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It was almost sevenP.M. when I left his office, and except for a short break to scarf down a pizza that his secretary called out for, we had been talking about the publishing industry and the people who worked in it nonstop.
Keith was convinced that unless the real killer was apprehended almost immediately, the district attorney would respond to the intense media scrutiny by asking the grand jury to issue an indictment against me. He would not allow me to appear before a grand jury, and I had to prepare myself for a grim reality—the police would issue a warrant for my arrest. He told me that he had friends in high places so I’d be spared a humiliating perp walk in front of the television cameras and only spend a few hours in custody before bail was granted. Since I had a job, an elderly mother, and was a native New Yorker, a case could be made that I was not a flight risk so I could get bail and remain free until my trial.
Arrested! My reputation would be ruined—I’d never get another job in my field and there was a good chance that Mama would be paralyzed by the shame. I nearly passed out in Keith’s office. And how, pray tell, would I come up with bail money if the need should arise?
I dragged myself to Mama’s house, wondering how I was going to tell her this terrible news.
When she opened the door to let me in, I was relieved to find Elvira there, which meant I had a short reprieve. They were sipping on cans of Colt 45. I kissed them both, threw my coat on an armchair, and grabbed a beer from their six-pack.
There was a tempting smell wafting from the kitchen.
“What did you make for dinner, Mama?”
“Meat loaf and scalloped potatoes.”
“Mmmm . . . any left?”
“Yeah.”
Mama peered at me closely. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
Mama spoke directly to Elvira. “Do you believe this chile is gonna sit in that chair and let that lie roll right off her lips?”
In addition to being a gentle and thoughtful woman, Elvira was also tactful. “Now, Mozelle, maybe your daughter has a problem she don’t wanna talk about in front of me. I should be runnin’ along anyway. It’s almost time for Wheel of Fortune to come on.”
In spite of all my balled-up anger and fear, there was still room in my heart for a lonely old woman who was putting off going to her empty rooms as long as possible. “Oh no, Miss Elvira,” I protested, “please stay a while. We can all watch the program together in Mama’s room. It’ll be good to have company while I eat.”
Mama gave me an approving smile and Elvira looked relieved.
The two women gossiped about their neighbors as I bustled about in the kitchen with a cyclone of unanswered questions roaring through my brain. Were Detective Gilchrist and his crew actively looking for someone other than me, or had the videotape and Tiffany Nixon’s column persuaded them to stop searching? If I did get arrested, would I have to sit in a filthy jail cell until Keith called in his favors? Why was all this happening to me?
Mama and Elvira whooped and hollered throughout the game show. They played with such intensity, it was as though they were going to win the money themselves. Somehow I knew that Mama was not fooled by my attempts at joining in the hilarity as I shoveled food down my throat without tasting it.
I was right. The door had barely closed on the back of Elvira’s heels when she took my wrist in a viselike grip and steered me back to her room.
She looked scared. “What’s the matter, Jacqueline?”
“I have something to tell you, but the only reason I’m telling you is that if it does happen,
you would read it in the papers and I don’t want that.” I was babbling and moisture was beading up around my hairline.
“Somethin’ bad is gonna happen?” Her eyebrows were furrowed.
“Might happen, Mama . . . might.” I patted her folded hands.
“Just tell me,” she whispered hoarsely.
I took a deep breath and said it fast. “Keith thinks the police might arrest me for killing Annabelle.”
“What?” It was a scream.
It took me almost half an hour to calm her down and explain it all.
After that, warmed by each other’s company and united in our fear, Mama and I moseyed through our years together, reminiscing about the high points . . . my junior high school prom which Mama had insisted on attending, to my immense embarrassment . . . my high school graduation ceremony that had run more than an hour beyond schedule because the principal loved to hear himself talk . . . my graduation from the City University where Mama cried so loudly, she could be heard by the candidates crossing the stage to receive their diplomas. There were a few moments of merriment as we recalled my first boyfriend . . . a fifteen-year-old dweeb named Leo who was so afraid of Mama that he perched on the very edge of the sofa whenever he came over. Of course, he finally fell off and hit the floor one evening, and we broke up shortly after that.
We were fine until it was time for us to turn in for the night. Hugging each other, not knowing when I would be taken away or if Keith could really pull another legal miracle out of his hat and bring me back quickly, Mama and I were both overcome with emotion. She wept unashamedly and I bawled like a two-year-old until we tore ourselves apart and I went to lie down in my old room, knowing that both of us would toss and turn until dawn.
