Page 12 of His Last Wife

Still, none of that could be any of Leaf’s concern. Conveniently enough, his ascension took him far away from politics. He’d been removed from investigations altogether and placed in an administrative executive role in IRGCIC. Nothing in his past was any of his business anymore. This new thing, this new work, which required far less time and stress, but also paid far more money, was supposed to make that old thing, that old work, okay . . . and he tried so hard to follow suit, but the one thing inside of him that made him a great detective just wouldn’t let it go. And then there were those calls, the many calls from Val.

When Leaf listened to that last message Val left on his voice mail at work, he did something he hadn’t done to the other messages: He didn’t delete it. He didn’t save it, either. He just hung up the phone and pushed away from his new mahogany desk in the swanky office. He stood and surveyed all of Atlanta outside his window. It was just before noon and from his floor-to-ceiling window that gold dome that marked Atlanta’s City Hall in the city’s ever-changing skyline looked like it was just six inches away from him. He remembered how Jamison would look when he’d walk into his office each morning. His new eyes. Both nervous and excited at the same time. Leaf spent weeks trying to understand if this was an act. If it was real, there could be no way Jamison would ever make it in politics. If it was fake, he’d climb all the way to the top.

“Dude, don’t cry. She’ll come back someday!”

Leaf turned away from the window to find one of his old teammates from Investigations standing behind him in his office, grinning.

“Delgado!”

“ ’Sup, sentimental motherfucker!”

Delgado walked over to the window and the two gave each other an informal hug that noted the years they’d known each other and worked out in the field together.

“Glad the glass is here. You look like you would’ve jumped,” Delgado added. He was just as skinny and young-looking as Leaf, but he was actually in his mid-thirties and had a wife and two children at home.

“Never that. If I killed myself, I wouldn’t be able to see your wife again. That would be terrible,” Leaf joked and they both laughed. “No, really, I’m just in here thinking about old stuff. Wondering if I made all the right decisions. You know? Agent shit.”

“Of course I do, brother. I’ve been out here just as long as you, but you know the rule: You have to let that shit go. Whatever it is, you have to let it go.”

“That’s what they tell us. Right?”

“And for good reason. I’ve been out there with you. I know. If we held on to all of the shit we’ve seen—half of the shit we’ve done, we’d never be any good to anyone. We have our orders. We follow them,” Delgado said mechanically. “When that case is closed, there’s nothing else to do or say.”

Leaf nodded along and bit at his upper lip. After a pause, he asked, “And who says when the case is closed?”

“The motherfucker who cuts your check,” Delgado replied, tapping Leaf on the chest. He laughed. “Listen, don’t get caught up. Whatever it is, saying something—doing something, that isn’t going to make a difference.” He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “I’ve seen some of the best guys go down thinking otherwise. And not all of them left the Bureau on their feet.” He looked Leaf in the eye soberly and stepped back from him before completely changing his demeanor to something more decidedly chipper. “So, what’s up? I stopped by to see if you wanted to head over to lunch at Daddy O’s with me to get some ribs.”

“Ribs? What are you doing eating ribs? What’s up with your high blood pressure?”

“Got it down, now I’m trying to get it back up,” Delgado joked. “Seriously, though, don’t worry about me. I’ll get the rib salad. That’s collard greens and ribs.”

“God, I don’t miss you lame joke-telling motherfuckers in Investigations,” Leaf said.

“Well, we miss you—king of the lame jokes,” Delgado snickered. “So, what’s up? You down for some Daddy O’s? Or are you going to stand in here and weep for the rest of the afternoon?”

His hands in his pockets, Leaf grinned at his old comrade and bounced his eyes from Delgado back to the skyline. “Yes. Daddy O’s is probably a good idea.” He turned away from the city and pulled his hands from his pockets. “Ribs on you,” he said, grabbing his suit jacket and cell phone from his desk and following Delgado out the door.

Chapter 4

This was about money. Everything was about money. But the truth was, there wasn?

?t enough money. Not enough money. Now, there was a lot of money. Maybe more than a lot. But not enough. No. Not enough money for someone who had no money to keep money after everybody else got all their money. And while Val didn’t know a lot about money, she knew that. If she played nice and she played fair with this money, she was going to come out on the bottom. And that wasn’t going to happen . . . not again.

When Jamison kicked Val out of his house in Cascade and promised to divorce her, leaving her broke without a dime to her name, she just knew her everything was about to crumble. Everything she’d worked for. Everything she had promised herself so many times would materialize in her life was about to dissipate into a memory. Now, maybe finding a rich man and living the rich life as his rich wife wasn’t everyone’s plan, but it was hers. Some women went to law school. Some to medical school. Some to hair school. Val wanted a rich man, so she had to endure her own course of study. For some time she was a straight-A student in the curriculum, and at one point it seemed that she was about to graduate with a ring and get that terminal degree and title before her name: Mrs.

She’d set her eyes on the mayor of the fastest growing little city in the entire world. And somewhere between letting him remove her fishnets with his tongue and doing lines of cocaine off her ass and watching him lead press conferences from the front row with nothing but white people behind her, and seeing a picture of herself on his arm on the cover of a national newspaper, she’d fallen in love. She’d gotten pregnant by him and then—dear God above—Val had gotten that ring—the ring—and the promise that she was going to be his second wife.

And then it happened. Just like that. She became Mrs. Jamison Taylor. The mayor’s wife. Not just a lady, but a first lady. Her face was everywhere and everyone knew her name, and more importantly, how powerful and very rich she was. Everyone from her past—her sisters, those men she’d met in the night, the fake friends, Jamison’s first wife and his mama—they could all see what Val had done. And everything she’d ever talked about. Everything she ever wanted was hers for the taking.

But she knew Jamison was never really along for the ride. Yeah, she really did truly love that man. His back. His voice. His smell. How he loved. How he gave love. But none of that ever seemed to rightfully trickle down to her. She was quite clear on that. Still, she thought a baby and ring would somehow change that major impropriety. However, like most brokenhearted little girls with such dreams, she’d soon learn that there could never be anything but fool’s gold at the end of that rainbow.

The baby died in her belly one night in their bed after Val had eaten Jamison’s mother’s mysterious summer soup, the man sent her packing, and somehow poor Val ended up crying salty tears on the shoulders of Jamison’s first wife. Here was ground zero. Here was luck run out. Here was, “What the fuck do I do now?” She’d be a grown woman playing a young girl’s game if she went back out there to find someone new. Even the old—the oldest men—wanted the youngest women. Their taut tummies and high-sitting tits. What next? A job at Macy’s? Waitressing? Home to Mama? Down on her knees to beg a nobody man with a 401(k) and health insurance to take her ass in? Hell, no. And then . . . hell no, again!

And then she got the call about the man’s unfortunate flight from the hotel rooftop. Though Jamison and Val had called it quits by then, that wasn’t how it was seen in the eyes of the law. There had been no divorce, so she was called to play the weeping widow. And the Tennessee beauty queen learned four things that would save her life. One: While she’d signed an agreement stating what would happen to Jamison’s money upon divorce, as no such divorce occurred before his death, the prenuptial agreement was null and void. Two: When Jamison found out she was pregnant, he dutifully went to see his lawyer to change his will. He’d removed Kerry as his sole benefactor and entrusted his funds to the mother of his unborn child—Mrs. Jamison Taylor—who was to do one thing: split his belongings among his children as and where fitting.

Whatever all that meant . . . Val didn’t care. All she heard was that she was about to cash in and move up. Between the money in Jamison’s insurance policies, dividends from Rake it Up, and investments, she’d be more rich with him dead than she ever could have been with him alive. Her mouth started watering and her head started swelling. But that was all too soon. There were still the matters of lessons three and four: In addition to making moves to change his will behind Val’s back after they got married, Jamison changed the benefactor on his private insurance policy, which was worth five million dollars. And four—that same benefactor was awarded 20 percent of his dividends from Rake it Up.

Whatever all that meant . . . Val had to care. That’s what had led her to Jamison’s lawyer’s office so many times. What led her there that day she’d met with Coreen.

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