We stared at each other when a guy called the radio station and complained about the cops doing nothing to find his wife when she went missing a week before Christmas.
“Have they found her?” the reporter asked.
“Two weeks later.” The man sobbed. “Strangled.”
“Okay, okay …” I gasped, lowering the radio while the newscaster went off about the lack of respect. Too much to process. “If this Christmas Bride died in December. That makes the reporter wrong about the number of vics. That makes Vic Two the Valentine-ish Bride, since she died late February. Which makes the newlywed mother of five … the third victim.” I put the information into my phone. “Wash!”
“I’m listening.”
“Momma of five died in April. Weeks ago. You heard of this?”
“Nah. What does it say?”
“She was strangled with a veil too! The cops are all hush-hush. They’re Black women, that’s why. Oh, Wash, they’re all newlyweds! It says she and her husband had welcomed a little girl a week after they jumped the broom. So sad. Look at their social media post.”
He flicked a glance away from the road. “Young Black couple. Dude looks like he got his head on straight. Give him props for putting a ring on it after five kids, too.”
I stared at him wide-eyed, fingers shaking. “And, uh … so … I think I’m about to say something crazy.”
“Like Texas is a serial killer?” Washington asked.
“What?” Yep, this timehisbag, now empty, went flying out of my hands. It swooshed into the air, and the driver behind us laid on their horn while zipping around us.
Washington matched their bravado, cussing, honking.
“Are you done sizing cojones?” I folded my arms, then planted my hand on my chest. Because, yeah, he took it there and commenced a honking argument. After the blare of both horns finished slap-boxing against my eardrums, I asked, “Why would you say that? He’s your brother!”
“The other woman died in late February, after being missing for two weeks. Texas didn’t come to Montana’s proposal. When have you known him to miss a meal?”
“He didn’t go? Not even for the lobster?”
“No. He went MIA on Valentine’s. Dude had no intention of popping up at Montana’s proposal party. And if Momma hadn’t called him crying about how Montana rescued Zuri and Darius from her crazy-ass baby daddy that night, I doubt he would’ve shown up at the hospital after the proposal. He could’ve been surveilling Bride Two. Maybe he waited to snatch her later, so he couldfinallysupport our family! You told me he’s charming. Guess what,bébé?Serial killers? They’re charming.” Washington shrugged.
I slugged him. “Excuse me, you’re the one who embodied Dahmer and Bundy when talking about tying me up instead of divorce. So, if anyone ishomicidally meticulous, it’s you. You-you… are meticulous … And you went off the deep end when I left you and your body and your money!”
“Maddy, you know it’s not me.”
I shoved the bangs that the air kept whipping into my face. “Okay, then stop being rude to your brother.”
He huffed. “Texas always says he doesn’t need to hold cash but takes the hundreds I give him. Dude owes me a couple of grand.”
“He is not a serial killer, Wash, dang!” I shook my head at this man. No shame. “But I don’t think it’s safe to tie the knot again.”
“Too bad. Wearegetting married again,bébé. And I’ma lock you up for a couple of weeks. Seems the killer keeps them for two weeks, then leaves them dead somewhere in public with a wedding veil around their necks, right?”
“Yep.”
“Appreciate the clarification. I’ma quarantine all that ass and keep you safe. But before then, I’ma take you to my courtroom on Monday and officiate myself.”
“Not Monday.”
“Why?” Leave it to Washington to plaster on pretentious-face as we discussed a potential mass murderer.
Wait.
Were mass murderers and serial killers the same thing? I didn’t think so.
“Listen, on Monday I’m meeting Omari’s HomeGoods-TJ connect. You’re more than welcome to come. On Tuesday, I’m open … if you wanna take back the weirdo who divorced you.”
