Someone is walking on your grave.
Mama’s voice rings clearly in my mind, and I look around at my surroundings. It’s just a quiet Friday night in the upscale Los Angeles neighborhood. The sun is almost set, and I can only see orange and pinks on the horizon over the cliff leading to the ocean behind the Admiral’s house.
I’ve always been suspicious of how he was able to keep both households figuring he wasn’t as honorable as he wanted people to believe. I found out years later, with Abel’s help, that he never helps that other woman finically. Even when she lost everything because of him. He shut her out and left his only son to scavenge and struggle through life. While I was a kept pampered princess.
No wonder he hates me so bad. But fuck him because Clarence Davenport is never going to win father of the year for either of us. We didn’t choose our parents, and I won’t let Anton ruin my chosen family because of my father’s indiscretions.
I sigh and lean my head back, closing my eyes. I can’t stall any longer. I need to get inside and ask the questions that need answering.
BANG
My eyes fly open at the sound of a single gunshot. I push the door open and run up the front path to the front door. I hit the bell a dozen times and banged on the glass. Nothing, no one answers.
I regret leaving my gun in the car as I creep around the side of the house and climb up onto the back deck. There are a set of French doors open, and the curtains are waving in the breeze. I hear sirens in the distance as I walk slowly to the open door.
I stand there a moment, scared to walk through the white curtains. I’m panting like I ran a marathon, and my heart is in my throat. I don’t want to see what’s on the other side of the veil in front of me. Call it woman intuition, but I know I won’t like what I see.
“Daddy?” My voice trembles and I feel my chin wobbling as I finally step into the room.
It’s a study. Bookcases line the walls. Warm leather furniture and a globe are to my right. I turn to my left and see more shelves and a heavy dark wood desk. The room screams masculine dominance.
On the desk are a bottle of Glenlivet and a single glass tumbler. Next to it is a bottle of pills, open and empty. I move to the side of the desk, and my foot bums something hard on the floor. And that’s when I see it. My nose smelled it, but my brain wouldn’t process it.
Cooper, like a million pennies when I’d dump out my piggy bank when I was a kid.
Looking down at the carpet, I can see the blood pooling around the gun I almost tripped on. I bend to pick it up and stop short. Jesus, Genevieve, you’re a criminal defense attorney, don’t fucking touch the weapon.
I back away from the gun, but as I do, I finally see the source of the blood and scream falling back on my ass. I scamper away from my dead father, whose eyes are open and staring blankly at me. There’s a neat little hole in the middle of his forehead.
I reach a shaky hand into my pocket and hit the emergency contact option. The sirens outside are louder now, and I hear people yelling outside.
“Judge, why the fuck did you take off on your own like that?” Abel’s voice has taken on a fatherly tone since the birth of his little girls.
“I’m going to need an attorney.” I whisper as the doorbell rings and shouts of ‘POLICE’ come through the walls.
“Genevieve, please tell me you didn’t kill your father.” His voice sounds serious, and although I know he meant to tease me like the other million times he’s asked that question, tonight, it’s not going to make me laugh.
“No, but someone else did, and I’ve been left holding the weapon.” I don’t get to hear his response as the police have finally made it around the house and start screaming orders at me.
“LOS ANGELES POLICE!” I drop the phone and raise my hands.
“My name is Genevieve Davenport. My father, Admiral Davenport, owns the home, and he’s been shot.” I identify myself quickly before they get trigger happy and nod my head in the direction of my father.
A million questions are yelled at me, but I sit on my ass looking at my father’s dead eyes until an officer lifts me up by my feet and handcuffs me. I’m escorted out of the house and into the back of a police cruiser. I watch as another officer goes to my rental, which was still idling at the curve with the door open. He pulls my purse from the passenger side and opens it on the hood of the car.
My wallet and gun are placed in plastic bags and then taken to a different vehicle. A few minutes later, the officer that handcuffed me gets behind the wheel and starts driving. He’s quiet at first and then starts talking like I’m his best friend. I smirk as if the good cop act will get me to incriminate myself.
“Listen, Ms. Davenport, this would go a lot smoother for you if you cooperate and answer our questions. If it was self-defense, you’d be home before breakfast. The longer you stay quiet, the longer you’re going to sit in a cell.” I roll my eyes.
“Hard way it is.” He huffs.
Story of my life, buddy.
2
MIYA
Iroll on my side and wince. It feels like I’m being stabbed all over again. Fuck! I can prick myself with a tattoo needle repeatedly, but a blade going in once just shy of my kidney is causing the worse pain of my life.
