Page 15 of Clubs

But that wasn’t the point. Someone dropped a body behind his business and immediately turned it in. Meaning someone was pissed. Someone was setting him up.

* * *

I couldn’t find much more about Alicia online, but her name was a gateway. In the phonebook, I found her address. It was about fifteen minutes from the library, ten minutes from my place, going the same direction. Not a wonderful area, which wasn’t surprising given her arrest record, but that was a good thing for me. Neighborhoods like that—like mine—didn’t ask questions. But the neighbors were always peeking out of their blinds.

Since my shift ended at 2 PM today, that was next on the list. Jefferson Heights. I knew the area well because when I was in college, I lived one street over.

That apartment had been one of my favorites. Aside from the mice. The mice were gross. But the apartment was cheap, and I liked the city view out my bedroom window.

It looked the same as I remembered it. A four story, red brick building. More apartments sat on the left and right, most of them taller and at least a little newer. It made the building look short and wide, like it had been squished into place. All of the windows were the same, uniform and framed in white trim. Some were adorned with tinfoil as makeshift curtains. The building had a glass entryway, only accessible with a key code.

Across the street were townhomes. With porches. Porches with swings and chairs, where a few women huddled together, gazing out at the quiet road.

If I’d learned anything working for the Chambers investigating and solving crimes, it was that older women sitting on their porches knew everything. Their neighbor’s work schedules. What every kid on the block did for fun. How many people lived in their house. Where they went. Who was a frequent guest.

So I couldn’t say I was surprised when I exited the car, and two of those women squinted at me, speaking quietly amongst themselves. Doing my best to give a friendly smile, I started toward them. The one on the right—a Black woman wearing a pretty floral bonnet—bounced a baby on her knee. She returned the smile, but said something I couldn’t catch to the woman who sat beside her—a white woman, likely approaching seventy, wearing a blue housecoat that looked like something straight out of the sixties.

I wasn’t able to tell if I was welcome or not, but I tried my best to sound friendly when I said, “Hey there.”

The two women were sitting across from each other on wicker furniture, floral print cushions peeking out from behind them. The porch was neat, and obviously a spot in frequent use. A broom rested in one corner, and there wasn’t a single dead leaf or speck of dirt to be seen on the porch or its narrow stairs. A few potted plants sat along the railings. A wrought iron fence kept the world out of the small, lightly manicured yard that laid between me and the porch.

“Well, hello.” The older one glanced between me and my car. “You meeting somebody, hon?”

“Not exactly.” Clutching two posts of the wrought iron fence, I leaned in to see them better. “I was actually hoping to talk to you. Or any of the other neighbors, I guess. I’m looking into a murder that took place last night.”

“Yeah?” The younger lady readjusted the baby when he fussed. “You with the cops? Because they already talked to us, and we don’t know anything.”

They already knew about Alicia. That made this easier. “No, not with the cops. But… Well, I think the cops might be trying to pin this on a friend of mine.” Saying boyfriend would’ve been more accurate, but it also would’ve made me sound a lot more biased. “He never even met her. So I’m just looking into things. Seeing if I can figure something out that they can’t.”

Slowing her bounces of the baby, she cocked her head to the side. “And you are…?”

“Brooke Lewis.” Giving another smile, I stretched a hand over the railing.

“Well, we can’t reach you down there.” The first woman laughed, and the second joined in. “Go on through the gate. Come have a seat.”

* * *

And so, I did. I made my way up to the porch, and sat on a wicker chair across from Maya—the older white woman—and Beatrice—the younger Black woman. Maya insisted on getting me a coffee. I’d already had five today, what would one more hurt? I’d been up all night, and I could feel my focus starting to slip as the adrenaline wore off. Plus, I wasn’t about to argue.

Maya brought me a teal mug from inside. The coffee was hot, and smelled deliciously rich. I could stomach the sixth-cup-jitters for anything this good. Just the first sip had me feeling more alert again.

“She’s a good girl.” Gazing down at the child in her arms, Beatrice let out a slow, shaking breath. “Was, I guess. A good mama too. She might’ve had a needle in her arm on the regular, but these babies had everything they needed and more than they wanted.” She pinched his chubby thigh, then tickled his nose until he giggled. “High or not, she took care of these babies.”

A knot formed in my stomach when I looked at that little boy. This was always the part where I got attached. It was just a case until I saw the family. “He’s hers?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Maya nodded inside. “Her toddler’s taking a nap on the couch.”

Jesus. Mother of two, murdered and dumped behind a bar.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I murmured, looking between them. With frowns and deep breaths, they nodded their thanks. “Were you all close then?”

“Close enough, but not great friends,” Maya said.

“We just look out for each other around here,” Beatrice said. “She got some funding through the state to pay a sitter. It ain’t much, but she didn’t trust sending them out to one of those welfare daycares overnight. And that’s when she worked, so.”

Couldn’t blame Alicia there. Although I’d never gone to a state run daycare, I’d been to state run foster homes growing up, and I’d never let a kid I loved go into one of those. “What did she do?”

“Well, her taxes would say she’s a waitress,” Beatrice said.

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