Wrongful Accusations - Chapter 11
Housekeeper on the Run
I woke up at about 3 am finding myself on a couch and wondering how I had gotten there. When I looked around the room and saw Aunt Essie asleep on the chaise lounge, I remembered where I was.
I had to pay the facilities a visit but barely made it. Being drunk and crippled was not a very good combination. When I returned to the den, I woke Aunt Essie up and helped her to her room.
When I was a kid, Aunt Essie’s bedroom was upstairs. But in recent years, due to fear of falling and breaking her hips, she moved downstairs. I tucked her in bed like she had done for me years ago. Not wanting to go up to my old room, I went back to the couch and got comfortable.
Aunt Essie had cooked breakfast when I finally woke up. The smell of bacon was in the air. I went into the kitchen in search of her but found a note on the fridge instead. She had to go to work but she wanted to make sure I had something to eat before she left. I went to the microwave and retrieved my breakfast. The pancakes and bacon would have me right for most of the day.
I called Cole Slaw at around 10am to see what she had up for the day. She didn’t answer her office phone or her cell phone, so I left a message on both and sent a text message. There wasn’t much on TV so I went into Aunt Essie’s office. She had a great library of her own. As I perused the shelves and shelves of academic books and journals, one book, in particular, caught my eye—True Crime.
The book was a collection of true stories about the world’s most infamous murderers, thieves, and con artists. I flipped through the pages and saw pictures of Al Capone, Enron executives, and the terrorists responsible for 9/11. There were also gruesome pictures of slain victims. I never knew my aunt was interested in such things, I guess you never really know a person.
Cole Slaw called at 11:30. I told her where I was and she said she was on her way to get me. I was looking out of the window when she pulled up. Once I had set the alarm, I stepped out on the porch, closing the door behind me. I didn’t have too hard of a time getting down the four steps. Cole Slaw had backed into the driveway and when she saw me, she came around to the passenger side and opened the door for me.
“Morning, Ms. Sassy,” she said curtseying.
“You stupid,” I said, settling into the seat.
“Yes, ma’am, thank you. Where would you like to go now, Ms. Sassy?”
“First I need to go by my apartment to get my notes on Mrs. Kadijah/Hinniyah Muhammad. Then I would like for you to drive me to Mrs. Muhammad’s house.”
“Yes, ma’am, anything else, ma’am?”
“Don’t rush me, gal, I’m thinking. I need you to chase and tackle Mrs. Muhammad if she tries to get lost. You got that, gal?”
“Yes, ma’am, I got it. I’ve got it right here,” she said pointing to her forehead. Of course, she was using her middle finger instead of her pointer finger.
“Well, you started it. You know that I always take stuff and run with it.” Cole Slaw just laughed and pulled out of the driveway.
When we arrived at my apartment it felt strange not to see Neil the Neighbor watching me or waving at me. I grabbed the Muhammad file from the coffee table. Checking my voicemail had crossed my mind but I figured it could wait.
Cole Slaw got on I240, at Union Ave, and headed east. Traffic was so thick that if we had made a sudden stop, the car behind us would have ended up in the backseat. We made it to the Mt. Moriah exit in 30 minutes.
Mrs. Muhammad lived in a duplex on Flowering Lane. When we pulled in front of the duplex, there were kids playing in the front yard. I double-checked the address and noticed that the Muhammad side looked deserted. Cole Slaw volunteered to check things out. She knocked once and the door opened.
“Sassy, unless they just don’t have any living room furniture, I think they’ve moved.”
“Moved?” I said, trying to hustle out of the car.
“Let me check,” before I could protest, Cole Slaw went in.
She may have been inside 10 minutes before returning outside. Cole said that the whole place was empty. I stopped one of the kids that were closest to the car.
“What happened to your neighbors?”
“They moved last night.” Moved last night? I guess Mrs. Kadijah/Hinniyah Muhammad had murdered her husband after all and she was on the run.
“Do you know of any friends or relatives that may know where the Muhammads moved?” I asked who I assumed was the mother of at least one of the kids.
“Who are you, the police?”
“I’m a private detective. Did you know Mr. Muhammad?”
“I know he’s dead and that’s all I need to know about him.”
“Why is that? Did you and he not get along?”
“We got along as long as I was dropping it off,” the woman said, patting her donkey butt. “But when I upped the price, he got mad.”
“Did Mrs. Muhammad know about your affair with her husband?”
“Not until the baby was born,” she said, pointing to a one-year-old child playing with the other kids in the yard. Wow, some people really liked living dangerously.
“Do you know where they moved to?”
“I think they have some people up north, in New York or Pennsylvania. That’s all I know.” Then she went back into the duplex and shut the door.
We were driving out of the cul-de-sac when my cell phone rang. I looked at the screen, it was Shannon.
“Sassy, I was just calling to see if you had any more information.” I debated on telling her about Mrs. Muhammad, but she would find out anyway.
“Shannon, your housekeeper was Joshua’s wife. She’s left town and I have reason to believe that she is the one who killed your child’s father.”
Shannon was quiet for a while, and then she started laughing. “Sassy, you’re crazy, but that is not something you should be joking about.”
“I’m serious. They’ve been married a little over 10 years and they have two sons. She says he has kids all over town. I met one that lived next door to them just a few minutes ago,” I know she didn’t need to hear all of that now but I couldn’t think of anything else that would get her attention.
“Where is Kadijah now? Who’s going to clean my house?”
“I think you’re going to have to roll up your sleeves and clean your own house because Mrs. Muhammad has left town.”
“Do you think she went back to Senegal?”
“According to the next-door neighbor, she’s on her way to New York or Pennsylvania.”
“How much worse can this get?” I didn’t know.
Shannon said that if I found out exactly where Kadijah was, she would pay for me to go get her. I really wasn’t sure how I was going to find out that information but as always I promised to do my best.
If you missed any chapters —Wrongful Accusations