Woman on Top Page 27

  Once they were out of the house, on my iPhone I made several attempts to Google the DNA testing process, and I also checked my calendar to figure out the exact days that I’d been with Haney, but I kept getting interrupted by the constant ringing of my doorbell with trick or treaters.

  I realized that if I didn’t want to take the chance of having another man’s baby, there was only one person who could help me resolve this situation.

  Tiffany: need your help with a very private matter

  RTC: how soon can you come to my office

  Tiffany: tomorrow

  It was after eight-thirty p.m. when Malik and Nylah returned home from trick or treating. Malik was in a good mood and Nylah was exhausted, and he had to carry her into the house. Taking that opportunity, I casually mentioned that Dr. Goldstein had called in a prescription for me that I needed to pick up that night.

  “How’d it go for you at the doctor’s anyway? Everything okay?” he asked as we began to sort through her candy.

  “I’m fine, just some B-12 and iron pills, he wants to boost my immune system. But I have to get that prescription tonight,” I said, mixing lies with the truth.

  “Did we have a lot of kids come by?”

  “Yes, but we still have candy. I’m going to get Nylah ready for bed,” I told him, before turning to Nylah and saying, “Go upstairs, sweetie, and get undressed. I’ll be up in a minute.”

  “You want me to pick up your prescription,” he asked.

  “No, I’m going to run out to Walgreens later,” I repeated trying to keep the desperation from my voice and face.

  “Tiffany, I wanted to ask you a question,” he said as he eyes brightened with a smile.

  Standing on the bottom step, trying to get away from him, impatiently I asked, “What, Malik? What is it?”

  “Later tonight, after you get back, do you think we could sit down and talk?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

  What did he want to talk about? Had Dr. Goldstein called him? Did he know I was pregnant or was it possible he was ready to reconcile our broken marriage? My delay in responding made him ask me again.

  “Uhm, sure, okay,” I said, confused as to what he wanted to talk about.

  “I’m serious, this has gone on too long. We can’t keep ignoring it.”

  “I’d like that, but right now I’m going to give Nylah a bath so I can go out for that prescription before it gets too late. Can it wait until I get back?”

  “Sure, but Tiffany. . .”

  “Yes,” I asked, annoyed that he was beleaguering the subject.

  He kissed me lightly on the lips and said, “Thank you.”

  By nine-thirty, I’d given Nylah a bath, read her a book and she’d fallen asleep. I couldn’t wait any longer, so I went into our bedroom where Malik was watching Monday Night Football and told him I was going to Walgreens. My plan was to meet Haney at ten p.m. and be back home by eleven. If Malik became suspicious, I’d tell him that the prescription hadn’t been ready.

  Making sure I had my set of keys to Halfway House, I hurried out the house, waving to Phinn behind the tinted glass of the Tahoe, then slipped into my Lacrosse, and headed to Center City.

  The restaurants along 18th Street were relatively quiet. A few people were out walking their dogs around Rittenhouse Square, mixed with drunken Batmans, Elsas and Jokers who were heading home from Halloween parties.

  Approaching Walnut Street, I slowed down to make the left turn onto Hope Alley behind my sister’s restaurant, but was unable to because a black SUV was already there. Rolling down my window to peer around it, I could see the flashing taillights of Haney’s red Cadillac parked in front of it.

  Impatiently, I circled the block, passing the front of the restaurant to see if perhaps someone was inside, even though they were closed. Haney couldn’t have been inside because according to my sister, he didn’t have a key.

  The second time I approached the narrow alley wasn’t any better because now the SUV had backed up enough to block me from entering or seeing down the street. I did take note though of its municipal tags, which made me wonder who else Haney might’ve been meeting. I wanted to beep the horn, but I couldn’t afford to be recognized. For a moment, I considered getting out of my car for a closer look, but thought better of it because whoever was in that city vehicle would question my being there and I couldn’t risk getting caught up in another scandal. I checked the time, it was ten-fifteen and I still had to go stop at Walgreens. I called Haney’s mobile, but it rang until voicemail picked up. I sent him a text, no response. I couldn’t wait any longer.

  Heading back home to Girard Estates, I kept pressing redial, but he wouldn’t pick up and my senses told me either something was wrong or his plan had been to make me look like a fool.

  Walking in the house, I’d forgotten Malik wanted to talk, that is, until I saw the glow of candles coming from the living room. How could I possibly talk to him tonight, knowing I was pregnant, possibly with another man’s baby? This talk with Malik had to wait until I’d at least taken care of things.

  “Get what you needed?” Malik asked, who was now freshly showered, shaven, and wearing a pair of thin cotton sweats and a South Philly Rec t-shirt.

  “What’s all this?” I asked, noticing the bottle of very expensive Petrus wine and glasses he’d set out. It wasn’t like my husband to throw away that kind of money on wine, especially not with his collection of bourbons, which meant this was a night he’d been planning.

  “I thought we could relax, slow things down, and talk. I miss you, woman,” he said, with a bit of apprehension in his voice, as he uncorked the bottle of wine.

  Taking a seat on the bottom step, I said, “Malik, I don’t wanna rehash Tootie and Haney, and all that mess, not tonight. I don’t have the energy. I mean, can’t we just leave it that we both fucked up?”

  I waited for him to admonish me for cursing, but instead he drew in a deep breath and told me, “I’m fine with that, but I wanna make sure I haven’t lost you. What I’m saying is, I love you, Tiffany, and I know we can do better.”

  We both laughed at his slogan reference, but he quickly cleaned it up by saying, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “It’s okay, I still love you,” I told him, this time with all sincerity because I did love my husband, I just didn’t understand how we’d gotten to this place.

  “Good, ’cause I have a little present for you.”

  “A present?” I asked, not seeing his typical Tiffany’s blue box.

  “Here sit down on the step,” he said, holding out his closed fist. “This is for you, a mere token of what you mean to me.”

  Unfurling his hand, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, a diamond band, filled with three rows of dazzling diamonds set in platinum. I had no idea how many diamonds or what the karats were, but the brilliance of the colors they reflected was hypnotizing. If this didn’t tell me my husband was serious about our marriage, then his next move did.

  Getting down on both knees in front of me, he said, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I am so very sorry for everything that has happened. I love you, Tiffany and I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

  Before I could respond, the tears started sliding down my cheeks. I wanted so badly for this baby to belong to him and this would no doubt have been the perfect time to tell him. Instead, I said nothing and just allowed myself to cry.

  “Don’t cry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  I touched my husband’s face; he was so handsome, and his scent of mint, sweet grapefruit, and leather meant he was finally wearing the 1 Million-Paco Rabanne cologne I’d gotten for him. Holding his face with my hands, I sank my lips into his, kissing him, and showing him how much I’d missed him. This was right. I could make it right.

  “Here,” he said, slipping the perfectly sized ring onto my finger.

  Finally, I wiped my tears and spoke up by asking, “Does this mean you’re coming back to our bedroom
tonight?”

  “Tonight and every night.”

  Eagerly our lips met for another kiss, before I said, “Then why don’t you bring that bottle upstairs?”

  I didn’t hear it, but at five a.m. Malik’s mobile rang.

  “Tiffany, wake up,” he whispered.

  “What is it?” I groaned, half awake, my arm around him, in a room filled with the scent of what had been the best night in all our years of lovemaking.

  “Haney’s dead.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, while a tightness that began in my chest, crept up to my throat. I needed to vomit, but I knew if I did Malik might get suspicious, so instead I swallowed it back.

  Reaching for the remote, Malik turned on the television. Neither of us said anything as we listened to the news report, live from the scene, an occurrence that had become too familiar over the last year.

  I could hear Ukee Washington’s’ voice saying, “We have breaking news this morning. . . as scandal and murder continues to plague Philly’s highest office. Former district attorney, Gregory D. Haney, II was found dead this morning on Hope Alley, a narrow street behind the Halfway House Café, at 18th and Walnut Streets, a restaurant owned by Haney’s daughter, Kamille Alexander, sister of the Mayor’s wife, Tiffany Johnson-Skinner. Mrs. Skinner was recently in the news when a photo of her and Haney was leaked to –”

  “Turn if off,” I said.

  Malik slid back under the covers, enveloping me safely in his arms, but not tight enough to quell all my fears. Both of our mobile phones rang and vibrated several times before either of us spoke.

  “If anybody asks, you never left the house last night.”

  “Malik, I –”

  “Don’t explain, you were home, here with me.”

  “I love you, Malik.”

  “I love you, too, now try to go back to sleep.”

  Climbing out of bed, Malik had no plans of going to City Hall, where there was sure to be a media circus. Instead, at 5:17 a.m. he left out for a private meeting with DA Leander, at his home.

  There was no way I was going back to sleep. Sitting up in bed, I turned on the light, grabbed my phone off the nightstand and checked to see if there were any messages from Haney; there were none. I had so many reasons to panic. All those calls I’d left and text messages I’d sent to Haney’s phone, my car circling that block and everyone knew cameras were everywhere. I had to tell Malik everything, especially since we’d both vowed that there’d no longer be any secrets between us.

  Next, I phoned my sister.

  “Brandon, what happened? Where’s my sister?” I asked, when he answered her mobile.

  “I’m down at the restaurant. She was pretty distraught, so I sent her back home. Your mom and dad are there with her, and I have one of my Homeland guys sitting outside the house.”

  “What happened? Do they know who did it?”

  “I can’t get into the details, but Chef Haak was riding by from a night out and saw Halfway Hal flagging down cars. He pulled over, along with an off duty cop, and they found Haney laying face down beside his car in the alley.”

  “Somebody had to see something. What about the cameras?”

  “The one camera that covers the alley was broken, it was scheduled to be fixed on Wednesday. Homicide is checking all that out. But there’s plenty of cameras in the surrounding area.”

  “What’s gonna happen now? How soon will you know something? When will they have the footage?” I asked, pummeling him with questions.

  “Tiffany, slow down, I need to ask you a question and I want you to be honest; it’s just me, okay?” He paused before he asked,” I need to know if you and Malik were home all night.”

  Brandon was my brother-in-law, but he was still law enforcement, so I did as my husband had instructed me and said, “Of course, it was Halloween, we were trick or treating with Nylah.”

  “Where’s Malik now?”

  “He just left for the DA’s house,” I said, just as the phone vibrated with an incoming text.

  RTC: Urgent that we speak, soon.

  Chapter 26

  Lies & Alibis

  The days that followed were filled with speculation and sensationalism from the media. Not only were they questioning Haney’s death, they were also replaying Wesley’s murder and the fact that his killer had not been apprehended. But even worse, they were trying to draw a connection. That only put more pressure on my husband and subsequently, our already fragile marriage.

  The only thing I knew for certain was that I hadn’t killed Haney. I hadn’t even had the chance to talk to him and the only person who knew I’d gone to meet him was Phinn. I was pretty sure Malik hadn’t personally killed him either, but there was the possibility of Blu Eyes having done it on Malik’s orders. With Haney, the suspects, known and unknown, were limitless.

  Then I thought about Brandon, who according to Kamille was supposed to go see Haney the night of Nylah’s birthday party. Maybe those weren’t municipal tags I saw on that Tahoe; maybe they’d been government tags. If only I would’ve taken note of the license plate.

  In the days that followed, Malik barely wanted me to leave the house for fear someone might ask me a question about that night, especially a reporter. Once again, I refrained from reading the papers and watching the news because every time they mentioned Haney, they showed that awful picture from his condo.

  There was no autopsy, or public funeral for Haney. Brandon took care of all the arrangements, and without even a viewing, they had him cremated. Barring his son who was in prison, my sister was his next of kin.

  Kamille had been named as his beneficiary to a $100,000 insurance policy, that including his personal items and cash totaled to almost $300,000, which she deposited into the Johnson Family Trust. Once that was done my bro-in-law took her to Puerto Rico for a few days, leaving the boys with my parents.

  I wasn’t sure what Kamille had told my nephews; we hadn’t discussed it in depth because our phone calls and text messages weren’t quite enough to figure everything out. It was almost as if Brandon and Malik were keeping us apart.

  Malik had become very good at pretending we were okay. He’d been keeping a tight schedule, out of the house by seven a.m., two phone calls and one text during the day, with him usually home by seven forty-five p.m. It felt good to have him close by, but it barely lasted two weeks before his pattern changed. He began coming home late, and missing his afternoon calls until finally one night, he actually attempted to sneak in the house at two in the morning.

  “Malik, what’s going on?” I asked, meeting him downstairs in the kitchen where he was checking his mobile in the dark.

  “Hey, I thought you’d be sleep.”

  “I’ve been waiting up for you.”

  “Why? I’m all right.”

  “I’m letting you know I’m going to see my sister when she gets back home.”

  “You two don’t need to be seen conspiring, give it some time. The media is still snooping around, you know that.”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t care about the media, that’s my sister!”

  “She was Haney’s daughter and you were his lover, so why don’t you let me and Brandon handle this?” he said, paying more attention to his mobile than to what I had to say.

  His words literally made the hairs on the back of my next rise. “Malik, where were you tonight?” I asked, sensing more than I wanted to.

  He stopped what he was doing and asked, “Why don’t you tell me where you were when Haney was killed?”

  “What are you talking about? You know I went to Walgreens to get my prescription that night.”

  Tapping on the face of his watch, he said, “You left here at 9:35 p.m. and didn’t get back in till 10:38 p.m., so where were you all that time? I’m not stupid enough to think it took you that long to pick up a prescription.”

  “It wasn’t ready, I had to wait,” I said, dragging the words out because I really didn’t want to lie.

  “Tha
t’s funny, ’cause I thought we were done with the lies. Oh and by the way, you came home empty handed,” he said, his voice more nonchalant than accusatory.

  I turned away from him because it was the time to tell the truth.

  “You’re right, I’m sorry, Malik. I went there that night, but I never saw him. I wanted to reason with him to stay away from my sister. I swear; that was it.”

  “You saw him every chance you got, didn’t you?”

  “No, I hadn’t seen him since. . . wait,” I stopped defending myself, not liking the tone of his voice or the air of his attitude, and instead I posed the question to him, “Where were you tonight? You were with Tootie, weren’t you?”

  Walking away from me and toward the refrigerator, he said, “I was at the Union League, there was a reception for somebody.”

  With the light of the refrigerator door shining on his face, I could clearly see that my husband had the look of leftover sex. I not only knew what it looked like, but also how it tasted because I’d seen that reflection in my own mirror. I got up close to him, so close he pushed back away from me and if his being drunk wasn’t enough, then it was the scent of Tootie’s cheap perfume on his clothes that confirmed it. And for that, I slapped him.

  “Tiffany, what the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, grabbing his face.

  “You’re lying, you were with her. I smell that fat bitch all over you.”

  When his shoulders slumped, I knew I’d been right. “Why Malik? I’ve been here every day for you. You said you wanted this.”

  “I do, but ever since the party she’s been calling me, texting me, wanting to talk and I felt I owed her that much. I swear, I went there to talk, tell her it was over but. . . I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry for what? That you slept with her! Maybe you’re the one that needs to be honest. Tell me the truth, you knew it was her who leaked that picture.”

  “Tiffany, all of this can be explained. She was hurt, she wanted me to leave you, but I told her it was over, and she wanted to get back at me, to hurt us both. But I didn’t know, I swear, I didn’t know it was her until tonight. I’m never going to see her again, okay? You hear me, never.”