What’s Done in the Dark: A Mona Baker Novel (Mona Baker Novels Book 1)

by Krys Batts

Everyone has secrets, but some secrets can have murderous consequences in Krys Batts’s heart-pounding debut thriller, What’s Done in the Dark.

For nearly a decade, Mona Baker has lived a life of secrets and deceit on her terms. But when her wealthy husband, Aaron, is arrested, she discovers that he also has secrets, secrets that could get her killed.

When the police pressure Mona to cooperate with their investigation, she flatly refuses—until they drop a bombshell that shakes her to the core, leaving Mona no choice but to help them despite her mounting fears that Aaron’s powerful allies are more determined to see her dead than the cops are to keep her alive.

After barely escaping a series of attacks on her life, Mona is eventually forced to make a desperate decision that sends her down a violent path from which there is no return.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

The question is not only, “Who are you now?”

but also, “Who do you want to become?”

ONE

It was barely 8:30 AM, but the morning had already been long and terribly confusing to Mona Baker, whose routine had been rudely interrupted by the arrival of police brandishing a search warrant. Rather than being en route to drop off her seven-year-old daughter, Sophie, at school, she was instead seated anxiously at home, cordoned off with Sophie and her husband, Aaron, in their spacious seafoam-colored living room as three police officers wordlessly went about searching the family’s residence. To prevent the Bakers from leaving either the room or the house, two more officers stood guard nearby, having grown eerily silent after firing off a round of questions that made absolutely no sense to Mona.

“Mr. Baker, do you have any illicit drugs in the house?”

“Mrs. Baker, have you ever observed your husband negotiating the exchange of drugs for payments?”

“Mrs. Baker, have you recently assisted anyone with the transport of illegal drugs?”

“Mr. Baker, do you have any guns in the house?”

Aaron’s response had been one of sheer moral indignation and he had rolled his eyes while commanding Mona to remain silent until their lawyer arrived. As a high-powered executive at Exxon-Mobil, Aaron was accustomed to being in control and was fully unwilling to cede his superiority to the officers, who had instantly backed off at the mention of an attorney, maintaining weird smirks on their faces since then. It was as though they knew something that neither Aaron nor Mona knew, a notion that sickened Mona to her stomach. Aaron, on the other hand, had no problem dismissing their lowly proctors as his eyes deliberately followed the other officers’ orderly movements, finally locking in on the empty doorway to the home office into which they had all disappeared. If Aaron was suspicious of why they had chosen to focus on that one room, he kept his thoughts to himself, quietly, tensely watching the doorway since he was powerless to do anything else.

And then Mona heard one of the officers call out, “Got it!” after which all three cops exited the office and headed toward Mona and Aaron. One of them was carrying a small, brown package that was tied with twine. Minutes earlier when Mona had opened the front door, he had introduced himself as Detective Harold Monroe and he appeared to be in charge. As Mona clutched Sophie tightly against her, the detective approached the couple with the dubious package in hand.

“Mr. Baker, you are under arrest for –”

“You can’t arrest me!” Aaron gritted his teeth, his body angling toward the detective as he made no effort to disguise his arrogant defiance.

Detective Monroe didn’t flinch. “Sir, we have just found a kilo of cocaine in your home.” He turned the package to display a small incision at the top as well as the white powdery contents inside. “Are you implying that this belongs to your wife?”

“I’ve never seen that package before! Someone must have planted it here!”

“Well, I’ve never seen it before either!” Mona gasped, shocked that Aaron had failed to unequivocally refute that the drugs were hers.

The detective continued unfazed. “Why would anyone want to plant drugs in your home, Mr. Baker?”

“How should I know?” Aaron still seemed to be more indignant than concerned at the events rapidly unfolding around him and his family. “Maybe those are the types of questions that you need to start investigating, Detective, instead of treating me and my family like common criminals.”

The officer merely smiled calmly. “Well, we’ll see whose fingerprints turn up on this package before drawing any conclusions. How about that?” He nodded to one of the officers standing behind the sofa, a signal that prompted the officer to immediately jerk Aaron upward and off of his seat.

“What is this? I—I don’t understand,” Mona stammered. Her eyes darted from the arresting officer to Aaron as she folded her arms even more tightly around her frightened, sniffling child. She heard the handcuffs clink into place around Aaron’s wrists and instinctively recoiled.

“Shut up, Mona!” Aaron spat at her before reeling back to face the detective.

“Lawson, read him his rights and take him to the car.” Detective Monroe’s apparent nonchalance further fanned Aaron’s rage.

“I’m going to sue you and the city of Houston for every penny you have! You’re making the biggest mistake of your life!”

“Haven’t you heard, Mr. Baker? The city is broke. So go ahead and sue. I guarantee that you and your lawyer will be waiting a long time for that payday.”

Following his orders, but with far less restraint than Detective Monroe exhibited, Lawson practically shoved Aaron toward the front door, reciting the Miranda rights from memory as the detective’s emotionless gaze now fell on Mona and Sophie. “Mrs. Baker, you need to come with me.”

“Mrs. Baker, can you explain why your fingerprints are on the package of cocaine that we seized from your house this morning?” Detective Monroe coolly leaned against the back of his wooden chair, arms crossed, hard brown eyes never shifting from Mona’s face as his partner, Nate O’Bryan, stood observing from a corner of the small, brightly lit interrogation room.

Apparently apathetic, Mona raised a cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply. “We’ve already been over that several times, Detective.” Smoke escaped her mouth as she spoke. She then blew the remaining fog in her lungs directly toward Harold’s face on the other side of the table between them. Mona had insisted on popping a valium pill before leaving the house and it was clearly doing its job all too well for his liking.

“We’re going over it again.” Harold didn’t budge even though he detested the idea of breathing the secondhand smoke. It was a shame, really, that someone as attractive as Mrs. Baker had acquired such a disgusting habit. Although he knew her to be African-American as he was, she could easily pass for Hispanic. Her hair was long, dark, and straight, her facial features fine, petite build, large dark brown eyes. And dressed in a black Versace suit, she looked like she should’ve been sitting in a board room instead of here with him for questioning.

“As I’ve said several times already, my fingerprints can’t possibly be on the package because I’ve never seen it before this morning.” She lightly tapped her cigarette against an ashtray, raised it to her lips for another drag, and then looked at her watch. It was obvious that her impatience was growing. For over three hours, Harold and Nate had pummeled her with overtly threatening questions despite their year-long surveillance of the Bakers having already proven that she had not been involved with any illegal drug operations. But they still needed to get her statements on the record. More importantly, they also needed this chance to intimidate Mona, the goal being to eventually elicit her gratitude for the deal they planned to offer in exchange for her testimony against her husband. It was a strategy that seemed to be falling woefully flat. “I also did not know that my husband is a suspected drug pusher.”

“And you really expect me to believe that?” Harold shook his head with dismay. “After eight years of marriage, you actually expect me and my partner here to buy that you didn’t know that your husband has been trafficking drugs between Mexico and Houston for at least the past ten years. Jees. You must really take us for idiots.” For the first time in several minutes, Harold turned to shoot an incredulous look at Nate, who appeared equally as baffled. “You are really a piece of work, you know that?”

“She’s not just a piece of work, man,” Nate spoke up with a show of animosity as he moved toward the table. “She’s the worst kind of loser and she’s going to wind up in prison just like her husband.” Nate stopped at the edge of the table, one hand on his hip, the other stroking his short, brownish-blond hair before pointing a finger in Mona’s face. “You’d better start talking, lady, cuz, believe me, you don’t wanna know what happens to rich girls like you in prison.” His eyes locked with Mona’s as she continued smoking, apparently devoid of any emotions. “And what do you think is gonna happen to that little girl of yours, huh? Well, let me paint the picture for ya. She’s gonna end up in a foster home somewhere, in a regular barnyard full of other kids that nobody wants, probably lucky if she even graduates from high school.”

“That’s enough, Nate! Back off and let me handle this.” Harold waved his hand toward Nate, but his eyes never left Mona’s face. It seemed as if nothing penetrated her stony facade, which was unusual for women, particularly mothers who were naturally afraid of losing their children as she had to be. From what they had all observed over the past year, Mrs. Baker was an excellent, loving mother. But as yet, they had entirely failed to tap into that emotion. “I’ll ask again, Mrs. Baker. How do you explain having no knowledge of your husband’s illegal drug activities?”

Nate was back in his corner with a foot resting against the wall as he and Mona continued staring at each other, his eyes smoldering, her eyes vacant. Finally, Mona restored her attention to Harold as more smoke wafted from her lips. “Detective, my husband and I aren’t exactly on the closest of terms. He tells me nothing about his affairs.”

“Uh huh. Right. So how did you think he was paying for that mansion that you live in? How do think he could afford the Mercedes that you drive? Sure, he makes a good living as a vice-president at Exxon-Mobil, but he’s been living the lifestyle of a CEO. How could you explain that?”

“Good investments. Why would I think anything else?” Mona extinguished the cigarette in the ashtray. She then withdrew a new one from the pack, lit it, and took a drag.

“You’ve never asked your husband how he’s managed to invest so well all these years?”

“No. Like I said, we’re not close. I live well, my daughter lives well. That’s all I care about.”

“So you don’t care about your husband?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then why are you married to him?”

“For the money, detective. And years ago for the sex.” She exhaled more fog and shrugged. “We used to have great sex. When we met, I was very young, poor, and inexperienced.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with your background. You were born and raised in one of the worst slums in the city. But you sure did make out well, didn’t you? Married a rich guy, masqueraded as a soccer mom while helping him transport drugs into Houston…”

“For the last time, I was not involved with any of this drug business. If you insist on accusing me of being a drug dealer, then I will insist on my attorney joining us before I say another word.”

“Okay, Mrs. Baker. Okay.” Harold leaned forward, resting his elbows and forearms on the table, pausing for a moment, still watching closely. He had no choice but to halt the line of questioning, which had done nothing to raze her rocklike dispassion. He’d have to be more direct. “Let’s say that I believe you. Would you be willing to help us prosecute your husband by giving your testimony in court?”

“What would I testify to? I’ve already told you that I know absolutely nothing about any drug business.”

“That’s true. But you can testify to the fact that certain people we can prove have been involved with the trafficking have also been visitors at your home on numerous occasions over the past eight years. You can testify that there have been clear relationships between these individuals and your husband.” Met with stark silence and a blank stare, Harold continued. “There’s also one other matter that we need your help with.”

“And what is that?” Mona was beginning to bristle now.

“We need any financial records that your husband may have that prove the drug-related income. The bank account records that we’ve already secured from your house are clean, which means that he has another account somewhere that we haven’t found, probably under a different name.”

“I have no idea where it could be!”

“We think that you do know. Maybe you don’t even realize it. You could’ve overheard your husband mention a foreign bank account to someone. Or maybe you’ve seen bank statements around the house for accounts that you didn’t know about.”

“I’ve neither seen nor heard anything, Detective. And I’m not agreeing to testify against my husband. If your accusations are correct, which I’m still not convinced they are, I’d be dead before I could reach the witness stand.” He noticed that her hand trembled as she raised her cigarette to her lips. “You don’t know him like I do. He can be extremely violent.”

“We can protect you. We’ll put you and your daughter in a safe house until the trial.” Finally! She had cracked.

“You can’t protect us,” Mona huffed. “You’re nothing compared to Aaron. Do you understand how well connected he is? The man has lunch with the mayor several times a month and is on very friendly terms with the governor. He’s untouchable.” She exhaled a long stream of smoke. “You’re all fools, Detective. Plain fools.”

“So you’re refusing to help us.” Harold was unmoved. Everyone involved with the bust was already well aware of Aaron’s social alliances.

“That’s correct. I won’t risk my life or my daughter’s life for this ridiculous investigation of yours.”

“Then how about saving your sister’s life?” It was time to play the card that Harold had been holding, an ace he felt certain.

“Don’t be stupid. My sister has been dead for nearly ten years. You’ve got nothing you can use to manipulate me. I know how you people work.”

Harold reached down and grabbed a large envelope that had been leaning against his chair. As Mona watched, he opened the envelope, removed several eight-by-ten black and white photos, and placed them in front of Mona, who remained motionless. “Go ahead. Look at ‘em. I think you’ll find them very interesting.”

“No. I think I’ll leave instead. You obviously have no grounds to arrest me or you would have done so already.” She placed her hands against the edge of the table and began pushing her chair back.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t leave before I looked at those pictures.”

“But you’re not me.”

“Yeah, and your sister ain’t dead.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Look at the photos, Mrs. Baker.”

Mona glared at Harold for several long seconds before finally allowing her gaze to roll downward to the photos in front of her. The picture on top was a close-up shot of a lithe woman wearing shades and a light trench coat. Mona slowly, reluctantly set aside the photo to view the next one in the small stack. This one showed the same woman standing on a street corner in front of a red brick building and her face was more clearly visible. She had somewhat slanted eyes, full lips, and skin the shade of cocoa.

Mona slid the second photo away to view another one. Her eyes seemed to have stopped blinking as she stared at the woman, who was crossing the street of some city. Rather than go on to the next photo, Mona straightened the stack of pictures and pushed them to the middle of the table toward Harold. “This woman is not my sister.” She took an extremely long drag on her cigarette. But while her gaze was in Harold’s direction, she seemed to be looking right through him.

“It’s her, Mrs. Baker. And I can tell that you know it is.” Harold allowed the photos to remain where Mona had left them. “Are you sure you don’t want to see the rest of the pictures? They’re quite convincing evidence that your sister never came to any harm as you and your family believed.”

“Detective, anyone can doctor photos. My seven-year-old daughter could do a better job on our computer at home.” She exhaled more smoke. “I assume that I’m free to go now.” Her hand was trembling more noticeably and she had begun tapping her foot on the white linoleum floor.

“I can understand your position, Mrs. Baker. I wouldn’t expect you to believe that Simone is alive without seeing her for yourself. That’s why I’ve arranged your reunion.” Harold stood up. “Come with me.”

Mona’s eyes grew to the size of saucers as both Nate and Harold walked to the door and opened it. Once Nate had exited the room, Harold turned back around to see Mona still seated in stunned silence. “Are you coming?”

Mona considered the question before determinedly jutting out her chin and jamming her cigarette into the ashtray. She stood and walked to the door, stopping to levelly face Harold. “You’ll see. Whoever you’ve brought here is not my sister.”

With Nate and Mona following closely behind, Harold approached the door to another interrogation room located a few paces down the hallway from the room in which Mona had been sequestered. Harold opened the door and spoke to someone that Mona couldn’t yet see. “I have a visitor here for you.” He stepped aside to let Mona pass him and enter the room.

Mona’s feet felt more like boulders. They didn’t want to move. And her mind did not want to process the possibility of who may be inside the room. Nevertheless, she moved slowly forward and halted inside the doorway. The woman from the photos was standing in a corner furthest away from the entrance. She was wearing a powder blue pantsuit, her black hair neatly groomed in a sheik hairstyle that left little to comb. Her arms were crossed and tracks of tears had streaked her makeup. When her eyes met Mona’s, fresh tears began to fall. “Mona, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She cautiously walked toward Mona and stopped a few feet away. “I know you thought I was dead and I’ve wanted to see you so many times, but I was afraid you’d hate me now.” She wiped at the tears flowing down her cheeks and then moved to hug Mona, who abruptly stepped backward to avoid the woman’s touch.

“Who are you?” Mona’s voice was cold and her mind was reeling. “Why are you doing this?” She looked like Simone, her voice sounded the way she remembered her sister’s voice, but it could not be her. Simone, who was two years younger than Mona, had disappeared years ago at age sixteen and never been heard from again, utterly destroying both Mona’s and their mother’s lives. Although Simone’s body had never been found, everyone naturally assumed that she had to be dead because she would never have left of her own volition without telling someone. Horrible scenarios of death being inflicted on a helpless Simone had plagued all of their minds and grief poisoned every aspect of their lives. Finally, their mother’s broken heart had simply given out on her and at the unbelievably young age of thirty-nine she had died in her sleep within a year of Simone’s disappearance. And Mona had been left alone at age nineteen. It had been the worst year of her life, the agony of it choking her even now, nine years later. And so Simone couldn’t still be alive. She couldn’t. Mona’s body went numb as she examined the woman from head to toe, searching for proof that an imposter stood before her.

Seeming confused at Mona’s reaction, the woman looked to Harold and Nate. “But…I thought you told her. Didn’t you tell her?”

“We told her, but she didn’t believe us.” A smirk lined Nate’s face as he watched Mona’s stoic demeanor completely disintegrate.

“We’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes so you can talk.” Harold tapped Nate’s arm and they left the room, closing the door behind them.

The woman reached for Mona’s hand, which jerked backwards, nearly hitting the doorknob to again avoid her touch. With sagging shoulders, she then walked to a chair and took a seat as Mona, still frozen by the door, wordlessly watched. The women stared at each other for a few moments, scrutinizing one another.

Mona again grudgingly admitted to herself that the person seated before her bore an impossibly familiar resemblance to her sister, who shared very few of Mona’s physical characteristics. They had been fathered by different men, both of whom virtually disappeared upon learning that Beatrice, their mother, was pregnant. Thanks to Beatrice’s unfailingly poor taste in men, Simone’s father had been a drug addict while Mona’s father had been locked up in prison on and off for most of his life, having chosen to burglarize homes and storefronts for money rather than getting a job. And so it had been the three of them, the women, fending for themselves and barely making ends meet. Beatrice held down three low-paying jobs and Mona, forced to mature very quickly, watched over Simone behind bolted doors and thickly curtained windows. Although their mother’s brother, Uncle Clarence, had tried his best to represent a father figure, the women had mostly relied on each other. To say the least, times had been tough in their crime-ridden neighborhood. They all had heard the bullets that gangs fired at night on their street and they had fervently prayed that the doors and walls would hold the criminals at bay. A way out, they believed, had to be coming because Beatrice was determined that her daughters would go to college and one day save them all with better paying jobs than she could ever secure. Each of them had held on to this dream like a lifeline, hoping for a safer, abundant future that certainly seemed possible – until Simone had disappeared.

“You look good, Mona. Beatrice woulda been proud.” Silence. “It is me, ya know. Simone. I know you’re having a hard time believing that. Or maybe you just don’t wanna believe it, but it’s true.” She looked away toward a wall. “You remember when we used to go outside when it rained and catch live crawfish? We’d put ‘em in buckets and take ‘em inside the house. ‘Course, Beatrice wouldn’t let us keep ‘em. She always made us take ‘em back out and dump the crawfish in the gutter.” She smiled slightly and turned back to face Mona. “Remember?”

Mona remained perfectly still, her eyes following every gesture the woman made, her ears listening closely to the words emitted from her mouth. She remembered the crawfish well. She also remembered how Mama shooed them out of the house with their overflowing buckets. Other than Mama and Simone, Mona could think of no one else who would have known about any of that.

The woman’s facial expression changed, becoming serious and pained. “Do you remember when you got your first job? I was fourteen and Beatrice was workin’ the same three jobs she’d had since forever. You and me, we hardly saw her except on Sundays. Then you started workin’ and I was at home by myself most of the time after school.” She took a shaky breath as more tears began to pour from her eyes. She closed them and pursed her lips in a grimace before continuing. “That’s when Uncle Clarence started comin’ ‘round more. He told Beatrice that he was lookin’ in on me, but that wasn’t the whole truth.” A soft moan escaped her and her chest began to heave as she struggled to go on. “Mona, he wasn’t just checkin’ on me. He was…He was raping me.” A waterfall of tears flowed from her eyes and her hands flew to her face to quickly wipe them away as she struggled to continue in a tremulous voice. “He raped me almost every day. Every day! I would scream and kick and scratch, but nothin’ would get him off of me! I was so scared! And I hated him! I was just a kid. I trusted him. Why would he do that to me? Why?” The woman’s voice had become an excruciating wail and she was finally too overcome to speak as the sobs racked her body.

Suddenly, Mona realized that she was also crying. Erupting with emotion, she rushed toward the woman and wrapped her arms around her, convinced that Simone was indeed still alive and sitting with her, both of them overwhelmed with tears for several moments.

Simone finally continued between shaky breaths, pulling away to see Mona’s face. “I told Beatrice what he was doin’ to me, but she didn’t believe me. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mona’s voice sounded raspy to her own ears. She could hardly get the words out as she clutched Simone’s shoulders, squeezing them to reassure herself that her sister was truly with her, real flesh.

“What would you have done? You couldn’t do anything to help me, Mona.”

“We could have gone to the police.”

“And risk Beatrice bein’ declared unfit? You and me woulda been put in foster homes, separated. What kinda life would that have been?”

Mona reflected on Nate’s comment about Sophie. “Yeah. But what you did, disappearing, was no better.”

“It was the only thing I could do. Don’t you understand? After two years of fightin’ him, I couldn’t take it no more. It was either leave or die.”

“Oh God. I wish I had known.” Her breath was a long sigh as she looked down. “And I can’t believe that Mama didn’t help you.”

“I don’t think Beatrice was willin’ to lose the only person she thought was tryin’ to help us.”

“But that still doesn’t make it right.” Mona was becoming angry now, understanding that Mama had died from guilt, not a broken heart. The heartache that Mona had felt about Mama for so many years was rapidly being replaced with fury at her sister’s plight. “I swear, if I had known that Uncle Clarence was doing that to you, I would have killed him! He’s lucky that he’s already dead.” Someone had shot Uncle Clarence and burglarized his apartment the same year Simone had disappeared. At the time, Mona had been devastated to lose her last connection to her mother, but there was no emotion in her now that she knew that the man had been a child molester. He had gotten off easy.

“Yes, we’re a lot alike.” Simone clutched Mona’s hands and peered earnestly into her eyes. “It was me who shot Uncle Clarence.”

“You?” Mona was shocked. She cupped her sister’s face in her hands. “No, no. It was some crazy burglar, not you. Please, not you.”

“Yes, Mona. And I’m glad I did it. He needed killin’. The dirty bastard ruined my life! And I’ll tell you somethin’ else. I’m not sorry that Beatrice died either.”

“How could you say that?”

“Because as far as I’m concerned, she handed my body over to him on a silver platter.” Simone’s lips quivered, but her eyes were icy, the tears having completely ceased.

Mona released a great breath and stood up to pace around the table. She couldn’t fault Simone for her feelings. She probably would have felt the same way if she had been victimized by Clarence and called a liar by Mama. “Do the police know what you did?” She was already certain that they did. Harold had asked if she would cooperate to save her sister. Now she knew the deal – either cooperate or Simone would be prosecuted for murder.

“Yeah, they seem to know most of it.”

“But I don’t understand. How did they find you? How did they find out that you killed Uncle Clarence?”

“It’s all my fault. I’ve been drivin’ by your house for months tryin’ to get up the nerve to ring the doorbell. I even got outta my car a few times, stood at the gate in your driveway, then chickened out and left. I didn’t know the cops were stakin’ out your house and Harold said they became suspicious and started followin’ me a few months ago. Next thing I know, I’m bein’ apprehended this mornin’ and held in this room until you could get here.”

“Why would they arrest you? They still couldn’t know that you killed Uncle Clarence.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about that. Harold said that my and Clarence’s fingerprints were the only ones on all the trashed furniture in Clarence’s apartment and on his wallet, which made me a suspect. But they weren’t able to match anyone with my prints since I’d never been arrested before. I guess they put two and two together when they figured out that your supposedly dead sister kept showin’ up at your house.”

“But that still doesn’t explain how they obtained your fingerprints to match with Uncle Clarence’s place. They would have needed your prints before they could drag you here.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have all the answers. I just know that somethin’ weird is going on here because they said I don’t need a lawyer and I’m not formally under arrest. They haven’t even asked me any questions. They just told me what they think happened to Clarence and then they said you would be here to see me. Why do you think they haven’t stuck me in a jail cell yet?”

“Because they’re using you to get to me.” Mona sank onto the seat by her sister and hung her head.

“What do ya mean?”

“They want me to testify against my husband if he’s put on trial for drug trafficking. They knew I wouldn’t do it unless they had some sort of bargaining chip to force me. You’re it.” Mona’s spirit was withered and the weakness was in her voice.

“I won’t let them do that.” Simone resolutely stood up and walked toward the door. “I’m ready to pay for what I did. They can’t use me if I don’t let ‘em.”

“No, Simone. I don’t want you to do that. We’ve lost enough time as it is. I can’t lose you again. The detectives were right to assume that I would feel this way.”

“But would you be riskin’ your life by testifyin’? I mean, is your husband involved with the mob or somethin’?”

“Honestly, I don’t know who he’s working with.” Mona sighed and rubbed her forehead.

“But you do think the police are right about him?”

“I have no idea. Aaron and I don’t talk to each other much these days. I did suspect that he was using drugs because of his unpredictable mood swings, but I would never have thought that Aaron was actually selling them. It’s hard to believe that he’d be so stupid regardless of what the police are saying.” She grabbed Simone’s hand and attempted to smile reassuringly. “If it’s true, my helping the police will be dangerous for me, but you and I lived with danger every day of our lives when we were kids. And it’s worth it if I can have you back in my life. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Mona, I don’t want to go to prison, but I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you because you were tryin’ to help me. I’ve always known that killin’ that scumbag could catch up to me and I’ll take my medicine if I have to.”

“Please, let’s just get on with our lives and promise to be there for each other. Okay?” She hugged Simone tightly. “I love you so much and I’m just grateful to have a second chance with you.”

“I love you, too, Mona.” A worried frown that Mona couldn’t see was etched across Simone’s face. “And I promise that nothing will separate us again.”

Just then, the door opened and both Harold and Nate returned to the room, closing the door behind them. “Well, well, well, what have we here? Looks like a family reunion to me.”

Mona ignored Nate, released Simone, and looked directly at Harold. “Okay. You can have what you want. And I want our agreement in writing for my attorney’s review.”

Harold stood before her with his hands on his hips, a toothy smile pasted from ear to ear. “I expected you to say that.”

Continued….

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What’s Done in the Dark

What’s Done in the Dark: A Mona Baker Novel (Mona Baker Novels Book 1)

by Krys Batts

Everyone has secrets, but some secrets can have murderous consequences in Krys Batts’s heart-pounding debut thriller, What’s Done in the Dark.

For nearly a decade, Mona Baker has lived a life of secrets and deceit on her terms. But when her wealthy husband, Aaron, is arrested, she discovers that he also has secrets, secrets that could get her killed.

When the police pressure Mona to cooperate with their investigation, she flatly refuses—until they drop a bombshell that shakes her to the core, leaving Mona no choice but to help them despite her mounting fears that Aaron’s powerful allies are more determined to see her dead than the cops are to keep her alive.

After barely escaping a series of attacks on her life, Mona is eventually forced to make a desperate decision that sends her down a violent path from which there is no return.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

The question is not only, “Who are you now?”

but also, “Who do you want to become?”

ONE

It was barely 8:30 AM, but the morning had already been long and terribly confusing to Mona Baker, whose routine had been rudely interrupted by the arrival of police brandishing a search warrant. Rather than being en route to drop off her seven-year-old daughter, Sophie, at school, she was instead seated anxiously at home, cordoned off with Sophie and her husband, Aaron, in their spacious seafoam-colored living room as three police officers wordlessly went about searching the family’s residence. To prevent the Bakers from leaving either the room or the house, two more officers stood guard nearby, having grown eerily silent after firing off a round of questions that made absolutely no sense to Mona.

“Mr. Baker, do you have any illicit drugs in the house?”

“Mrs. Baker, have you ever observed your husband negotiating the exchange of drugs for payments?”

“Mrs. Baker, have you recently assisted anyone with the transport of illegal drugs?”

“Mr. Baker, do you have any guns in the house?”

Aaron’s response had been one of sheer moral indignation and he had rolled his eyes while commanding Mona to remain silent until their lawyer arrived. As a high-powered executive at Exxon-Mobil, Aaron was accustomed to being in control and was fully unwilling to cede his superiority to the officers, who had instantly backed off at the mention of an attorney, maintaining weird smirks on their faces since then. It was as though they knew something that neither Aaron nor Mona knew, a notion that sickened Mona to her stomach. Aaron, on the other hand, had no problem dismissing their lowly proctors as his eyes deliberately followed the other officers’ orderly movements, finally locking in on the empty doorway to the home office into which they had all disappeared. If Aaron was suspicious of why they had chosen to focus on that one room, he kept his thoughts to himself, quietly, tensely watching the doorway since he was powerless to do anything else.

And then Mona heard one of the officers call out, “Got it!” after which all three cops exited the office and headed toward Mona and Aaron. One of them was carrying a small, brown package that was tied with twine. Minutes earlier when Mona had opened the front door, he had introduced himself as Detective Harold Monroe and he appeared to be in charge. As Mona clutched Sophie tightly against her, the detective approached the couple with the dubious package in hand.

“Mr. Baker, you are under arrest for –”

“You can’t arrest me!” Aaron gritted his teeth, his body angling toward the detective as he made no effort to disguise his arrogant defiance.

Detective Monroe didn’t flinch. “Sir, we have just found a kilo of cocaine in your home.” He turned the package to display a small incision at the top as well as the white powdery contents inside. “Are you implying that this belongs to your wife?”

“I’ve never seen that package before! Someone must have planted it here!”

“Well, I’ve never seen it before either!” Mona gasped, shocked that Aaron had failed to unequivocally refute that the drugs were hers.

The detective continued unfazed. “Why would anyone want to plant drugs in your home, Mr. Baker?”

“How should I know?” Aaron still seemed to be more indignant than concerned at the events rapidly unfolding around him and his family. “Maybe those are the types of questions that you need to start investigating, Detective, instead of treating me and my family like common criminals.”

The officer merely smiled calmly. “Well, we’ll see whose fingerprints turn up on this package before drawing any conclusions. How about that?” He nodded to one of the officers standing behind the sofa, a signal that prompted the officer to immediately jerk Aaron upward and off of his seat.

“What is this? I—I don’t understand,” Mona stammered. Her eyes darted from the arresting officer to Aaron as she folded her arms even more tightly around her frightened, sniffling child. She heard the handcuffs clink into place around Aaron’s wrists and instinctively recoiled.

“Shut up, Mona!” Aaron spat at her before reeling back to face the detective.

“Lawson, read him his rights and take him to the car.” Detective Monroe’s apparent nonchalance further fanned Aaron’s rage.

“I’m going to sue you and the city of Houston for every penny you have! You’re making the biggest mistake of your life!”

“Haven’t you heard, Mr. Baker? The city is broke. So go ahead and sue. I guarantee that you and your lawyer will be waiting a long time for that payday.”

Following his orders, but with far less restraint than Detective Monroe exhibited, Lawson practically shoved Aaron toward the front door, reciting the Miranda rights from memory as the detective’s emotionless gaze now fell on Mona and Sophie. “Mrs. Baker, you need to come with me.”

“Mrs. Baker, can you explain why your fingerprints are on the package of cocaine that we seized from your house this morning?” Detective Monroe coolly leaned against the back of his wooden chair, arms crossed, hard brown eyes never shifting from Mona’s face as his partner, Nate O’Bryan, stood observing from a corner of the small, brightly lit interrogation room.

Apparently apathetic, Mona raised a cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply. “We’ve already been over that several times, Detective.” Smoke escaped her mouth as she spoke. She then blew the remaining fog in her lungs directly toward Harold’s face on the other side of the table between them. Mona had insisted on popping a valium pill before leaving the house and it was clearly doing its job all too well for his liking.

“We’re going over it again.” Harold didn’t budge even though he detested the idea of breathing the secondhand smoke. It was a shame, really, that someone as attractive as Mrs. Baker had acquired such a disgusting habit. Although he knew her to be African-American as he was, she could easily pass for Hispanic. Her hair was long, dark, and straight, her facial features fine, petite build, large dark brown eyes. And dressed in a black Versace suit, she looked like she should’ve been sitting in a board room instead of here with him for questioning.

“As I’ve said several times already, my fingerprints can’t possibly be on the package because I’ve never seen it before this morning.” She lightly tapped her cigarette against an ashtray, raised it to her lips for another drag, and then looked at her watch. It was obvious that her impatience was growing. For over three hours, Harold and Nate had pummeled her with overtly threatening questions despite their year-long surveillance of the Bakers having already proven that she had not been involved with any illegal drug operations. But they still needed to get her statements on the record. More importantly, they also needed this chance to intimidate Mona, the goal being to eventually elicit her gratitude for the deal they planned to offer in exchange for her testimony against her husband. It was a strategy that seemed to be falling woefully flat. “I also did not know that my husband is a suspected drug pusher.”

“And you really expect me to believe that?” Harold shook his head with dismay. “After eight years of marriage, you actually expect me and my partner here to buy that you didn’t know that your husband has been trafficking drugs between Mexico and Houston for at least the past ten years. Jees. You must really take us for idiots.” For the first time in several minutes, Harold turned to shoot an incredulous look at Nate, who appeared equally as baffled. “You are really a piece of work, you know that?”

“She’s not just a piece of work, man,” Nate spoke up with a show of animosity as he moved toward the table. “She’s the worst kind of loser and she’s going to wind up in prison just like her husband.” Nate stopped at the edge of the table, one hand on his hip, the other stroking his short, brownish-blond hair before pointing a finger in Mona’s face. “You’d better start talking, lady, cuz, believe me, you don’t wanna know what happens to rich girls like you in prison.” His eyes locked with Mona’s as she continued smoking, apparently devoid of any emotions. “And what do you think is gonna happen to that little girl of yours, huh? Well, let me paint the picture for ya. She’s gonna end up in a foster home somewhere, in a regular barnyard full of other kids that nobody wants, probably lucky if she even graduates from high school.”

“That’s enough, Nate! Back off and let me handle this.” Harold waved his hand toward Nate, but his eyes never left Mona’s face. It seemed as if nothing penetrated her stony facade, which was unusual for women, particularly mothers who were naturally afraid of losing their children as she had to be. From what they had all observed over the past year, Mrs. Baker was an excellent, loving mother. But as yet, they had entirely failed to tap into that emotion. “I’ll ask again, Mrs. Baker. How do you explain having no knowledge of your husband’s illegal drug activities?”

Nate was back in his corner with a foot resting against the wall as he and Mona continued staring at each other, his eyes smoldering, her eyes vacant. Finally, Mona restored her attention to Harold as more smoke wafted from her lips. “Detective, my husband and I aren’t exactly on the closest of terms. He tells me nothing about his affairs.”

“Uh huh. Right. So how did you think he was paying for that mansion that you live in? How do think he could afford the Mercedes that you drive? Sure, he makes a good living as a vice-president at Exxon-Mobil, but he’s been living the lifestyle of a CEO. How could you explain that?”

“Good investments. Why would I think anything else?” Mona extinguished the cigarette in the ashtray. She then withdrew a new one from the pack, lit it, and took a drag.

“You’ve never asked your husband how he’s managed to invest so well all these years?”

“No. Like I said, we’re not close. I live well, my daughter lives well. That’s all I care about.”

“So you don’t care about your husband?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then why are you married to him?”

“For the money, detective. And years ago for the sex.” She exhaled more fog and shrugged. “We used to have great sex. When we met, I was very young, poor, and inexperienced.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with your background. You were born and raised in one of the worst slums in the city. But you sure did make out well, didn’t you? Married a rich guy, masqueraded as a soccer mom while helping him transport drugs into Houston…”

“For the last time, I was not involved with any of this drug business. If you insist on accusing me of being a drug dealer, then I will insist on my attorney joining us before I say another word.”

“Okay, Mrs. Baker. Okay.” Harold leaned forward, resting his elbows and forearms on the table, pausing for a moment, still watching closely. He had no choice but to halt the line of questioning, which had done nothing to raze her rocklike dispassion. He’d have to be more direct. “Let’s say that I believe you. Would you be willing to help us prosecute your husband by giving your testimony in court?”

“What would I testify to? I’ve already told you that I know absolutely nothing about any drug business.”

“That’s true. But you can testify to the fact that certain people we can prove have been involved with the trafficking have also been visitors at your home on numerous occasions over the past eight years. You can testify that there have been clear relationships between these individuals and your husband.” Met with stark silence and a blank stare, Harold continued. “There’s also one other matter that we need your help with.”

“And what is that?” Mona was beginning to bristle now.

“We need any financial records that your husband may have that prove the drug-related income. The bank account records that we’ve already secured from your house are clean, which means that he has another account somewhere that we haven’t found, probably under a different name.”

“I have no idea where it could be!”

“We think that you do know. Maybe you don’t even realize it. You could’ve overheard your husband mention a foreign bank account to someone. Or maybe you’ve seen bank statements around the house for accounts that you didn’t know about.”

“I’ve neither seen nor heard anything, Detective. And I’m not agreeing to testify against my husband. If your accusations are correct, which I’m still not convinced they are, I’d be dead before I could reach the witness stand.” He noticed that her hand trembled as she raised her cigarette to her lips. “You don’t know him like I do. He can be extremely violent.”

“We can protect you. We’ll put you and your daughter in a safe house until the trial.” Finally! She had cracked.

“You can’t protect us,” Mona huffed. “You’re nothing compared to Aaron. Do you understand how well connected he is? The man has lunch with the mayor several times a month and is on very friendly terms with the governor. He’s untouchable.” She exhaled a long stream of smoke. “You’re all fools, Detective. Plain fools.”

“So you’re refusing to help us.” Harold was unmoved. Everyone involved with the bust was already well aware of Aaron’s social alliances.

“That’s correct. I won’t risk my life or my daughter’s life for this ridiculous investigation of yours.”

“Then how about saving your sister’s life?” It was time to play the card that Harold had been holding, an ace he felt certain.

“Don’t be stupid. My sister has been dead for nearly ten years. You’ve got nothing you can use to manipulate me. I know how you people work.”

Harold reached down and grabbed a large envelope that had been leaning against his chair. As Mona watched, he opened the envelope, removed several eight-by-ten black and white photos, and placed them in front of Mona, who remained motionless. “Go ahead. Look at ‘em. I think you’ll find them very interesting.”

“No. I think I’ll leave instead. You obviously have no grounds to arrest me or you would have done so already.” She placed her hands against the edge of the table and began pushing her chair back.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t leave before I looked at those pictures.”

“But you’re not me.”

“Yeah, and your sister ain’t dead.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Look at the photos, Mrs. Baker.”

Mona glared at Harold for several long seconds before finally allowing her gaze to roll downward to the photos in front of her. The picture on top was a close-up shot of a lithe woman wearing shades and a light trench coat. Mona slowly, reluctantly set aside the photo to view the next one in the small stack. This one showed the same woman standing on a street corner in front of a red brick building and her face was more clearly visible. She had somewhat slanted eyes, full lips, and skin the shade of cocoa.

Mona slid the second photo away to view another one. Her eyes seemed to have stopped blinking as she stared at the woman, who was crossing the street of some city. Rather than go on to the next photo, Mona straightened the stack of pictures and pushed them to the middle of the table toward Harold. “This woman is not my sister.” She took an extremely long drag on her cigarette. But while her gaze was in Harold’s direction, she seemed to be looking right through him.

“It’s her, Mrs. Baker. And I can tell that you know it is.” Harold allowed the photos to remain where Mona had left them. “Are you sure you don’t want to see the rest of the pictures? They’re quite convincing evidence that your sister never came to any harm as you and your family believed.”

“Detective, anyone can doctor photos. My seven-year-old daughter could do a better job on our computer at home.” She exhaled more smoke. “I assume that I’m free to go now.” Her hand was trembling more noticeably and she had begun tapping her foot on the white linoleum floor.

“I can understand your position, Mrs. Baker. I wouldn’t expect you to believe that Simone is alive without seeing her for yourself. That’s why I’ve arranged your reunion.” Harold stood up. “Come with me.”

Mona’s eyes grew to the size of saucers as both Nate and Harold walked to the door and opened it. Once Nate had exited the room, Harold turned back around to see Mona still seated in stunned silence. “Are you coming?”

Mona considered the question before determinedly jutting out her chin and jamming her cigarette into the ashtray. She stood and walked to the door, stopping to levelly face Harold. “You’ll see. Whoever you’ve brought here is not my sister.”

With Nate and Mona following closely behind, Harold approached the door to another interrogation room located a few paces down the hallway from the room in which Mona had been sequestered. Harold opened the door and spoke to someone that Mona couldn’t yet see. “I have a visitor here for you.” He stepped aside to let Mona pass him and enter the room.

Mona’s feet felt more like boulders. They didn’t want to move. And her mind did not want to process the possibility of who may be inside the room. Nevertheless, she moved slowly forward and halted inside the doorway. The woman from the photos was standing in a corner furthest away from the entrance. She was wearing a powder blue pantsuit, her black hair neatly groomed in a sheik hairstyle that left little to comb. Her arms were crossed and tracks of tears had streaked her makeup. When her eyes met Mona’s, fresh tears began to fall. “Mona, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She cautiously walked toward Mona and stopped a few feet away. “I know you thought I was dead and I’ve wanted to see you so many times, but I was afraid you’d hate me now.” She wiped at the tears flowing down her cheeks and then moved to hug Mona, who abruptly stepped backward to avoid the woman’s touch.

“Who are you?” Mona’s voice was cold and her mind was reeling. “Why are you doing this?” She looked like Simone, her voice sounded the way she remembered her sister’s voice, but it could not be her. Simone, who was two years younger than Mona, had disappeared years ago at age sixteen and never been heard from again, utterly destroying both Mona’s and their mother’s lives. Although Simone’s body had never been found, everyone naturally assumed that she had to be dead because she would never have left of her own volition without telling someone. Horrible scenarios of death being inflicted on a helpless Simone had plagued all of their minds and grief poisoned every aspect of their lives. Finally, their mother’s broken heart had simply given out on her and at the unbelievably young age of thirty-nine she had died in her sleep within a year of Simone’s disappearance. And Mona had been left alone at age nineteen. It had been the worst year of her life, the agony of it choking her even now, nine years later. And so Simone couldn’t still be alive. She couldn’t. Mona’s body went numb as she examined the woman from head to toe, searching for proof that an imposter stood before her.

Seeming confused at Mona’s reaction, the woman looked to Harold and Nate. “But…I thought you told her. Didn’t you tell her?”

“We told her, but she didn’t believe us.” A smirk lined Nate’s face as he watched Mona’s stoic demeanor completely disintegrate.

“We’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes so you can talk.” Harold tapped Nate’s arm and they left the room, closing the door behind them.

The woman reached for Mona’s hand, which jerked backwards, nearly hitting the doorknob to again avoid her touch. With sagging shoulders, she then walked to a chair and took a seat as Mona, still frozen by the door, wordlessly watched. The women stared at each other for a few moments, scrutinizing one another.

Mona again grudgingly admitted to herself that the person seated before her bore an impossibly familiar resemblance to her sister, who shared very few of Mona’s physical characteristics. They had been fathered by different men, both of whom virtually disappeared upon learning that Beatrice, their mother, was pregnant. Thanks to Beatrice’s unfailingly poor taste in men, Simone’s father had been a drug addict while Mona’s father had been locked up in prison on and off for most of his life, having chosen to burglarize homes and storefronts for money rather than getting a job. And so it had been the three of them, the women, fending for themselves and barely making ends meet. Beatrice held down three low-paying jobs and Mona, forced to mature very quickly, watched over Simone behind bolted doors and thickly curtained windows. Although their mother’s brother, Uncle Clarence, had tried his best to represent a father figure, the women had mostly relied on each other. To say the least, times had been tough in their crime-ridden neighborhood. They all had heard the bullets that gangs fired at night on their street and they had fervently prayed that the doors and walls would hold the criminals at bay. A way out, they believed, had to be coming because Beatrice was determined that her daughters would go to college and one day save them all with better paying jobs than she could ever secure. Each of them had held on to this dream like a lifeline, hoping for a safer, abundant future that certainly seemed possible – until Simone had disappeared.

“You look good, Mona. Beatrice woulda been proud.” Silence. “It is me, ya know. Simone. I know you’re having a hard time believing that. Or maybe you just don’t wanna believe it, but it’s true.” She looked away toward a wall. “You remember when we used to go outside when it rained and catch live crawfish? We’d put ‘em in buckets and take ‘em inside the house. ‘Course, Beatrice wouldn’t let us keep ‘em. She always made us take ‘em back out and dump the crawfish in the gutter.” She smiled slightly and turned back to face Mona. “Remember?”

Mona remained perfectly still, her eyes following every gesture the woman made, her ears listening closely to the words emitted from her mouth. She remembered the crawfish well. She also remembered how Mama shooed them out of the house with their overflowing buckets. Other than Mama and Simone, Mona could think of no one else who would have known about any of that.

The woman’s facial expression changed, becoming serious and pained. “Do you remember when you got your first job? I was fourteen and Beatrice was workin’ the same three jobs she’d had since forever. You and me, we hardly saw her except on Sundays. Then you started workin’ and I was at home by myself most of the time after school.” She took a shaky breath as more tears began to pour from her eyes. She closed them and pursed her lips in a grimace before continuing. “That’s when Uncle Clarence started comin’ ‘round more. He told Beatrice that he was lookin’ in on me, but that wasn’t the whole truth.” A soft moan escaped her and her chest began to heave as she struggled to go on. “Mona, he wasn’t just checkin’ on me. He was…He was raping me.” A waterfall of tears flowed from her eyes and her hands flew to her face to quickly wipe them away as she struggled to continue in a tremulous voice. “He raped me almost every day. Every day! I would scream and kick and scratch, but nothin’ would get him off of me! I was so scared! And I hated him! I was just a kid. I trusted him. Why would he do that to me? Why?” The woman’s voice had become an excruciating wail and she was finally too overcome to speak as the sobs racked her body.

Suddenly, Mona realized that she was also crying. Erupting with emotion, she rushed toward the woman and wrapped her arms around her, convinced that Simone was indeed still alive and sitting with her, both of them overwhelmed with tears for several moments.

Simone finally continued between shaky breaths, pulling away to see Mona’s face. “I told Beatrice what he was doin’ to me, but she didn’t believe me. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mona’s voice sounded raspy to her own ears. She could hardly get the words out as she clutched Simone’s shoulders, squeezing them to reassure herself that her sister was truly with her, real flesh.

“What would you have done? You couldn’t do anything to help me, Mona.”

“We could have gone to the police.”

“And risk Beatrice bein’ declared unfit? You and me woulda been put in foster homes, separated. What kinda life would that have been?”

Mona reflected on Nate’s comment about Sophie. “Yeah. But what you did, disappearing, was no better.”

“It was the only thing I could do. Don’t you understand? After two years of fightin’ him, I couldn’t take it no more. It was either leave or die.”

“Oh God. I wish I had known.” Her breath was a long sigh as she looked down. “And I can’t believe that Mama didn’t help you.”

“I don’t think Beatrice was willin’ to lose the only person she thought was tryin’ to help us.”

“But that still doesn’t make it right.” Mona was becoming angry now, understanding that Mama had died from guilt, not a broken heart. The heartache that Mona had felt about Mama for so many years was rapidly being replaced with fury at her sister’s plight. “I swear, if I had known that Uncle Clarence was doing that to you, I would have killed him! He’s lucky that he’s already dead.” Someone had shot Uncle Clarence and burglarized his apartment the same year Simone had disappeared. At the time, Mona had been devastated to lose her last connection to her mother, but there was no emotion in her now that she knew that the man had been a child molester. He had gotten off easy.

“Yes, we’re a lot alike.” Simone clutched Mona’s hands and peered earnestly into her eyes. “It was me who shot Uncle Clarence.”

“You?” Mona was shocked. She cupped her sister’s face in her hands. “No, no. It was some crazy burglar, not you. Please, not you.”

“Yes, Mona. And I’m glad I did it. He needed killin’. The dirty bastard ruined my life! And I’ll tell you somethin’ else. I’m not sorry that Beatrice died either.”

“How could you say that?”

“Because as far as I’m concerned, she handed my body over to him on a silver platter.” Simone’s lips quivered, but her eyes were icy, the tears having completely ceased.

Mona released a great breath and stood up to pace around the table. She couldn’t fault Simone for her feelings. She probably would have felt the same way if she had been victimized by Clarence and called a liar by Mama. “Do the police know what you did?” She was already certain that they did. Harold had asked if she would cooperate to save her sister. Now she knew the deal – either cooperate or Simone would be prosecuted for murder.

“Yeah, they seem to know most of it.”

“But I don’t understand. How did they find you? How did they find out that you killed Uncle Clarence?”

“It’s all my fault. I’ve been drivin’ by your house for months tryin’ to get up the nerve to ring the doorbell. I even got outta my car a few times, stood at the gate in your driveway, then chickened out and left. I didn’t know the cops were stakin’ out your house and Harold said they became suspicious and started followin’ me a few months ago. Next thing I know, I’m bein’ apprehended this mornin’ and held in this room until you could get here.”

“Why would they arrest you? They still couldn’t know that you killed Uncle Clarence.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about that. Harold said that my and Clarence’s fingerprints were the only ones on all the trashed furniture in Clarence’s apartment and on his wallet, which made me a suspect. But they weren’t able to match anyone with my prints since I’d never been arrested before. I guess they put two and two together when they figured out that your supposedly dead sister kept showin’ up at your house.”

“But that still doesn’t explain how they obtained your fingerprints to match with Uncle Clarence’s place. They would have needed your prints before they could drag you here.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have all the answers. I just know that somethin’ weird is going on here because they said I don’t need a lawyer and I’m not formally under arrest. They haven’t even asked me any questions. They just told me what they think happened to Clarence and then they said you would be here to see me. Why do you think they haven’t stuck me in a jail cell yet?”

“Because they’re using you to get to me.” Mona sank onto the seat by her sister and hung her head.

“What do ya mean?”

“They want me to testify against my husband if he’s put on trial for drug trafficking. They knew I wouldn’t do it unless they had some sort of bargaining chip to force me. You’re it.” Mona’s spirit was withered and the weakness was in her voice.

“I won’t let them do that.” Simone resolutely stood up and walked toward the door. “I’m ready to pay for what I did. They can’t use me if I don’t let ‘em.”

“No, Simone. I don’t want you to do that. We’ve lost enough time as it is. I can’t lose you again. The detectives were right to assume that I would feel this way.”

“But would you be riskin’ your life by testifyin’? I mean, is your husband involved with the mob or somethin’?”

“Honestly, I don’t know who he’s working with.” Mona sighed and rubbed her forehead.

“But you do think the police are right about him?”

“I have no idea. Aaron and I don’t talk to each other much these days. I did suspect that he was using drugs because of his unpredictable mood swings, but I would never have thought that Aaron was actually selling them. It’s hard to believe that he’d be so stupid regardless of what the police are saying.” She grabbed Simone’s hand and attempted to smile reassuringly. “If it’s true, my helping the police will be dangerous for me, but you and I lived with danger every day of our lives when we were kids. And it’s worth it if I can have you back in my life. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Mona, I don’t want to go to prison, but I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you because you were tryin’ to help me. I’ve always known that killin’ that scumbag could catch up to me and I’ll take my medicine if I have to.”

“Please, let’s just get on with our lives and promise to be there for each other. Okay?” She hugged Simone tightly. “I love you so much and I’m just grateful to have a second chance with you.”

“I love you, too, Mona.” A worried frown that Mona couldn’t see was etched across Simone’s face. “And I promise that nothing will separate us again.”

Just then, the door opened and both Harold and Nate returned to the room, closing the door behind them. “Well, well, well, what have we here? Looks like a family reunion to me.”

Mona ignored Nate, released Simone, and looked directly at Harold. “Okay. You can have what you want. And I want our agreement in writing for my attorney’s review.”

Harold stood before her with his hands on his hips, a toothy smile pasted from ear to ear. “I expected you to say that.”

Continued….

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What’s Done in the Dark