I made it to the top and walked straight to Mitch’s door, lifted my hand to knock but the door was pulled open before my knuckles could meet its surface. My body jolted in surprise and I saw Mitch standing there then my body moved when Mitch leaned in, grasped my hand tight and pulled me inside.
Then he closed the door and turned to me.
This was odd behavior but I didn’t allow it to register because I was too busy looking around his place. What was behind his door was something I’d been curious about (avidly) for a very long time and when my eyes hit his living room, I found the reality of it shocking.
He had fantastic furniture and fantastic taste. I’d worked in a furniture store before I moved to Pierson’s and I knew at a glance that his stuff was the good stuff. As in, the really good stuff. Huge chocolate brown sectional couch that was both comfy-looking and well-made. A mammoth, square ottoman in front of the sectional. A dark wood wall unit that had to weigh a ton and had to have been crafted by a master. It housed his flat screen TV, a bunch of CDs, DVDs and books.
Wow. Mitch always dressed really great and he’d traded up SUVs since he moved in but I thought cops only did okay. His apartment said he did way better than okay.
“Sweetheart,” he called and I tore my eyes off his awesome pad and focused on him.
Then I held my breath at what I saw.
Something was wrong. Not wrong, wrong.
“Billy and Billie?” I whispered.
“They’re good,” Mitch whispered back and I noticed his hand was still holding mine tight.
Uh-oh.
“What’s not good?” I asked, still whispering.
His hand in mine pulled me closer and his other hand lifted to curl around the side of my neck. “The kids and I went out to lunch and then we went to Washington Park. Derek and LaTanya were over at her sister’s place all day. Bray was workin’. Brent was at the clubhouse working out.”
I stared up at him wondering why he was telling me all this.
“And?” I prompted when he stopped speaking.
Mitch didn’t continue for awhile, he just kept studying me. Then he closed his eyes and muttered, “Shit, I don’t know how to tell you this.”
Because he was freaking me out, because I had a cousin in jail who was a marked man and because my Mom and Aunt Lulamae were too close for comfort, I moved into him and placed my hand on his chest.
“Just tell me,” I said softly.
He opened his eyes and his hand at my neck gave me a squeeze. “Someone paid a visit while everyone was gone. They broke into your apartment, tossed it and they didn’t go gentle.”
Oh. My. God!
“No,” I whispered.
“I’m afraid so, baby,” he whispered back.
I didn’t know what to make of this. I didn’t even want to think about this. Mom and Aunt Lulamae were crazy and they were mean and they were stupid. They had certain unique skills in all those areas but they tended to come out verbally. That took crazy, mean and stupid to a whole new level.
My hand was released so Mitch could wind his arm around my waist as he called, “Mara, sweetheart, come back to me.”
My eyes focused on him. “How bad is it?”
“Bad.”
“How bad is bad?”
“Shit Mara,” he muttered and my hand slid up his chest to curl around his neck.
“How bad is bad, Mitch?”
His eyes looked deep into mine. “On a scale of one to ten?” I nodded. “Fifteen.”