Chapter 3

Cecelia prodded me until I got my boots off and went in to get a shower, while she put together something to eat. When I came out, wearing just a pair of sweat pants, and my tanned hands, forearms, and face no doubt presenting a strange contrast with the paleness of the rest of me, I found she'd fried up some sausage links and put them inside hunks of her homemade French bread. We both added lettuce, tomato, onion, and mustard, and chomped down on the tasty snacks. We'd have made a meal out of the fixings, but we were both tired – more emotionally tired than physically exhausted.

I contrived to stay awake on the sofa, reading Downriver, in installment in a mystery series I'd recently discovered, till Cecelia was done with her shower. Normally she likes to run the bathtub full, and soak until the water begins to cool, but she did without this time. When I heard the bathroom door opening in our bedroom, I went in, turning off lights behind me. She'd left the bathroom light on, and as I came in she stopped where she was, beside the bed, and held out a pair of scissors.

"I wonder if you could cut my hair," she said.

I realized then that instead of leaving her hair loose, she'd gathered it up again into the short ponytail she always has it in, at the base of her skull. "I wish you'd leave your hair alone," I said as I took the scissors. "If you'd grow an Afro you'd look even more beautiful."

"But I do not wish to alter my hairstyle. Nor, Darvin, do I care to hear your opinions of it tonight." She shook her head. "I'm sorry – I don't mean to be short with you. I'm simply too tired to engage in our usual badinage; my thorns are losing what little softness they may ordinarily possess."

I hadn't had time to get truly angry, and I reached out and drew my fingers along her cheek. "It's okay, C – I'm wore out too. Lemme get behind you so I can see." Standing behind her, where the light from the bathroom fell, I looked at her ponytail. I know how she likes me to cut it, and I put the scissors in the right spot, made sure they were level, and with my right hand underneath, snipped. The cut hair fell into my hand, its kinks holding it more or less together. I carried it and the scissors into the bathroom, dropping the clump of hair into the trash and putting the scissors in the medicine cabinet.

When I came out I saw that Cecelia was in bed, so I reached back and flipped off the bathroom light. I pulled off my sweat pants and crawled into bed beside my wife. She reached around and gathered me in with her arms.

"What is my assignment for tomorrow?" she asked.

"I don't know what you'll need to do just yet. My first move has got to be to go down to Central tomorrow night and find out what I can about that minivan."

"A minivan would be more likely in the Heights, or the North Valley."

"That's where the owner lives, maybe, but the people who go around doing drive-bys don't generally live in law-abiding neighborhoods."

"So you think the – what's the term for the people who committed this crime?"

I chucked. "You mean other than 'killers?' 'Murderers' is good, but I'd call 'em the shooters."

"So you believe that the shooters stole the van."

"I ain't got no doubt. Would you drive your car if you were going out to kill someone?"

There was a pause before she spoke. "It is so obvious when you ask the question, yet I never thought of it. Clearly your world – or more precisely the world in which you work – is different from mine. No, I would not use my car for such a nefarious purpose. Of course I would not go out to commit wanton murder, but if I did, I would indeed purloin someone else's vehicle for the purpose."

"And that means I gotta go where the thieves are. Now Central ain't the only place they got thieves in this town, but it's closer, and most of my contacts are there. I'll start there, and either I'll find out what I need to know or find out that I need to talk to my sources in the South Valley too."

"And until you have some notion of who stole the vehicle, you are at a standstill – it is reasonable. But I am restless; I am eager to begin."

I took a deep breath – she'd given me orders, and now I was going to give some to her. "Cecelia, here's how it works in this deal. You don't do anything without my authorization. I know what I'm doing – you don't. You don't even have a PI license, which means you don't have the legal authority I have. You don't have any training or experience with law enforcement. Shoot, as far as I know your only real experience with law enforcement has been with Jim Crow deputies – and you on the receiving end. I will determine what you can do, and when and where you can do it, and you will follow my instructions or you'll be out of the investigation."

Her pause this time was longer. "I want to argue, beloved, but I can't. You are quite right. I shall confine my eagerness to that which you assign me ... even though I may chafe, at times, under the restrictions. I must remember that when it comes to investigations, I am not your wife, but your employee."

"You can't separate the two – the woman I hired to run my office is the same one I've loved all these years. But yeah, when it comes to this deal, I'm the boss – and I'd hate to have to fire you."