Then his neck bent and I pulled in breath wishing I kept my mouth shut.
I was about to leave him to it when he pulled out one of my jewelry boxes and asked, “You work at the salon?”
“I, uh… yes. I work at the salon.”
I watched him open the cardboard box, pull out the jewelry box in it and flip it open then he fingered my earrings.
Then he said in a voice so soft, I could convince myself I didn’t hear it, “Then I suspect you know that my wife was not my favorite person either.”
Oh my God.
I held my breath.
He flipped my earrings closed, replaced them in the box, put the lid on and placed it back in the safe, pulling out another one, going through the same motions as with my earrings, unveiling my necklace and as he inspected my necklace he went on in that same super quiet voice.
“But even so, I’m sorry that happened to her.” Pause then even quieter, “She didn’t deserve that.”
He stared at my necklace, his thumb moving over the diamonds in an absentminded way that I knew he wasn’t even seeing them.
“Are you…” I whispered. “Are you okay?”
“Walker always took care of his women,” he murmured instead of answering, still thumbing my necklace and I held my breath again. Then I jumped when he snapped the lid closed. “Good that he finally has one who deserves it.”
I stared, stunned silent and immobile while he replaced the box and shut the door to the safe. Then he stood, taller than me, my head tipped back and he moved so he was in the closet door. He looked across our bedroom to the staircase then he looked back at me.
Then he said in that super quiet voice, “Shit will go down, Lexie, it’s gotten ugly and it’s gonna get uglier. But do not be alarmed. Frank and I will take care of you and Walker.”
I blinked, now stunned silent, immobile and thinking I might be in the throes of a coronary but he said no more, moved through the bedroom and at the top of the stairs he shouted, “Got nothin’.”
“All good here, too.” I heard Frank shout back as Keaton jogged down the stairs.
Then I ran after him.
I hit the downstairs after Keaton and Frank did, rounded the railing and stopped dead.
And I did this because Tate, Laurie, Bubba, Krystal and Jim-Billy were all in our kitchen. I was so absorbed in what was happening in the closet, I didn’t hear them come in.
Jim-Billy pulled his head out of my fridge, looked at me, gave me a broken smile and said in a way like he was reminding me of something I knew but, of course, I didn’t, “Thanks for the invite, girl. Like any time I can get my beer without payin’ for it.”
“Right, like you pay your tab,” Krystal muttered loudly, crossing her arms on her ample bosom and rolling her eyes to the ceiling.
Jim-Billy closed the door on the fridge (with a beer in his hand, incidentally), and turned to Krystal.
“I do,” he said.
“Yeah, once a year,” she shot back.
“Well, I still do,” Jim-Billy returned.
“And you expect a discount,” she retorted.
“Anyone would, seein’ as I order in bulk.”
I giggled.
“We’re done here, Mrs. Walker,” Gifford called to me, Officer Frank and Keaton were already standing with him at the backdoor. “We appreciate your cooperation.”
“Lexie,” I told him, moving toward the kitchen.
“You are not fuckin’ done,” Fuller snapped and I stopped moving.
Gifford looked to him and asked, “Your boys said all’s good and I didn’t find anything.”
“Gifford,” Fuller clipped, throwing out an arm, “there’s alcohol right in front of your face.”
“That’s not a condition of Walker’s parole,” Gifford returned and Fuller’s eyebrows shot up.
“What?” he bit out.
“Tyrell Walker, even after repeated tests on remand and during his incarceration, never tested positive for drugs or alcohol. He has no history of problems with either or evidence of use of the former. Alcohol is only prohibited for those parolees who have an addiction or past incidents where alcohol was a factor.”
Fuller’s lips twisted, he leaned slightly to Gifford and clipped, “That’s bullshit.”
“It isn’t,” Gifford returned with restrained patience.
“Never heard of a parolee allowed to have alcohol,” Fuller retorted.