Free Deadly Charm by Claudia Mair Burney Page B

of our attentions turned toward the dining room.
    Very pregnant Elisa St. James stood in the doorway. I hadn’t seen her since the day I’d gone to the Rock House and caught Rocky serenading her baby with the arrangement of “All the Pretty Little Horses” he’d composed for my baby. The baby I’d never have. She looked at me like she thought I owed her a beatdown.
    I looked at her. This pretty young woman, a wheat-colored, green-eyed sistah, had saved my life. In an act of extraordinary bravery, she trusted me and fled the cult that would destroy us both. And she believed I saved hers since I gave her courage to leave. She’d probably give my buddy happiness he’d never have with me. I thought of all I knew about both of them. I should have matched them myself, only I was too busy holding on to the sad remains of what Rocky and I once had, and missing out on everything God had graciously put right in front of me.
    I beckoned her over, and she flew into my arms and sobbed. I rubbed her hair. “Are you okay, sweetie?”
    â€œI thought you were mad at me.”
    â€œWhy would I be mad at you? Because this great guy sings you songs?”
    I pulled away enough to look into her shiny green eyes. She didn’t say anything.
    â€œElisa, you are one lucky—no, blessed—woman. I know things have been a little confusing for all of us, but look at what you’ve come through. Look at what you’ve survived already just getting away from Gabriel. He totally controlled your mind. Do you realize how few people in your circumstance would have left him like you did? I’m not mad. I’m your biggest fan, Okay?”
    She nodded and charged at me again. That woman hugged me so hard I thought she’d hurt her baby. She cried into my coat collar. “It’s so sad about Zeekie.”
    â€œI know.” And we cried some more. In fact, Elisa and I cried an inordinate amount of time. I’d totally abandoned any professional presentation. But God knows we needed to have that little chat, and I felt like I needed to cry for Little Zeekie, for my own dead child, and now for my dead womb.
    Elisa and I finally tore ourselves away from each other. I asked Rocky where Ezekiel Senior was.
    â€œHe and Nikki went to the morgue.”
    What irony. I lived in Ann Arbor, but had no access to the morgue there. Didn’t live in Detroit and virtually had a free pass because of Carly.
    There had to be a way for me to find out what that autopsy would reveal, because, try as I might, I was having a hard time seeing a precocious, total firecracker like Zeekie, almost three years old, drowning in a bathtub. I had to talk to Zeke and Zekia.
    Gonna need a little help here, Jesus .
    â€œWe’ll figure it all out,” I said in the professional, reassuring tone I used at work, both at my job at the Washtenaw County Jail and at my private practice. I’d switched to psychologist modeas much for me as for Rocky and Elisa. I could handle just about anything except someone hurting a child.
    I hobbled back to the dining room one more time and peeked in. Sister Lou stared at me with her stony gargoyle gaze, like I was about to violate the church she stood watch over.
    Something strange about that woman. More than cast-out-devil strange .
    Whatever. I’d have to come back. My ankle begged for relief. Maybe I’d have more success when the parents got back, anyway.
    I thought about that. The infamous Ezekiel Thunder, claiming before his son’s rigor mortis had set in that God would raise that baby from the dead. No, I doubted if I’d have any more success with them.
    Be wise as a serpent. Harmless as a dove .
    â€œAren’t I always?” I replied to that still, small voice of warning.
    God went silent on me in answer.
    Oh, yeah. This was going to be interesting.
    chapter eight
    F ATIGUE OVERTOOK ME as I stepped into my apartment and closed the door behind me. I