Page 109 of Cannon
But now… what if she hadn’t? I was starting to believe she was telling the truth, especially since I got that note weeks back. That note that was on my car when I was visiting her home. Ithought that she paid someone to leave it for me when I was visiting her. The timing was so perfect. I thought she was playing me. Thought she was running a con on me to get me to give her money. But she wasn’t.
So, who could it be? Who killed my mother? Who knew Alfred Dixon? Whenever I’ve researched that man, I could never find any family. As far as I knew he was a loner, but I was clearly wrong. I had to find who this was because I’m sure they were coming for me or ZaZa next.
The detective dismissed us after two more hours of the same circular questions. I was drained, empty, like someone had scooped out my insides and left nothing but a hollow shell.
Cannon stayed silent until we were in my car, speeding across the bridge back to Harlem. The city lights blurred through my tears, which I refused to let fall. Queens in my world don’t cry where others can see.
“You think this is connected to that guy I killed, right?” I finally said, my voice barely audible over the purr of the engine. It’s just too much of a coincidence.”
“I killed that man damn near thirty years ago,” I whispered, staring out the window. “Why now?”
“Someone’s been plotting for a while. People can hold grudges for lifetimes.” His intense eyes flicked to me briefly. “Someone who knows what happened in that hotel room.”
A chill ran through me. “Only three people knew. Me, mama, and the dead man.”
“Someone else found out.” Cannon merged smoothly onto the FDR Drive. “My brothers are good at digging up shit people think is buried. I’ll have them run a deep background on Alfred see if he has family looking for revenge.
Every time I Googled him, nothing would come up. Apparently no one even showed up to his funeral but a preacher, the undertaker and some of the hotel staff.
By the time we pulled up to my apartment, I felt like I’d aged ten years. My heels clicked against the pavement as Cannon walked silently beside me, his massive frame casting a long shadow in the streetlight.
Once inside, I slid out of my shoes and headed to the bathroom in the back. I noticed ZaZa was standing in front of her full-length mirror, turning side to side, admiring herself in a tight red dress I’d never seen before. But what stopped me cold were the shoes. On her feet were a pair of Louboutins, the kind that cost more than most people’s monthly rent.
“Where you headed looking like that?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe, trying to keep my voice casual despite the alarm bells ringing in my head.
ZaZa spun around, her face lighting up. “Mama! I didn’t hear you come in.” She did a little twirl. “You like? I’m meeting Marcus at Monarch.”
I stepped closer, pointing to her feet. “Those new? I don’t remember seeing those in your closet.”
She smiled, lifting one foot to admire the red sole. “Marcus got them for me.”
How could a grad student afford shoes like those? I didn’t believe her. Something was very off.
I eyed the shoes once more, my mind immediately going to the missing money at Sylk Road, but I bit my tongue. There were more pressing matters.
“Baby, sit down for a minute,” I said, my voice suddenly thick. I took her hand, pulling her to the edge of the bed. “I got some bad news.”
ZaZa’s smile faded. “What’s wrong, Mama?”
“It’s your grandmother.” I squeezed her hand, the words sticking in my throat. “She was murdered yesterday. Someone broke into her place and… she’s gone, baby.”
ZaZa’s face crumpled like paper in water. “What? No, no… we just talked last week…” Her voice broke, tears welling up and spilling down her cheeks, mascara creating dark rivers.
I pulled my baby girl into my arms, holding her tight as she shook with sobs. No matter how fucked up Adele had been, she was still ZaZa’s grandmother, and they’d always had a special bond that sometimes made me jealous.
“Shh, I got you,” I whispered, rocking her like I used to when she was little. Her tears soaked through my dress, but I didn’t care. “I got you.”
When she finally calmed enough to speak, she pulled back, her face swollen. “What happened? Who did this?”
“Police don’t know yet,” I said, leaving out everything about Alfred Dixon. ZaZa didn’t need that burden. “But I promise you, we gonna find out.”
She nodded, then suddenly remembered her plans. “Shit, Marcus is waiting for me.”
“Call him, baby. Tell him what happened. He’ll understand.”
I watched as she made the call, canceling their date, her voice breaking again as she explained. Whatever I thought about Marcus, he seemed genuinely concerned, telling her to take all the time she needed. After hanging up, ZaZa cried herself to sleep in my arms, still wearing that red dress and those expensive-ass shoes.
I slipped out once her breathing deepened, finding Cannon in my living room, his massive frame looking out of place on my white leather couch. His ice-blue eyes followed me as I poured myself a double shot of cognac.
