of the limousine as though she wanted to turn back around. Judge Coleman bent down to talk to his wife. Finally, he coaxed her into the vehicle.
Darnell exhaled as he watched everyone climb into the limo. The last thing he wanted to deal with today was questions from the judge. He needed more history about the Colemans and their obvious friendship with the Harrises. It really wasnât uncommon for a victim to be killed by someone he or she knew. Plus, there were no signs of forced entry in the home. Since Pamela had been struck from the back, someone must have had access to the garage.
He turned to Brunson. âLetâs head back to the church to see if we can talk to a few people.â
Brunson eyed him warily. âAny particular reason why? We got plenty of trails back at the desk.â
Darnell knew Brunson wasnât that comfortable talking about religion or church. Not that he tried to get into anything theological with the man. Just the cringes and guffaws pretty much signaled how his partner felt about Christians or any organized religion.
He pacified him with, âIf anything suspicious was going on, believe me, church folk will talk. Someone might have a rumor or a possible clue we can use.â
Chapter Thirteen
Itâd been too long. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, it warmed her heart to see Aunt Maggie. No one had called her Nana in years. People wouldnât know about that part of her life, anyway. She rubbed her forehead, which now throbbed from her emotional outburst a moment ago.
On the other hand, Candace dreaded being in the presence of the strict religious woman who raised her after her motherâs death. No pants. No makeup. No secular music. No dancing. Aunt Maggie did everything she could to ensure her niece didnât fall into sin like her young sister. Without fail, on a daily basis Aunt Maggie reminded Candace of her motherâs demise at the hands of some man.
Not now. The past needed to stay buried. Whatever her auntâs reason for showing back up in her life, today of all days, Candace refused to be beaten over the head with her auntâs so-called spiritual rhetoric. Not that she didnât love the Lord.
In fact, one of the defining moments of Candaceâs childhood came with a walk down the aisle. God moved in her, and she wanted Jesus to be her friend. That Sunday, Mama wept. First time she really saw her cry. On the other side of Mama, Aunt Maggie beamed. Maggie was just as pretty as Mama when she smiled.
Candace leaned her head against the window, embracing her memories and the coolness against her throbbing temple. Across from her in the limousine, she sensed Danielâs watchful stare.
âMom, how long will it be?â
Candace lifted her head. âWhat do you mean?â
Daniel adjusted his glasses. His deep brown eyes appeared wide and misty. For the first time, Candace noticed how the rectangular frames matured his face. âYou know, before they find out who ...â
Candace opened her mouth to respond, but next to her, Rachel exploded. âAre you crazy? Why would you ask that now?â
Placing her hand on her daughterâs arm, Candace spoke with strained vocal cords. âYou donât have to yell.â
Rachel glared at Daniel. âHe is so stupid.â
âRachel. You know better than that. That word is not tolerated.â This wasnât a good time for Danielâs inquisitions. But lately the venom Rachel spurted toward her brother was driving Candace crazy. So much for truces.
âDaniel, it will probably be a while. Real-life investigations donât work like CSI or Law & Order . Brunsonâs on the case, and theyâre working hard.â
âYeah, I saw Brunson at the funeral today. I hope they donât take forever. You know, like with Dad.â
Candace nodded. No words to say. Theyâd been down this road before. Waiting for the police, her husbandâs colleagues, to
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