CHAPTER ELEVEN
But as soon as she left the bathroom, she quickly returned and put on the clean socks she had forgotten to put on, and then she made her way back up front.
But she didn’t see him anywhere. Just her luck, the chief of police might be a serial killer or some sadistic rapist who had her right where he wanted her. But she’d dealt with those kind of people her entire career. The worst of the worst. She didn’t get that kind of vibe from him AT ALL. “Chief McGraw?” she called out.
“In here!”
She followed the sound of his voice through the living room, the massive dining hall, and all the way into the massive kitchen. If there was a theme in that house? It was huge. Everything was huge . Including, she recalled, the chief’s penis.
Although she never once let it be known, she absolutely noticed when he had that erection and tented at his front door. It was like one of those Damn! Already? moments for her.
When she walked into the kitchen, he was standing behind the huge center island pouring himself a glass of wine. With the sleeves rolled up on his sweatshirt, she could see how well-built he was. How attractive he was. “Where’s the dryer?” she asked him.
He gulped down the shot of wine in his glass, sat the glass on the marbled countertop, and then walked around and took her clothes from her. The blouse and slacks she didn’t mind, but she had no intention of allowing him to dry her bra and panties. She was going to put them in her briefcase until she got back to her hotel room. But he took those too.
“But Chief, I can dry my own clothes. You just need to tell me where.”
But he was already walking to the laundry room that, she realized, was just off from the kitchen. And that was large too. He placed her clothes in what looked like a commercial-size dryer, putting them in one by one she noticed. Then he turned it on and walked back out into the kitchen.
“Have you eaten?” he asked as he began pouring her a glass of wine.
“I’m good,” she said. All she wanted was to discuss the parameters of her assignment with him and then get out of Dodge.
Grant looked at her as he slid a glass of wine toward her. “That’s not what I asked you. Have you eaten?”
She didn’t want to admit it. She wanted no favors from him. But she hadn’t and she was starved. “No sir.”
But then he noticed something seemingly on her forehead. She wondered what it was. Then he reached into a drawer beneath the center island, pulled out a blow-dryer and then walked around to Marti. But instead of handing the dryer to her, he plugged it in, removed her hair tie, and began blow-drying her hair himself. “It’s still dripping,” he said to her.
Was this man for real? It was like insanity to her. He was actually drying her clothes and her hair? It was weird on top of crazy to Marti. “I can dry it,” she said to him, attempting to get control of the dryer.
“I know you can,” he said to her, refusing to relinquish the blow-dryer. He continued to dry her hair until he was satisfied that her scalp, especially, was dry. Then he unplugged it, walked back around, and placed it back beneath the center island.
But when he looked at her again, he smiled for the first time since she met him.
“What’s so funny?” she asked him.
“You look like Don King.”
But what warmed Grant’s heart was that Marti wasn’t offended, nor did she hurry to the bathroom to spruce herself up. She actually smiled too. “The way you dried my hair with no consideration for styling it, I probably look more like Buckwheat,” she joked, and they both laughed out loud.
“Probably so,” he said.
And just like that the ice was broken.
As the chief went back to cooking his food, Marti took that opportunity to ask him about how he saw her role in his department.
“It depends on your goal.”
“ My goal?”
“Are you there to consult, or are you there to spy?” He glanced back at her.
“That’s a fair question,” she admitted. “I’m there to consult.”
“And how will this consulting take place?”
“That’s up to you.”
“How do you envision it taking place?”
“Total cooperation. You make it clear to your employees that I’m there to help, not to harm them. That I’m there to review how they’re operating and suggest ways that may produce better outcomes.”
“We won’t be arresting innocent people,” said Grant as he glanced back at her again. “In other words?”
“Right.”
Grant turned his pot off: the stew was ready. But before he plated any food, he went back over to the center island and poured himself another glass of wine. “If I told you that a police department had a forty-nine percent exoneration rate on DNA samples taken from various arrests, what would you assume?”
Marti didn’t skip a beat. “That the police department in question was poorly run.”
That felt like a gut punch to Grant. “Why would you say that?”
“Why wouldn’t I say it? Rot always starts from the inside out. And the inside man is always at the top.”
Grant tried to smile. “You’re calling my police department rotten?”
“I’m calling you rotten as the head of that police department,” Marti made clear. “I’ve only been here two days and I’ve already seen that every member of the Belgrave Police Department follows your lead. Every one of them.”
Grant studied her. “So I’m the problem?”
“You have a forty-nine percent DNA exoneration rate. If not you, then who?”
Grant was stunned by how candid she was right in his face. Anybody else talked to him so bluntly and they would be the one with the problem. But he appreciated her bluntness. She wasn’t the type to kiss his ass, and he respected that. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
But Marti was curious too. “How can you sleep at night with that kind of horrible result?”
He couldn’t sleep at night even before the results came in. “I sleep good at night,” he lied. Then added, echoing a commercial: “On Mattress Firm.”
At first Marti was confused. Then she remembered the commercial, too, and laughed out loud.
He joined her. But even she could see that his joy didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Let’s eat,” he said as he proceeded to prepare two plates of food and told her to follow him into the dining hall. She grabbed her glass of wine and followed him.
They sat at the long table across from each other, in that massive dining hall, but it still felt intimate to Marti. She found that she liked him. He wasn’t nearly as bad and closed-minded as she expected him to be. But she wondered if she had hurt his feelings regarding his horrific exoneration rate because he ate without saying another word to her.
“This is really good,” she said to him. And she was not lying. “I’m not a particular fan of stew, but this tastes great.”
He nodded his head and kept on eating.
“Who taught you how to cook so well?”
It was obvious he didn’t like talking during his meals: there was something really formal about him. But he finished chewing and spoke. “Self-taught,” he said. Then said nothing else.
When they finished eating, he finally spoke again. “I’ll tell my men,” he said, “to let you do your job.”
Marti smiled. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”
Then he pointed his fork at her. “But you stay out of their way, and my way, while you do it.”
That sounded kind of harsh, but she was pleased to have his buy-in anyway. “I will,” she agreed. But then she felt a need to add: “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Chief.”
Grant frowned. “My feelings ? What the hell does my feelings have to do with anything? Don’t you dare apologize to me. I’m the chief of police and I’m lousy at it. That’s just the truth. So don’t you dare patronize me.”
“I wasn’t trying to patronize you.”
“Show me how I can do a better job, and I’ll do a better job. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
He could be a hard man. But Marti knew hard. That was the only kind of men she’d ever known. “Yes sir,” she said.
Grant stared at her. He knew he’d hurt her feelings alright, and he regretted it. And if he was to be honest with himself, he was hurt by her bluntness too. But at least they understood each other. “If this marriage is going to work.” A look of horror appeared on his face as soon as he said that word.
Even Marti was stunned. Marriage? Did he say marriage ?
And he immediately caught himself. “Excuse me, if this situation is going to work, then we have got to keep it real. Beginning with no bullshit.”
Marti recovered too. “On either side?”
Grant nodded. “On either side, that’s correct.”
Marti smiled. “I can live with that all day long. That’ll work for me.”
Grant liked her smile. She had dimples for one thing. And her smile seemed to unburden her for another thing. Did anybody ever tell you how beautiful you are ? he wanted to ask her, but he wasn’t about to do that. Because it was obvious she didn’t like that kind of attention. Her hair was still uncombed and doing its own thing and she wasn’t giving it a second thought. Which made him smile too. “You know you still look like Don King,” he said to her.
And she laughed again. He adored her laugh. “That doesn’t bother you?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “Not in the least. It is what it is. I’ll take care of it when I can get to my hotel room and get what I need to do what I do. In the meantime bump it.”
Grant had to know. That folder the mayor gave to him didn’t mention her personal info. “How does your husband feel about your carefree attitude?”
Carefree? Her ? Was he serious? She took a sip of her wine. “I’m divorced.”
Grant was pleased to hear it. But how long ago mattered. “Recently?”
“Heavens no! Many, many, many years ago. He passed away after we divorced.”
“Sorry to hear that. Was he a good man?”
Marti hesitated.“No.”
Grant studied her. She’d been hurt more times than she’d probably ever admit. “Any kids?”
A look appeared in her massive eyes that wasn’t there before. A look Grant didn’t recognize. She sipped more wine, but it felt like a shield to Grant. “No,” she said. “No children.”
Then she looked at him. “What about you? Any kids? Wife?”
A look appeared in his eyes that she thought she recognized. “I’m not married,” he said, although it wasn’t entirely her question.
But in that moment they found themselves staring at each other as if they were assessing each other. And suddenly their generally easy interaction felt uncomfortable and tense. As if there was bullshit between them. As if they weren’t keeping it real. As if it was going to be as superficial a relationship as all their other acquaintances. And for Grant that was a shame. He liked their truthfulness with each other. He welcomed it. “Your clothes are ready.”
It was only when he said it did Marti hear the buzz of the dryer finishing its run.
She quickly got up from his table, went into his laundry room, and closed the door behind her. She leaned against the door fighting back tears. It had been four years. Four years! And still just the mention of children drove her back to that awful place again. The running. The screams. The horror of it all.
She dressed quickly and hurried back out.
After retrieving her shoes from the bathroom, and smoothing her hair back down as best she could into a ponytail, she made her way toward the foyer. The chief was waiting for her there.
“I left your bathrobe in the laundry room,” she said. “I’m sure you would want to wash it.”
“Wash it why? Because you wore it ? Miss Nash, don’t be ridiculous.”
Marti smiled, which made him smile too. “Well. Thanks for dinner, and the blow-dry,” she said, and Grant laughed.
“But please call me Marti.”
“Not Markita?”
“Please no,” she said, and he laughed at that too.
“Will do,” he said.
“What’s your hours of operation?” she asked him.
“Twenty-four hours. What are yours?”
“According to the AG’s office, it’s supposed to be ten to six with total flex.”
“Then so be it. I’ll see you tomorrow at ten.”
That sounded great to Marti. She was bone tired. She could use a later wake up call. “Oh, before I forget,” she said as she pulled a folder out of her still wet but no longer dripping briefcase. “These are my credentials.” She handed him the folder. “I was supposed to give them to you on my arrival. Sorry.”
He accepted them and opened his front door for her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss . . . I mean Marti,” he said.
“And thanks again, Chief, for dinner.” He waited for her to return her politeness and say that she could call him Grant. But such a curtesy wasn’t extended to her. “It was very good,” she added to save face.
He nodded, but it was a kind of frosty nod. The ice had melted, but it was still icy. Which made him moody. Which made him unreliable. Which made her curb the enthusiasm she was building for the chief. And then she left. She wasn’t there to make friends anyway.
Grant walked over to his huge picture window as she made her way across his porch. The rain had stopped half an hour ago, but she still walked down those wet steps carefully, like she was a very cautious girl. And as she got into her Charger, he noticed how she still didn’t bother about her hair when all the black women he’d ever been with obsessed over their hair. But she didn’t give it a second glance. Didn’t even look in her overhead mirror at all. She was a different kind of lady, he thought, as she drove away. He remained at the window and opened her file.
Eleven years as a cop, which surprised him. Made it to detective early in her career and all the way up the ranks to lieutenant. A police consultant was a decided downgrade for her.
Why the switch, he wondered.
And marriage ? He still couldn’t believe he said the word marriage. Where did that come from, he wondered even more.