Murder with Macaroni and Cheese Read Online Free Page A

I’m still in regular contact with.”
    â€œNicole Baxter? How is she?”
    â€œShe’s good. She’s planning on attending. She lives in Bowie now. She—”
    Wavonne interrupts me. “Here we go.” She set three glasses of tea down on the table. I’m curious who the third glass of tea is for until I see her grab a chair from a neighboring table, slide it over, and plop herself down on it. “Your other friend who’s comin’ over . . . you said her name was Raynell Rollins?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI thought that name sounded familiar. Then I was pourin’ the tea, and it came to me— Raynell Rollins . She wouldn’t happen to be the wife of Terrence Rollins?”
    â€œYes,” Alvetta responds. “That’s her.”
    â€œGet out?! She’s the wife of Terrence Rollins? Former wide receiver of the Washington Redskins?”
    Alvetta smiles. “Yes indeed. He retired from the Redskins years ago. He’s a sports anchor on the local news now. I’m sure you’ve seen him. He’s on every night at six and eleven.”
    â€œI’ve seen him,” I say. “He certainly is a nice-looking man.”
    â€œDo you really think Raynell would have it any other way?”
    I laugh. “No, I guess not.”
    â€œI think that’s Raynell now.” Alvetta directs her eyes over my shoulder.
    I turn around and look out the window at a white Cadillac Escalade easing into the parking space next to Alvetta’s car.
    â€œGreat. We can start figuring out a plan for the event.” I turn to Wavonne. “Is there something I can help you with?” I’m wondering why she is still sitting with us when we had arranged for her to be the server for this table, not to mention the two or three other tables she should be waiting on at this very moment.
    â€œNope. I’m good.”
    â€œWavonne, you are supposed to be serving this table—not sitting at it. And you have other tables that need tending.”
    â€œI got it covered. Darius said he’d look after my tables for a few mins.” She leans in and whispers to me. “You need to hook me up with this Raynell sista. She and her husband may be my ticket to finding a professional sports playa boyfriend.”
    I don’t want to have an argument with Wavonne in front of Alvetta, so I just nod at Wavonne and get up to greet Raynell. As I watch her step out of the SUV I’m reminded of how short she is, even in the high heels she’s sporting. I often remember women like Raynell—woman with big personalities and bigger egos—taller than they actually are. Absent her stilettos she barely clears five feet.
    Unlike Alvetta, Raynell, with her wide nose and square jaw, is not a natural beauty. You wouldn’t call her obese, but words like “stout” or “solid” come to mind when you look at her. She doesn’t have much of a waistline. Somehow she manages to be plump without having curves—her figure is more in line with . . . say a tree trunk rather than an hourglass. But you have to give the girl credit for doing the best she can with what God gave her. As she gets closer to the door, I can see that her hair and makeup are meticulous, and her lavender pantsuit flatters her less than curvaceous figure as best it can.
    Raynell’s power never did stem from her looks. It was always her confidence and authoritarian manner that made her the empress of my high school. And I’m guessing it’s those same traits that landed her a handsome rich husband.
    Raynell’s boxy stature is made even more apparent when a petite, much younger woman rounds the corner from the passenger side of Raynell’s SUV, carrying what appears to be a very heavy bag in one hand and an iPad in the other.
    The pair reaches the door, which I open for them, and, as Raynell’s eyes meet mine, I suddenly remember how she was sort of a bitch