Bill picked up the bottle and topped them off again. Amanda thought to cover the glass with her hand, but she couldn’t make herself move.
The phone rang in the kitchen. Evelyn startled. “Gosh, who could be calling this late?”
Amanda couldn’t be alone in the room like this. She followed Evelyn into the kitchen.
“Mitchell residence.”
Amanda pulled back her hair, twisting it around the crown. She stuck the bobby pins back in. Her movements were clumsy. Too much wine. Too much attention.
“Where?” Evelyn asked. She pulled the long telephone cord across the room and got a pen and paper out of the drawer. “Say that again.” She scribbled as she spoke. “And when was this?” She made some noises, encouraging the caller to continue. Finally, she said, “We’ll be right there,” and hung up.
“Right where?” Amanda asked. She kept her hand on the kitchen counter. The wine had pickled her brain. “Who was that?”
“Deena Coolidge.” Evelyn folded the piece of paper in half. “They’ve just found another body.”
Amanda felt her focus snap back. “Who?”
“They don’t know yet. Blonde, thin, pretty.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“They found her at Techwood Homes.” Evelyn pushed open the door to the dining room. “Sorry, boys, we need to step out.”
Bill smiled. “You’re just trying to get out of doing dishes.”
“I’ll do them in the morning.”
They exchanged a look. Amanda realized that Bill Mitchell wasn’t as naive as she had first imagined. He saw through his wife’s funny stories the same as Amanda.
He raised his glass in a toast. “I’ll wait up for you, my love.”
Evelyn grabbed Amanda’s purse before letting the door swing closed. “I’m drunk as a lord,” she muttered. “I hope I don’t end up driving us into the creek.”
“I’ll drive.” Amanda followed her out the kitchen door.
Instead of heading to the car, Evelyn went to the shed. The men had finished the job except for the painting. Evelyn ran her hand along the top of the door trim and found the key. She tugged on the chain to turn on the light. There was a safe bolted to the floor. Evelyn had to try the combination three times before she finally got it open. “I think we drank that whole bottle between us.”
“Why did Deena call you?”
“I asked her to let me know if anything else came up.” Evelyn pulled out her revolver. She checked there was ammunition in the cylinder, then snapped it back into place. She took out the speed-loader, then shut the safe door. “Let’s go.”
“Do you think you’ll need that?”
Evelyn tucked the revolver into her purse. “I’m never going anywhere without it again.” She grabbed the shelf as she stood up. Her eyes closed as she oriented herself. “They’re probably going to give us both DUIs.”
“That’ll hardly make us stand out.”
Evelyn pulled off the light and locked the door. Amanda took deep breaths of air as she walked to her car, trying to clear her head.
Evelyn said, “You know this means Juice didn’t do it.”
“Did we ever really think he did?”
“No, but now they’ll know, too.”
Amanda climbed into the car. She threw her purse into the back seat as she waited for Evelyn to get in. The drive to Techwood wasn’t a long one, especially at eight o’clock in the evening. There was no traffic on the road. The only people who stayed in Atlanta after dark were the ones who had no business being there. Which was a good thing considering Amanda’s state of intoxication. If she accidentally hit a pedestrian, no one was likely to care.
The traffic lights were flashing yellow as she traveled up Piedmont Road. Amanda took the steep curve that turned into Fourteenth Street, then slowed for the blinking light before turning left on Peachtree. Another right on North and she was following the same pattern they’d worn last week: past the Varsity, over the interstate, left on Techwood Drive, and straight into the hell of the projects.
Several police cruisers were blocking the path to their usual berm. Amanda parked behind a familiar Plymouth Fury. She glanced inside the car as she passed. Wadded-up packs of cigarettes. A half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker. Crushed cans of beer. She followed Evelyn toward the buildings. Again, Rick Landry was standing in the middle of the courtyard. His hands were on his hips. His face twisted with anger when he saw Amanda and Evelyn.
“Whatta I gotta do, beat it into you broads?” He looked ready to do just that, but Deena Coolidge stopped him.
“Y’all ready?”
Landry glared at her. “Ain’t nobody called for a pickaninny, Sapphire.”
She puffed out her chest. “You need to get your cracker ass out my face before I pimp you up to Reggie.”
Landry tried to stare her down, but Deena, who was at least a foot shorter than him, stood her ground. Landry finally relented, but not without mumbling “Cunts” as he stomped away.
Deena asked, “Y’all wondering what him and Butch are doing here when they’re both on day shift? Because I sure am.”
Amanda looked at Evelyn, who nodded. It did seem strange.
Deena said, “Pete’s around back with the body, but I’ve got somebody for you to talk to first.”
Neither of them spoke as they followed Deena into the building. The hall was packed with women and children dressed in housecoats and pajamas. Their faces were guarded and frightened. They had probably been settled down for the night when the police cars showed up. They’d all left their front doors open. The lights from the cruisers filled the apartments. Amanda was very conscious that hers and Evelyn’s were the only white faces as Deena took them deeper into the building.
Only one apartment door on the floor was closed. Deena knocked on it. They waited for a chain to slide back, deadbolts to turn. The old woman who opened the door was dressed in a black skirt and jacket. Her white blouse was crisply starched. She was wearing a fine black hat with a short veil that hung to the top of her eyebrows.
“Whatchu doin’ dressed up for church, Miss Lula?” Deena asked. “I told you these gals just want to talk. They ain’t gonna drag you down to the jail.”
The old woman stared at the floor. She was cowed by their presence, that much was evident. Even when she stepped back so that they could enter, it was obvious that she was doing so under great duress. Amanda felt deeply ashamed as she walked into the apartment.
Deena suggested, “Why don’t you get us some tea, dear?”
Miss Lula nodded as she headed into the other room. Deena indicated the couch, which was a pale yellow and absolutely spotless. In fact, the living room was remarkably tidy. The one chair that faced the small television had a ruffled skirt and a doily. Magazines were neatly stacked on the table. The rug on the floor was clean. Pictures of Martin Luther King, Jr., and Jack Kennedy faced each other on the wall. There were no cobwebs in the corners. Even the stench of the building had not managed to permeate the space.
Still, neither Evelyn nor Amanda sat down. They were too mindful of the setting. As spotless as this woman’s apartment seemed, it was still surrounded by filth. You might as well drag a clean blanket through a mud puddle and expect it to remain unscathed.
They heard a kettle start to boil in the kitchen.
Deena’s tone was firm. “Y’all best both be sitting your white asses down by the time she comes back in here.”
Deena took the chair by the television. Reluctantly, Evelyn sat on the couch. Amanda joined her, keeping her purse clutched in her lap. Both of them sat on the edge of the cushions—not from fear of contamination, but because they were on duty. Years of wearing utility belts around their waists had made it impossible for them to sit back in their seats.
Amanda asked, “Who called in the body?”
