Deadly Charm Read Online Free Page B

me.
    Rocky called it right. I fell in love with Ezekiel Thunder. I just didn’t know he’d be the miniature one.
    And speaking of Rocky. When I finally made it to my seat next to Rocky and behind Thunder Boy—only sitting next to Rocky so I could get to that baby!—Rocky had the unmitigated gall to say something to me.
    â€œBabe! I didn’t know you were possessed .”
    Following the style of my great-grandmother and namesake, Amanda Bell Brown, I didn’t dignify that with an answer.
    I smacked him upside his head.
    chapter three
    T HE WOMAN holding little Baby Thunder in front of us in the “Holy Ghost row” certainly didn’t look young enough to be his mother. The honey-colored older black woman, much more elegant than the crazed usher, appeared old enough to be a great-grandmother to the child. She wore her salt-and-pepper hair in a neat chignon. Her suit, a cream-colored poly blend, sparkled from the intricate beadwork sewn across the trim. She seemed to engage the toddler as needed, but the furrow in her brow and her craned neck indicated a greater interest in the action going on around the child’s father.
    She didn’t even seem to notice when I leaned forward and whispered my name to the captivating baby. “ You ,” I told him, “can call me Bell.” He slapped his chubby hand to his lips and chortled, whipping his head back and forth with baby glee.
    I didn’t see anyone seated nearby who seemed to have motherly interest in the little boy, so I glanced up at the makeshift stage.
    Aha. There, without a doubt, young Madam Thunder sat on a first-lady chair. The huge, ornate, ugly-as-sin monstrosity seemed to coordinate with a similar, equally hideous bigger pieceof furniture next to it. Honestly, a pair of matching electric chairs held more appeal than that set of his-and-her thrones, or whatever they were. The chairs seriously activated my gag reflex, and my mother would have died on the spot if she’d laid eyes on them.
    I gazed at Mrs. Thunder. She looked like a teenaged girl, with her flawless café au lait skin. Her auburn hair had been teased to impossible heights—a frightening eighties throwback. I had to admit, she had a figure to die for. She was not turn-your-head beautiful in the face, and I’d seen better makeup on the dead, but the outfit she wore shouted “high maintenance” as earnestly as a roomful of Pentecostals shouted, “Glory.”
    She certainly didn’t look old enough to be the fallen intern. I doubted if she had even been born yet during that season of Thunder’s life. I would have said the man had had a recent, raging midlife crisis, only he’d passed midlife by now. He knew better. The old goat!
    I’m sorry, Lord . I had that whole calling-people-animal-names thing down pat. All this judgment! Rocky had assessed me well when he told me I could be a little judgmental. A little?
    I mumbled another lame “Sorry” to God, but I still felt reluctant to release the flurry of criticism storming through my head. Those barbs served as a powerful defense mechanism.
    I shot a look at Rocky, now in ardent worship as Thunder’s velvet voice rang out, “Great Is Thy Faithfulness.”
    I marveled at Rocky and his own faithfulness. He may get a little smart-mouthed, but he never strays from honesty given with a hearty dose of love. He knew what it meant to forgive folks their debts. I could only imagine what Thunder must owepeople, including Rocky, but my former pastor responded to the man as if he were Christ himself—sinless. I sensed not a hint of judgment from Rocky. And I don’t think he could have looked more radiant if we’d been at a Billy Graham crusade. He shone like a polished rock—no pun intended—and that brightness of spirit had to be God’s love.
    Rocky loved him some Jesus, and nothing would diminish that, but he also loved Ezekiel Thunder. And