?”
“Boys lie,” Vincent Barnes snapped. “Young boys lie all the time. You’ve taught enough of them to know that.”
“Some tell little white lies about losing their homework. This is something totally different. Did you do something to lead this boy on, Joanna?”
“Of course not,” Joanna snapped. “Why would you ask me that?” She’d spun around to stare at her mother, her hand fastened around a wooden spoon. “You know I’d never do anything like that!”
Joanna’s father stood from the table, moving to stand between his daughter and her mother. “Calm down. Both of you. Joanna, your mother didn’t mean anything. She’s just concerned about you. We both are.” His gaze moved from his daughter to his wife. “You know better than most that kids these days are a whole other breed. It’s not like when we started teaching. These kids will manipulate the truth faster than you can blink.”
“It still doesn’t make any sense to me,” her mother persisted. “Clearly there had to be something she either said or did to give him the impression...”
Joanna’s tears had risen for an encore, her sobs stalling her mother’s words. She was visibly shaking, her last respite of calm exploding with a vengeance. She suddenly excused herself, slamming the spoon onto the counter before sweeping out of the kitchen toward the master bedroom at the rear of the house.
The matriarch stood abruptly, calling after her. “Joanna!”
Mingus suddenly stepped forward, an outstretched palm stalling them all in their tracks. “Give her a minute,” he said softly, his gaze sweeping from one to the other. His eyes rested on his sister last, something he couldn’t say aloud causing him to lift his brows.
He shifted his attention toward Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. “Joanna really can’t discuss the case with any of you,” he said. “She’ll be better once she gets a good night’s sleep.”
Mr. Barnes shook his head. “I think we’re going to go. We’ll call to check on our daughter later.”
“Are you sure?” Simone questioned. “I know Joanna appreciates having you both here to support her. This is just a difficult time for everyone.” She threw her brother a look.
“We’re sure,” the matriarch said, attitude ringing in her voice.
Mr. Barnes rolled his eyes skyward. “Lil, this is not the time for you and Joanna to be at each other’s throats. She needs—”
His wife cut him off. “Our daughter needs some time. Clearly our asking questions is a problem for her right now. Simone, call us, please, if anything comes up we need to know about.” She gave her husband another look, then shifted her gaze toward Mingus. She looked the man up and down and his own stare narrowed as he gave her a look back. “And, please, tell our daughter we love her,” she added.
The moment was tense, and awkward. Mingus sensed Joanna’s parents were feeling completely out of sync and unable to be of any help to their only child. Since court, Joanna had been distant at best and neither could understand. Neither he nor Simone had any answers for them either.
“Yes, ma’am,” Simone said as she watched the family make their way to the front door. “I’ll call but I’m sure Joanna will ring you both later, too.”
Mr. Barnes gave her a nod of his head as he and his wife stomped out the door, the structure closing harshly behind them.
Mingus hesitated as Simone stood in the doorway, watching as the couple headed toward their car. When she finally closed and locked the door, he turned and disappeared down the hallway.
* * *
Joanna’s home was filled with books. Shelves overflowed with tomes in every room.
As Mingus reached the open bedroom door, he noticed the music for the first time, the sound piped through the entire house. Joanna had turned up the volume in the space.
Joanna lay in the in fetal position across her bed, a plush pillow pulled beneath her head. Her eyes were wide open, her cheeks still damp with moisture. She lifted her head just enough to give him a look, seeming unfazed by his presence. She rolled to the other side of the bed and fell back into thought.
Mingus knocked against the door frame before he stepped over the threshold. He walked easily into the room and took a seat on the settee that rested at the foot of the bed. He sat listening to the music, some country crooner singing that his woman was better than heaven could ever be. His eyes skated around the room, noting more shelves lined with books. There was a mahogany dressing table decorated with assorted bottles of perfumes and nail polish. Her closet was overflowing with clothes on black-velvet hangers and shoes lined neatly in clear plastic containers. A framed photograph of a young Joanna posed primly between the parents he’d left standing in the kitchen with his sister decorated one wall. The shabby chic decor was an eclectic mix of soft florals and hand-painted furniture. It was a pretty room and Mingus sensed that much thought had gone into every aspect of it, and the rest of her home, to ensure it reflected her personality. Joanna suddenly spoke, pulling him from his thoughts.
“I’ve been trying to figure out why this is happening. Why did he pick me? I really need to talk to David Locklear,” she said, saying her accuser’s name aloud for the first time.
Mingus shook his head. “That’s not going to happen. Get the idea out of your head. They issued a restraining order against you. You can’t go anywhere near that kid and, if you do, they’ll revoke your bail so fast it’ll make your head spin. That is not a risk you want to take. Trust me.”
* * *
Joanna sat upright. Mingus was flipping through the pages of a signed, first-edition, leather-bound copy of Pablo Neruda’s Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. She was taken aback by the deep vibrato of his voice, the rich timbre like an aged cognac. It was the first time she’d heard him speak since their initial meeting.
He lifted his eyes to stare at her, the two locking gazes. He seemed taller, even though he was sitting, his six feet plus a few inches pulled upright. There was no denying the man was good looking with his chiseled features, delectable caramel complexion, haunting eyes and magnetic smile. But she didn’t care much about his good looks right then.
He dropped his gaze back to the book. She was slightly taken aback