Murder with Fried Chicken and Waffles (Mahalia Watkins Soul Food Mystery) by A.L. Herbert Page A
Authors: A.L. Herbert
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he’s not alive.
CHAPTER 9
“O h my God!” I drop his hand and quickly stand up. “He’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yes, Wavonne. Dead. D-E-A-D!”
“Oh, hail to the no! I ain’t stayin’ in here with no dead body! I’ll call nine-one-one from outside.”
“You’re not leaving me here alone.” I grab her hand and take a quick look around.
“I don’t like this, Halia. I’m no good with dead people.” She starts dialing her phone. I see her press the nine key, and she’s about to press the one when I see it .
“Wait! Don’t call anyone.” I’ve just caught sight of one of my cast-iron frying pans. It’s lying next to Marcus, whom I now see has a big welt on the back of his head. At first I thought he had fallen over drunk or something like that, but now I’m pretty certain that’s not the case.
“Huh?”
“Don’t call anyone!” I repeat, my breath quickening. “This wasn’t an accident.” I point to the frying pan. “Someone hit him over the head with it.”
“Who?”
“How the hell should I know?!”
“We gotta call the police, Halia.”
“Just hush for a minute. Let me think.” I start pacing back and forth, my hands shaking.
“Think about what? What’s there to think about? You find a dead body, you call the police.”
“Not when that dead body is in your restaurant, you don’t. Who’s going to want to eat here once word gets out that someone was murdered in my kitchen?”
“Not me, that’s for damn—”
I cut Wavonne off. “Would you just shut it for a minute? I told you, I need to think.” I keep pacing the floor, looking at Marcus, then looking away, then looking at him again. I can’t believe the man who was so alive and well and full of charisma such a short time ago is now lying lifeless on the floor at my feet. I was never a fan of Marcus, and sometimes he annoyed the crap out of me, but I never would have wished this on him.
I can’t get a grasp on what this all means. Too many thoughts are rushing through my head. I think of Marcus, and the effect his death will have on the people close to him—people like Jacqueline and Régine. But, honestly, thoughts of my livelihood are coming to mind, as well. I have put years of blood, sweat, and tears into this restaurant, and I’m not about to let it go under. I’ve poured everything I have into Sweet Tea. Even with a bank loan and help from investors like Marcus, Momma and I had to take out a second mortgage on the house and tap Daddy’s life insurance money to get this place off the ground. Not to mention I employ an entire staff who depend on me for wages. There is just too much at stake for me to let word get out that a prominent businessman was killed in my restaurant.
I try to calm myself while Wavonne looks on from the other side of the room. I stare down at the lifeless body and take a deep breath . . . and another. “You’ve got to help me get him out of here,” I finally say.
“Get him outta here? Lord Jesus! Have you done lost your mind, Halia? Where you gonna take him?”
“I don’t know.” I’m still walking back and forth across the kitchen, more quickly now. “We’ll drag him out back into the alley behind the bookstore or the coffee shop. Anywhere but here.”
“ We? I ain’t touchin’ no dead body, Halia. For Christ’s sake, shuckin’ all that corn this afternoon did enough damage to my manicure.”
“Wavonne,” I say, steadying myself and looking directly at her. “If my restaurant goes out of business because no one wants to eat at a murder scene, who do you think is going to pay you what I pay you to sit around and run your mouth and paint your lips all day?”
She looks at me for a second or two . . . then at Marcus . . . then back at me. “I’ll get the feet,” she says. “You get the head.”
CHAPTER 10
“I just thought of something,” Wavonne says. “What if the killer is still here?”
“I’m sure he . . . or she is gone. He probably
CHAPTER 9
“O h my God!” I drop his hand and quickly stand up. “He’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yes, Wavonne. Dead. D-E-A-D!”
“Oh, hail to the no! I ain’t stayin’ in here with no dead body! I’ll call nine-one-one from outside.”
“You’re not leaving me here alone.” I grab her hand and take a quick look around.
“I don’t like this, Halia. I’m no good with dead people.” She starts dialing her phone. I see her press the nine key, and she’s about to press the one when I see it .
“Wait! Don’t call anyone.” I’ve just caught sight of one of my cast-iron frying pans. It’s lying next to Marcus, whom I now see has a big welt on the back of his head. At first I thought he had fallen over drunk or something like that, but now I’m pretty certain that’s not the case.
“Huh?”
“Don’t call anyone!” I repeat, my breath quickening. “This wasn’t an accident.” I point to the frying pan. “Someone hit him over the head with it.”
“Who?”
“How the hell should I know?!”
“We gotta call the police, Halia.”
“Just hush for a minute. Let me think.” I start pacing back and forth, my hands shaking.
“Think about what? What’s there to think about? You find a dead body, you call the police.”
“Not when that dead body is in your restaurant, you don’t. Who’s going to want to eat here once word gets out that someone was murdered in my kitchen?”
“Not me, that’s for damn—”
I cut Wavonne off. “Would you just shut it for a minute? I told you, I need to think.” I keep pacing the floor, looking at Marcus, then looking away, then looking at him again. I can’t believe the man who was so alive and well and full of charisma such a short time ago is now lying lifeless on the floor at my feet. I was never a fan of Marcus, and sometimes he annoyed the crap out of me, but I never would have wished this on him.
I can’t get a grasp on what this all means. Too many thoughts are rushing through my head. I think of Marcus, and the effect his death will have on the people close to him—people like Jacqueline and Régine. But, honestly, thoughts of my livelihood are coming to mind, as well. I have put years of blood, sweat, and tears into this restaurant, and I’m not about to let it go under. I’ve poured everything I have into Sweet Tea. Even with a bank loan and help from investors like Marcus, Momma and I had to take out a second mortgage on the house and tap Daddy’s life insurance money to get this place off the ground. Not to mention I employ an entire staff who depend on me for wages. There is just too much at stake for me to let word get out that a prominent businessman was killed in my restaurant.
I try to calm myself while Wavonne looks on from the other side of the room. I stare down at the lifeless body and take a deep breath . . . and another. “You’ve got to help me get him out of here,” I finally say.
“Get him outta here? Lord Jesus! Have you done lost your mind, Halia? Where you gonna take him?”
“I don’t know.” I’m still walking back and forth across the kitchen, more quickly now. “We’ll drag him out back into the alley behind the bookstore or the coffee shop. Anywhere but here.”
“ We? I ain’t touchin’ no dead body, Halia. For Christ’s sake, shuckin’ all that corn this afternoon did enough damage to my manicure.”
“Wavonne,” I say, steadying myself and looking directly at her. “If my restaurant goes out of business because no one wants to eat at a murder scene, who do you think is going to pay you what I pay you to sit around and run your mouth and paint your lips all day?”
She looks at me for a second or two . . . then at Marcus . . . then back at me. “I’ll get the feet,” she says. “You get the head.”
CHAPTER 10
“I just thought of something,” Wavonne says. “What if the killer is still here?”
“I’m sure he . . . or she is gone. He probably
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