Page 81 of Avenging Kelly

“Okay, I’ve got the address in an old book. Where’s that box, babe? Trust me, this isn’t what I hoped to do today, but I just need to have this right in my head, you know?” I walked over and pulled him up from the table where he’d taken a seat. I kissed him with all the love inside me, praying the day would come that we could have a normal life and raise my niece as our own.

Mathis had kept my mother from forcing my sister to have an abortion, and I was grateful. I really needed to talk to his father about what happened, hoping Reverend Sinclair had some answers for me that made sense.

London brought a cardboard box into the kitchen and put it on the table for me. The coffee maker wasn’t where I could find it, so I grabbed a glass of water and stepped back to the table.

The white kitchen was pleasant, and it was bright, which was a lot better than his small apartment in Red Hook. I was certain Brooklyn Heights was a much better place to raise a child.

London moved a bowl of oranges off the table and helped me pull out stacks of paper. I looked through them to see most of it was my mother’s crap—copies of her lease, receipts for doctors’ visits for Mia and Daisy, a bunch of useless bullshit, and then a sealed envelope.

I opened it to see a car titled in my name, which was crazy because I’d never owned a car in my life. I read through it and saw the VIN number and the make and model of the car. Plymouth Fury. 1978. My mouth went dry.

I handed it to London, who read through it, his face morphing into anger when he got to the same part where I nearly lost consciousness. “What the fuck does this mean?” London asked.

“I think Mom killed Mathis. I was still in Leavenworth when he died, but that car is registered to me,” I stated the obvious.

London grabbed his phone and dialed a number, handing it to me. “Go for Casper.”

I wanted to laugh, but I had more pressing matters on my mind. “Hey, it’s Kelly.”

“Yeah, man. How’s it feel to be home?”

“Good, but I have an odd question for you. That Plymouth we found in the Spires Tower garage. Who was it registered to?” I asked.

Casper released a heavy breath. “It’s not registered to anyone, Kelly. Let it go. Those records are lost now. You weren’t here when Mathis was killed, so let it go.”

“Did you get a clear picture of who was behind the wheel?” I asked.

“No, we couldn’t get a shot. They were short and wearing a hoodie. I did, though, run the plates against someone else’s car, and I found the owner of the plates, but I think you already know who it was. Nothing’s going to bring Mathis back, so let it go. There’s already enough pain to go around. Let’s not add more to it by involving family,” Casper suggested. I thanked him, and we hung up.

I stared at London, not sure what the hell to say. “He’s right, Kelly. Turning her in would never bring Mathis back,” he responded, which was probably true, but I needed to talk to someone else about it.

“So, I need to go to Queens to talk to Reverend Sinclair. Mathis was going to have his father talk to my mother, and I need to know what he said.”

“Let me call Nana Irene, Dyl and Searcy’s babysitter, to come watch Daisy for a little while. She lives right upstairs. Or I can call Dom and Austin. Let me go with you,” London insisted.

I stepped closer to him and wrapped his arms around me as I rested my head on his chest. “Please, stay here with Daisy. She wasn’t feeling well, and if she wakes up, she’ll be upset if she doesn’t see you, Dimples. Where are the keys to my bike?”

London walked me to the front door and pulled them off a key holder on the wall, handing them to me. “Please, be careful.” I kissed his lips again.

“Helmet?” I asked him.

“Closet,” he answered as he pointed to a coat closet near the keyholder. I opened it to see our coats hanging side by side, a gun safe on the shelf above the rack, and my helmet next to it.

I’d thank London for his love and care of my niece and me after dealing with one final thing.

* * *

It took me twenty-eight minutes to get to Our Shepherd’s House and ten minutes to get my nerves under control enough to go to the front door of the little brick house next door where Nathaniel and Minnie Sinclair lived.

I flung my leg over the side and took off my helmet, placing it on the seat as I looked at the little house. It was just after Independence Day, and there were still flags decorating the flowerpots on the front porch that were filled with white petunias. It looked very welcoming, but I worried about what I’d be met with when I asked my question.

I plodded through the chain-link gate and up to the door, feeling the heat of the day radiating off the brick. I knocked on the door, and when it opened, I was relieved to see the stocky minister with the goatee and glasses that mirrored his son’s.

“Kelly,” Reverend Nate greeted, sticking out his hand to shake while pulling me in for a hug. I appreciated it.

“Is Mrs. Sinclair home?” I asked, hoping not.

“Actually, she’s at the Y with the summer camp kids for swimming. What can I do for you? She should be back in an hour,” he offered.

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