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Authors: Edna Buchanan
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the way to pick up cat food."
"I've got some personal business, too. Something I need to take care
of," Stone said. "For about an hour. Okay, Sarge?"
"A little afternoon delight, huh? Oh, to be young and
single. Just make sure you stay single. And stay by your radio."
They dropped him off at the police parking garage.
"So the young stud has a sweet young thing waiting for him
somewhere."
Nazario nodded. "Guy has a way with the women."
CHAPTER FIVE
Stone used his own key. He knew she'd be in the bedroom.
"Hey, where's my girl?"
She felt like a frail bird in his arms as they hugged.
"Did you eat without me?"
"No, I waited, jus' doin' a little mendin' until you got yourself
here." A cotton skirt, its hem ripped, lay across the arm of her
recliner.
She seemed slightly unsteady on her feet, and he took her arm as
they went into the kitchen of her tiny Overtown cottage.
"Why aren't you watching TV?"
She waved away the idea, lips pursed. "All that soap opera
foolishness? Everybody lyin' to everybody else, everybody sleepin' with
everybody else, swappin' husbands, tradin' wives. Who cares 'bout that
trash? And those crazy talk shows? Where do they find those poor white
trash?"
He grinned. "How about a movie? The History Channel or Animal
Planet? I know you like that."
She looked away, headed for the stove.
"Gran, you still have the cable, don't you?"
"Who needs four hundred channels? It costs too much. Somebody 'ud
have to watch night and day to make it worth the money. I don't watch
that much, jes' the news."
He looked exasperated. "But you don't have to worry about the bill,
Gran. I gave you the cable for your birthday, remember?"
"You do too much already, Sonny. Shouldn't spend money on me. You
work too hard for it, you could do lots of other things with it."
She frowned in front of the old-fashioned four-burner gas stove.
"You here for breakfast or supper, Sonny?"
He tried not to be alarmed. A minor short-term memory lapse. That's
all it was. She still had total recall of events that took place forty
years ago. If you misplace your keys, the doctor said, don't worry.
Worry when you find them but don't remember what they're for.
"It's lunch, Gran. I think you already fixed it. Something sure
smells good."
"Oh, that's right." Nodding, she opened the oven door. "I was jus'
keepin' it warm."
His grandmother had always been the smartest, hardest-working, most
resourceful woman he'd ever known. She didn't let Sam get away with a
thing while raising him. For a long time he'd really believed she had
eyes in the back of her head.
"Set down and read the newspaper, Sonny, and I'll fix you a plate."
He took the still-folded
Miami News
and sat in the small
living room. Years ago they'd shared the same old armchair as his
grandmother told him stories and showed him yellowed photos: Overtown
nightclub owners, businessmen with marceled burr cuts, and show
business stars. Overtown was a mecca for black entertainers, top stars
who sang, danced, and did comedy at fancy Miami Beach clubs and hotels
but were not permitted to eat or sleep there. They all stayed in
Overtown and starred in late-night performances at its lively clubs and
theaters, in the days before the white establishment gutted the
once-vibrant neighborhood to build the expressway. She'd shown him
photos of a woman called Diamond Tooth Mary and of his great-aunt
Marva, a well-known schoolteacher and church organist.
He felt relaxed and at home in that room where his parents smiled
from a picture frame on a shelf. Next to it was a photo of himself at
age five. Wearing a navy blue suit, saddle shoes, and a tie, he peered
uncertainly at the camera from in front of a vintage television set.
His eyes wandered back to his parents' faces, their smiles frozen in
time, much the way he remembered them.
His father had labored over the fire, barbecuing juicy ribs, pork
chops, shrimp, and chicken, while his mother waited on customers at
their tiny take-out
"I've got some personal business, too. Something I need to take care
of," Stone said. "For about an hour. Okay, Sarge?"
"A little afternoon delight, huh? Oh, to be young and
single. Just make sure you stay single. And stay by your radio."
They dropped him off at the police parking garage.
"So the young stud has a sweet young thing waiting for him
somewhere."
Nazario nodded. "Guy has a way with the women."
CHAPTER FIVE
Stone used his own key. He knew she'd be in the bedroom.
"Hey, where's my girl?"
She felt like a frail bird in his arms as they hugged.
"Did you eat without me?"
"No, I waited, jus' doin' a little mendin' until you got yourself
here." A cotton skirt, its hem ripped, lay across the arm of her
recliner.
She seemed slightly unsteady on her feet, and he took her arm as
they went into the kitchen of her tiny Overtown cottage.
"Why aren't you watching TV?"
She waved away the idea, lips pursed. "All that soap opera
foolishness? Everybody lyin' to everybody else, everybody sleepin' with
everybody else, swappin' husbands, tradin' wives. Who cares 'bout that
trash? And those crazy talk shows? Where do they find those poor white
trash?"
He grinned. "How about a movie? The History Channel or Animal
Planet? I know you like that."
She looked away, headed for the stove.
"Gran, you still have the cable, don't you?"
"Who needs four hundred channels? It costs too much. Somebody 'ud
have to watch night and day to make it worth the money. I don't watch
that much, jes' the news."
He looked exasperated. "But you don't have to worry about the bill,
Gran. I gave you the cable for your birthday, remember?"
"You do too much already, Sonny. Shouldn't spend money on me. You
work too hard for it, you could do lots of other things with it."
She frowned in front of the old-fashioned four-burner gas stove.
"You here for breakfast or supper, Sonny?"
He tried not to be alarmed. A minor short-term memory lapse. That's
all it was. She still had total recall of events that took place forty
years ago. If you misplace your keys, the doctor said, don't worry.
Worry when you find them but don't remember what they're for.
"It's lunch, Gran. I think you already fixed it. Something sure
smells good."
"Oh, that's right." Nodding, she opened the oven door. "I was jus'
keepin' it warm."
His grandmother had always been the smartest, hardest-working, most
resourceful woman he'd ever known. She didn't let Sam get away with a
thing while raising him. For a long time he'd really believed she had
eyes in the back of her head.
"Set down and read the newspaper, Sonny, and I'll fix you a plate."
He took the still-folded
Miami News
and sat in the small
living room. Years ago they'd shared the same old armchair as his
grandmother told him stories and showed him yellowed photos: Overtown
nightclub owners, businessmen with marceled burr cuts, and show
business stars. Overtown was a mecca for black entertainers, top stars
who sang, danced, and did comedy at fancy Miami Beach clubs and hotels
but were not permitted to eat or sleep there. They all stayed in
Overtown and starred in late-night performances at its lively clubs and
theaters, in the days before the white establishment gutted the
once-vibrant neighborhood to build the expressway. She'd shown him
photos of a woman called Diamond Tooth Mary and of his great-aunt
Marva, a well-known schoolteacher and church organist.
He felt relaxed and at home in that room where his parents smiled
from a picture frame on a shelf. Next to it was a photo of himself at
age five. Wearing a navy blue suit, saddle shoes, and a tie, he peered
uncertainly at the camera from in front of a vintage television set.
His eyes wandered back to his parents' faces, their smiles frozen in
time, much the way he remembered them.
His father had labored over the fire, barbecuing juicy ribs, pork
chops, shrimp, and chicken, while his mother waited on customers at
their tiny take-out
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