“That was a joke, Rondell.”
He nodded sagely. “Another reason why nobody likes me-I have no sense of humor whatsoever.”
“I can give you some homework if you want. A thorough grounding in the films of Preston Sturges ought to help. Plus a steady diet of Abbott and Costello, The Three Stooges, Daffy Duck… Tell you what, I’ll put together a list.”
“I would appreciate that very much.”
Mitch had left an orange safety cone where they’d found her. The tide had gone out since then. The cone stood well back from the water’s edge.
As he approached the cone Rondell began to cry. He fell to his knees and flattened his hands against the sand, holding them there as if he were trying to soak up Kinitra’s aura. “She… was naked when you found her?”
“She had on a white sleeveless T-shirt and panties.”
“But you could see through them.”
“Well, yeah. They were soaking wet.”
He looked up at Mitch accusingly. “You saw her private bits.”
“I’m not the only one who did.”
“Shut your filthy mouth!” Rondell staggered to his feet and threw a wild roundhouse right at Mitch, who ducked it easily and stuck out his leg, tripping him. Rondell sat down hard on the sand, gulped and then proceeded to gaack up that bottle of Grey Goose along with, seemingly, everything he’d eaten in the past three days.
“Feel better now?” Mitch asked him when he was all done.
“I suppose,” he replied weakly, kicking sand over the mess.
“I wasn’t disrespecting her, Rondell. All I meant was that my parents were with me when I found her. They saw her, too. So did the Jewett girls.”
“I understand. Absolutely, totally my mistake. I apologize. Would you care to hug it out?”
“Not necessary. We’re good.”
“I love her so much that it hurts,” he confessed. “It physically hurts, Mitch. Right here in my chest. Kinitra’s my angel. You should hear her sing. You should be around her. She’s… so beautiful. All I ever dream about is the day we will be together.”
“Does she feel the same way about you?”
Rondell shook his head. “Not yet. She still thinks of me as someone who’s too serious for her. Bordering on dull. My brother keeps telling me to lighten up around her. Be more casual. He’s even taken to buying me hipper clothes. Tell me, is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Rondell sat there on the sand, hugging his knees to his chest. “I realize she’s not going to fall for someone like me at this particular stage of her life. She’s about to become a huge singing star. She wants a handsome movie actor or professional athlete, not a glorified accountant. And I’m okay with that for now. I’ll be proud to manage her career for her. Keep her finances in order so she won’t get robbed blind like so many young performers do. And, over time, my hope is that she will eventually see me the same way I see her. I’m patient. I can wait for years if I have to. Because, for me, there’s no one else.” He let out a forlorn sigh. “My brother thinks I’m a fool. He’s had hundreds of women. Possibly even thousands. They literally throw themselves in his path at clubs, at parties, wherever he goes. Mind you, that was before he met Jamella. Now he has to toe the line. She makes sure he does. Watches his every move. Believe me, you do not want to piss that one off.”
“How about Clarence?”
Rondell looked at Mitch blankly. “What about him?”
“Does he think you’re a fool?”
“Cee aspires to nothing more than an endless parade of party skanks.”
“Has he ever shown any interest in Kinitra?”
Rondell shook his head. “She’s not his type. Besides, if he goes anywhere near her, Jamella will tell Tyrone to send him packing.”
“You say that Tyrone thinks you’re a fool for feeling like you do about Kinitra. But he’s a married man himself now, soon to become a father. Doesn’t he feel that way about Jamella?”
“Love her, you mean? No, that’s not actually possible. Tyrone doesn’t know how to place someone else’s happiness ahead of his own. He’s not made that way. Jamella is what you’d call a career move. His future in the NFL depends upon him proving to the commissioner that he has matured. And nothing says maturity like a wife and a child.”
“You make it sound awfully calculated.”
“Only because it is. I’m not being critical. I love my brother. But he is who he is. And I-I…” Rondell choked back a sob. “I don’t know anything.” He hiccoughed, his eyes twirling around in their sockets. “Mitch, I don’t feel so good…”
A swarm of media people surrounded Stewart Plotka and Andrea Halperin as they stood outside the Grantham estate, holding their press conference. Andrea was waving an article of clothing for all of the cameras to see. It was red. A shirt or blouse.
Mitch had to honk at a dozen cameramen to move so he could pull into the driveway. Trooper Olsen was on duty there at the gate.
“What’s the earth-shattering news, Oly?”
“Plotka claims he has Katie O’Brien’s blouse with Grantham’s semen all over it. The lawyer’s demanding Grantham give up a DNA sample.” Trooper Olsen shook his head in disgust. “That Plotka comes off like a no-good shakedown artist.”
“Only because he is one.”
“But the insane thing is he could be telling the truth. Given Da Beast’s history with the ladies.”
“Yes, he could. I’m afraid there are no clear-cut heroes in this movie.”
Trooper Olsen peered across Mitch at his unconscious passenger. “Did Rondell get trashed or something?”
“Just had a bit of a shock. I didn’t think he should drive.”
The trooper opened the gate. Mitch drove on in and parked by the front door behind a black Escalade. He got out and rang the doorbell. No one answered it. He rang it again. Finally, he heard footsteps and the door was opened by the immensely fat Chantal Grantham. She had a Swiffer Duster in her right hand, a bucket of soapy water in her left hand and an intensely hostile expression on her face. A vacuum cleaner was running loudly in a nearby room.
“What do you want?” Chantal demanded. Before Mitch could respond, she turned around and hollered, “Don’t forget under the sofa cushions, too, Monique!” Then she turned back to him, eyeing him suspiciously. “Well?…”
“I’ve driven Rondell home, Mrs. Grantham.”
“Why you want to do that for? His Porsche break down?”
“His Porsche is fine, but he wasn’t in any shape to drive it.”
“He sick or something?”
“He’s passed out drunk.”
Chantal shook her head. “That can’t be. Rondell doesn’t care for alcohol. Never touches it.”
“Well, he touched it today.”
She glared at Mitch accusingly. “You got him drunk, didn’t you? I knew I didn’t like the look of you. Sneaking around in the woods like you was.”
“Mrs. Grantham, he was already drunk when he showed up at my place. He’s very upset about Kinitra.”
“Oh, I get you…” Chantal’s gaze softened a bit. “He’s so young. All of those college degrees of his yet he’s still a little boy when it comes to women.” She hesitated, her brow furrowing. She seemed to be making up her
