Murder with Fried Chicken and Waffles (Mahalia Watkins Soul Food Mystery) by A.L. Herbert Page B

hightailed it out of here the moment Marcus hit the ground. He would have shown himself by now if he were still here. What would he want with us anyway? Marcus was involved with all sorts of questionable businesses. I’m sure this has nothing to do with us. Now help me. I think we both need to get him from up here. You get under his right shoulder, and I’ll get under his left.”
    Wavonne does as she’s instructed. “I don’t like this, Halia. I got a police record. I don’t need to be movin’ no dead bodies around.”
    “If anything happens, I’ll take the heat, Wavonne. Now help me flip him over.”
    We manage to get him turned on his back. We both pull from under his shoulders and slide him over to the door that leads to the back alley. I release one hand, open the door, and poke my head out. All is clear, so Wavonne and I keep pulling. He’s not a real big man . . . and he kept himself nice and lean, but he feels like a lead weight. I hear a thump as his butt hits the ground when we get him past the one step from the door to the asphalt.
    I almost feel like I’m out of my body . . . like I’m looking down at Wavonne and me from the roof and wondering what the hell those two women are doing dragging a limp corpse down the alley. He seems to be getting heavier and heavier, but neither one of us dares to take a break. We want to get this done as soon as possible. By the time we get him several yards past the restaurant and drop him next to a Dumpster behind the bookstore, we’re both huffing and puffing like two fat girls in gym class.
    “Now what?”
    “I don’t know,” I say back to Wavonne. “We’ll leave him here, and someone from the bookstore will find him when they take out the trash. They’ll call the cops. We’ll just say the last time we saw him was when we left the restaurant at midnight.”
    I give Marcus’s body one last look. I still can’t believe he was just entertaining clients in Sweet Tea. Only hours earlier he was eating my fried chicken in between forcing that phony smile of his and trying to sell his clients whatever bag of goods he was hocking tonight. He may not have been the most principled person in the world, but he always seemed to have so much energy and life in him. To see him lying cold and stiff on the ground next to a Dumpster almost brings a tear to my eye. Even Marcus didn’t deserve to go like this. But I don’t have time for tears or any further reflection. At the moment, what Wavonne and I need to do is get the hell out of there.
    “We have a receipt from the grocery store showing what time we were there, and we chatted with the clerk about the restaurant. She’d probably remember us and could serve as an alibi,” I say to Wavonne as I begin to walk away. “We’ll say we went home from the store. Momma’s been asleep for hours, so she won’t have to lie about what time we got home if she’s asked. Like I said, Marcus kept company with all sorts of people. The more the police investigate, the less interest they’ll have in us. Besides, we didn’t do anything but try to keep my business from going under. All we have to do is . . .” I let my voice trail off when I realize Wavonne is not behind me.
    “Wavonne! What were you doing?” I ask, relieved to see her come from the other side of the Dumpster.
    “Nothing. I was just giving him one last look. He was one handsome brotha, Halia.”
    “Now is not the time, Wavonne. Let’s get inside, straighten up, and get on home.”
    “I just helped you move a dead body, Halia. Do I have to help you clean, too?”
    I don’t respond, but the streetlamps provide enough light for her to see the glare from my eyes, and she doesn’t say another word while she follows me back into the restaurant.
    Despite the fact that someone was killed, and there’s a frying pan lying on the floor, there’s very little to indicate that anything out of the ordinary happened in the kitchen. Everything else seems to be in