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    The Ideal Man, Is a Woman
    The Ideal Man, Is a Woman
    The Ideal Man, Is a Woman
    Ebook309 pages5 hours

    The Ideal Man, Is a Woman

    By B.L Wilson

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    About this ebook

    When Henry Braxton, a wealthy, womanizing, divorced Black man is brutally murdered, the primary detective, Alexia Carson, is overwhelmed with suspects. There’s the attractive younger sister who loves her brother but disagrees with his treatment of his wife and child. Then there’s his first wife, who loves the victim but can’t forgive his numerous and very public affairs during their marriage. Another suspect is his lesbian daughter who has always had a love-hate relationship with Henry. Finally, there are the six members of his company’s board that he had affairs with or insulted during their terms of office.

    Most of the people in Henry Braxton’s life have the potential to be suspects. It’s up to Alexia, just coming off a nine-month medical leave from a severe back injury, and her partner, who is married her cousin, to sort out the suspects and determine who did the dastardly deed. When a budding attraction between Sarah, the victim’s sister, and Alexia develops, combined with the fact that one of the suspect board members is Alexia’s ex-lover, it is one tangled web of secrets and intrigue...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherB.L Wilson
    Release dateSep 2, 2018
    ISBN9780463378076
    The Ideal Man, Is a Woman
    Author

    B.L Wilson

    B.L. has always been in love with books and the words in them. She never thought she could create something with the words she knew. When she read ‘To Kill A Mocking Bird,’ she realized everyday experiences could be written about in a powerful, memorable way. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with that knowledge so she kept on reading.Walter Mosley’s short stories about Easy Rawlins and his friends encouraged BL to start writing in earnest. She felt she had a story to tell...maybe several of them. She’d always kept a diary of some sort, scraps of paper, pocketsize, notepads, blank backs of agency forms, or in the margins of books. It was her habit to make these little notes to herself. She thought someday she’d make them into a book.She wrote a workplace memoir based on the people she met during her 20 years as a property manager of city-owned buildings. Writing the memoir, led her to consider writing books that were not job-related. Once again, she did...producing romance novels with African American lesbians as main characters. She wrote the novels because she couldn’t find stories that matched who she wanted to read about ...over forty, African American and female.

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      Book preview

      The Ideal Man, Is a Woman - B.L Wilson

      CHAPTER ONE: you killed me?

      Henry Braxton sighed as he sat in his favorite chair watching the nightly news in his den with a frown. Christ, one of his blue-chip stocks was going into the toilet. He scratched his head. He’d better call his broker tonight. He changed the channel and caught the last minutes of an interview with a national guardsman on leave at his home in somewhere in the southwest. The guardsman was fighting redeployment to Iraq. He’d been there twice in three years and wanted a new assignment stateside this time. The army disagreed, so he was suing them in court for the right to refuse redeployment to Iraq. He shook his head.

      A man oughta be willing to fight for his country when the country needs him, Henry muttered, then changed the channel to BET to listen to a young Black comic calling the women he dated bitches, whores, and muthafuckers. He used the remote to turn the television off in disgust. Jesus, will you look at the shit that passes for entertainment today!

      He stood up from his comfortable olive leather chair and stretched, then smiled at all the books lining the three walls of his den that also served as a second office. I’ve been meaning to catch up on some reading. I believe I’ll try a little music while I do. He left the confines of his super-sized custom-made mahogany desk and strode over to turn on the stereo sitting on the wall-to-wall bookshelves.

      Henry grinned and started tapping out a beat against his thigh. Kurt Whalum was blowing a hot sax tonight. He returned to his leather chair, put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes as he let the soft jazzy music wash over him. He loved the sounds. The music had depth with a rough texture to it and made him feel energized when he listened. He used to listen to old time rock-n-roll, classical music, and sometimes a little swing music thrown in for style. Robbie had introduced him to the soft jazz sounds eighteen months ago and he was glad she did.

      He snapped his fingers to the beat and thought how strange life was. Roberta Braxton was his ex-wife. He hated her when they divorced some twenty-five years ago and now look at him. At fifty-five, he wanted to marry Robbie again. He’d nearly had a second wife and dozens, maybe a hundred women in between, but none of them could hold a candle to Robbie.

      It helped that they’d produced a child together—a daughter who, much to his dismay, liked pussy as much as he did. He was still struggling with that little revelation, but with Robbie’s help, he was learning to accept what his thirty-year-old-daughter Vivian called an alternate lifestyle. That reminded him how he still needed to tell her that he and her mother were getting married again.

      He just wanted to listen to Kurt talking to him on his saxophone while he finished reading how James Bond brought another criminal mastermind to justice and saved the world. Bond had just screwed some female spy for the third time when Henry heard a noise and looked up from the book. He grinned when he recognized the person standing in front of him.

      Hey, you’re early. I didn’t think you’d get away this time of night.

      I didn’t either.

      What did you say to escape?

      Does it matter? I’m here as you ordered.

      Henry grinned at the intruder. Aw, come on. It wasn’t an order. Think of it as more of a request.

      Broad shoulders shrugged. Whatever, Henry. I’m here and that’s what important, right?

      Henry nodded and pointed to the papers he’d pulled out of a desk drawer. I just need your signature here and here.

      Strong fingers played with the edges of the contract. Do you mind if I read it first?

      No, it’s all there. Take your time, but I need your signature tonight as we agreed.

      Yeah, yeah, I know, Henry. Be quiet and let me read it.

      Henry watched a finger skim the paper while lips moved, pronouncing the words as the finger moved across the page. The same lips formed a frown, then an angry scowl while strong hands grabbed the papers and shook them in front of his face.

      What the fuck is this? I didn’t agree to this shit!

      Henry’s eyes narrowed. He stood up. Oh yes, you did, asshole! Make my night and sign it so I won’t have to take your ass to court tomorrow.

      My lawyer said I shouldn’t do this without him. I told him and now I’m telling you, this shit ain’t happening! The scowl turned to an evil, confident grin. Why don’t you ask me why, Henry?

      Henry’s eyes widened with fright as soon he saw the gun pointed at his chest. What are you doing? He raised his hands, then backed away from his desk, moving backwards until the beautiful olive leather chair that fit his tall frame just right hit the back of his knees. He couldn’t escape the bullet that tore into his chest. He grunted from the bullet’s impact, then looked down at the rose with the expanding petals staining the front of his crisp white shirt. You killed me? he asked with surprise in his voice as he stared at his killer.

      Not yet, you f-ed up bastard! You’re still talking. But this bullet will!

      Henry whimpered when he saw the gun aimed at his head. He couldn’t move away. His own beloved desk and chair trapped him. His chest hurt too much to move his left hand. He raised his right hand weakly to protect the expanding wound on his chest. He heard the gun roar with the next shot. The bullet missed the intended target and hit the wood paneling above his head. He collapsed, falling against the chair, then bouncing off and hitting the thick Persian rug with a thud.

      Christ, can’t you do anything right?

      Shut up, I’m doing this.

      Henry never felt the first blow that crushed his skull or heard the screaming words, Are you dead yet, you bastard? I can’t hear you, motherfucker. Are you dead? The screams and curses continued, as did the blows to Henry’s head until it was a bloody mass. The unexpected exercise sapped the killer’s energy and the beating stopped as suddenly as it started.

      Fuck you and your shit, Henry Braxton!

      Come on. Let’s go before somebody sees us.

      Detective Frank Mathews watched Sarah Braxton pace around the interview room through the one-way mirror. She had a dancer’s grace and height. But her movements seemed slurred, slightly off. He wondered if she was high on something. Some medications made a person move like that. He also knew the excitement of a first-time kill could make a person high too. He wondered which one was the case with her.

      What are we looking at, Lady? Did you do it or know the person who did? he muttered softly to himself under his breath. I want you to interview her, Partner.

      Detective Alexia Carson followed the woman’s movements with fascination, then frowned. She couldn’t take her eyes off the Braxton woman, not even to fuss at her partner for giving her the interview. Me? I’m not ready for this. Why me, Frank, when you could do it?

      Frank watched his partner’s reaction to the woman. He made note of her total absorption with the woman. Just a feeling I have, Al. I think she’ll relate better to you than me.

      Alexia ran a cinnamon-colored hand down the back of her head. She liked the way her short haircut felt under her palm. She used to wear a big fluffy Afro. She turned that into twists, then into dreads. Each style took too much time on her part. She loved being able to hop out of bed and jump into the shower with no shower cap, then grab a towel to pat her hair dry. It was a no muss, no fuss, and no commitment style that was a symbol of her new life after the wild crazy years with the freak of the week she lived with.

      Frank, if you’re trying to set me up with the Braxton woman, I’m gonna come back and kick your ass!

      Frank patted his chest as he faked an innocent look. Me? Would I do something like that to you, Al? I mean, the woman is a suspect in a murder case. It’s against department regs for you to see her socially until the case is over anyway.

      Alexia chuckled as she continued to eye the woman. I thought we were looking at her as a material witness. And yeah, Frank. You’d do something like that. You and my cousin are driving me nuts with your surprises. I can’t spend a weekend just fishing at the lake or watching cable anymore without one of you sending me some lesbian bearing a cake, my favorite Blu-ray, or inviting me to go skinny-dipping.

      She could feel her face flush when she thought about the woman who invited her to go skinny-dipping. She’d posed as a cable repairperson to get her foot in the door. That was all the entrée she’d needed. They’d almost… She’d almost screwed a total stranger. Thank the powers that be, she came to her senses at the last minute. She hustled the woman out the door and then went fishing alone. Was she that desperate for companionship that she’d sleep with the few women that made it beyond the threshold of her front door?

      Aw, come on, Al, don’t be such a hermit. Me and Kathy are just looking out for our little cousin. Frank cleared his throat. It’s not good to be alone so much, Kiddo. You need more companionship than Xavier can provide. A cat can only provide a human so much company. How is the old catnip anyway?

      Alexia grinned. She finally turned away from the nervous woman in the interview room to talk with her partner. For your information, he’s my best friend next to Kathy. He’s also fine for being almost ten years old.

      Kathy is your best friend, huh? Where am I on your list of friends?

      At the bottom, if I still have to do the interview with Sarah Braxton.

      I guess I’d better get used to the lowest rung on the friends of Alexia list.

      Alexia sighed, then strode over to the door. She paused with a hand on the doorknob to look back at her partner. Here goes nothing, Frank.

      Frank smirked. Quit acting like a scared little kid. Just go in there and be your usual charming self.

      Alexia stepped out into the hallway and exhaled. She straightened her navy business suit, brushing a hand down the front of her jacket, then re-buttoning it to cover the shoulder holster. There, she felt presentable again. Okay, I can do this, she muttered, opening the door and stepping into the room. She smiled at the woman standing in the corner trying to look out the only window in the room. The window sat some ten feet off the ground to provide light and ventilation but not escape.

      If you need some air, we can take a walk outside if you like.

      Sarah Braxton turned around at the sound of the slightly husky voice. Yes, I’d like that. These walls are starting to close in on me. I’m getting claustrophobic.

      No problem. We can take a walk. I’d like to ask you a few questions first.

      Am I under arrest?

      Alexia shrugged. Should you be?

      I don’t think so. Remember, I was the one who called you after I found … him. Sarah Braxton sighed, then closed her eyes. I hope I never see anything that bad again. She started to cry. There was so much blood on him. All over him. His face didn’t look like his face. God, I don’t think I can do this tonight.

      Alexia violated one of the basic rules of interviewing when she walked over to Sarah Braxton and offered her a hanky. That seemed to open the floodgates and relax the barriers between cop and suspect. Before Alexia realized what she’d done, Sarah Braxton was huddled against her shoulder, sobbing while she rubbed her back. It’s okay, Mrs. Braxton. It’s gonna be okay. You’re safe here.

      Frank frowned at the one-way glass. Al, what are you doing in there? You’re not supposed to touch a witness who might be a suspect. Back away from the woman. Stop stroking her back. Give her the damned hanky and back away.

      Alexia shrugged her shoulder and dark eyes opened to study her intently.

      Sarah Braxton flushed, then stepped away from their warm embrace.

      I’m sorry, they remarked in unison, staring at each other.

      Jinx on a coke! they remarked together again.

      Alexia grinned at Sarah. I haven’t said that to another soul in years.

      Sarah dabbed at her eyes before she looked into sparkling dark eyes much like her own and nodded. Thank you, Detective Carson. I needed to do that. She strode to the table and sat down, placing her folded hands on the table in front of her. Ask me anything you want to know.

      Alexia pulled a small notepad out of her jacket. I’ll take some notes while we talk. What time did you find Mr. Braxton?

      Sarah frowned. I don’t know, but it was after the late-night news.

      What channel were you watching?

      I wasn’t. He was.

      The television was on when you found Mr. Braxton.

      Yes, it was.

      I see. Alexia made a note to check with the television station about the timeframe and compare it with the coroner’s report. How old was your husband, Mrs. Braxton?

      Sarah’s eyes widened. You think Henry is my husband?

      Isn’t he?

      No. I’m not married, Detective. And I, er… Sarah sighed as she stared at the female cop sitting across from her taking notes. I’m not married. He, Henry was my older brother.

      Alexia looked up when she heard the hesitation in the woman’s voice. Did you want to add something, Ms. Braxton?

      I don’t think it has anything to do with his death.

      Why don’t you tell me and let me decide.

      Okay. Sarah stood up to pace again. I’m sorry to keep getting up, but I think better on my feet.

      That’s okay, Ms. Braxton. Walk around if you’d like. Alexia eyed the woman as she walked back and forth. You wanted to add something.

      I’m, er… I’ve come to the realization that I must be a lesbian. I don’t find men as attractive as they seem to find me. Sarah stopped walking and sat back down to face Alexia again. I haven’t slept with a woman, but I’m sure that’s what’s wrong with me.

      Do you think being gay is wrong?

      Do you think it’s right to love another woman, Detective?

      Don’t answer that one, Al, or tell her a lie, Frank muttered as he listened to the interview from the other side of the glass.

      It doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is how you feel. Did your brother have enemies or somebody that might want to see him dead?

      I don’t know. Sarah Braxton sighed, then played with the borrowed hanky balled up in her hand. I hope he didn’t invoke hatred like that. Somebody killed him. Or I wouldn’t be here talking to you.

      Can you think of anybody who didn’t like him? Maybe somebody at his job, like one of his co-workers was angry with him.

      Sarah Braxton frowned. My brother owned his company, Detective Carson. His co-workers, as you called them, would be his board of directors. Would you like their names?

      Alexia nodded, then scribbled more notes. Yes. Would you mind? She looked up into sad dark eyes.

      Some of them are good friends of mine. By that, I mean I know at least two of them quite well. Are they suspects, Detective Carson?

      We have to do background checks on everybody who knew your brother.

      Is that your polite way of saying one of them killed my brother, Detective? Brown eyes searched Alexia’s face, looking for answers, and found it without expression except around her eyes. She read sympathy in the cop’s eyes and decided to use it.

      You’re losing her, Al. Say something to pull her back in line, Frank muttered.

      It’s too early in the investigation to speculate, Ms. Braxton. If you’ll just give me the names, we can let you go.

      Sarah’s eyes narrowed. She stood up, then straightened her shoulders. I think not, Detective Carson. I’m leaving right now. I’m not under arrest, am I?

      Alexia rubbed the back of her head as she stood up to put the notepad in her breast pocket. What just happened here? The interview was going well. I did what I was supposed to do. What messed it up? No, Ma’am, you’re not under arrest. You can leave any time. I’ll need those clothes you’re wearing. I have to run a test on your hands.

      Frank watched the two women through the one-way mirror. He groaned when the Braxton woman grew angry, then stood up. Christ, Al! What happened to your famous tact? Or should I say your infamous tact. I bet she’s gonna ask for a lawyer any minute.

      Excuse me! What did you just say to me?

      I said we need your clothes to run tests. We need to test your hands too.

      Why?

      Alexia cleared her throat and studied Sarah Braxton. We want to eliminate you as a suspect.

      Sarah glanced around the room. Who is ‘we,’ Detective Carson? I don’t see anyone here but you. Isn’t it enough that I found my brother dead in his home tonight? I came here voluntarily when I should be making funeral arrangements with my family. She frowned, then suddenly sat down to hold her head. I have to tell Vivian and Robbie what happened. Oh God, I’m not ready for this, she moaned, then dabbed at her eyes.

      Alexia pulled out her notepad and ran a finger down her notes. Let’s see. That’s his ex-wife and daughter. Vivian is your sister-in-law and Robbie is your niece.

      Sarah sighed, then looked up at Alexia. No, you’re wrong, Detective. It’s the other way around. Robbie, I mean, Roberta is my sister-in-law. Vivian is my niece.

      I’m sorry about the mix-up. Alexia cleared her throat, then slipped the notepad into a pocket. I’ll be back in a minute. She rose, then strode out the door.

      CHAPTER TWO: I need all your clothes for tests

      Frank shook his head. He didn’t know where the interview was going, since Alexia changed directions. He’d have to sit back and wait to see what happened, just like the Braxton woman was doing.

      Alexia stopped just outside the door to exhale loudly, then rested her back against the wall. Damn, that was hard! She could feel her control of the interview slipping away. She also felt helpless to stop it. She kept forgetting to ask follow-up questions. Her mind went blank several times during the interview. She stuttered like a two-year-old. That never happened to her. An idea came to her when she spotted the vending machine halfway down the hall. She dug in her pocket for some change.

      Here you go, Ms. Braxton. Consider it my response to our jinx on a coke. Alexia set a cup of steaming black coffee in front of Sarah Braxton. She reached into a pocket for packets of sugar and a small container of powdered cream. I didn’t know how you liked it, so I brought sugar and cream.

      Thank you, but no thanks. I’m tired, Detective. I’d like to see my family before dawn. Let’s get this over with. Sarah caught Alexia’s eye when she stood up and started to unbutton her blood-smeared jacket. Would you like me to strip right here or can you show me to a locker room, wherever you people change into your uniforms.

      Alexia stared at the Braxton woman’s agile milk-chocolate fingers as they played with the first button on her short jacket. Her mind drifted into forbidden territory with Pamela Styles as her bed partner.

      Detective? Sarah frowned as she stared at the cop with the faraway look in her eyes. Detective Carson, is there someplace where I can change?

      Alexia stopped thinking about her ex-girlfriend and focused on the angry woman standing in front of her. Yeah, yeah, hold on a minute, Woman. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.

      Excuse me! What did you just say to me?

      Frank sat on the edge of his seat, watching the two women sparring. A civilian had just bested his partner. Don’t repeat it, Al. Keep your mouth shut. Just take her to the lab, then the locker room.

      Alexia sighed. I said keep your jacket on, Ma’am, and follow me. We’ll go see the lab people for your hands first. Then we’ll test your clothes. Is there somebody I can call to bring you a change of clothes?

      Yes, but I don’t want to expose them to this bullshit!

      Whew, Lady, you got a mean mouth on you! Frank muttered, watching the two women. But at least my partner’s redeeming herself, I think.

      Alexia’s eyes narrowed. Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond to the jab. Follow me, Ma’am. She nodded to the uniform officers she passed in the hallway.

      I hate it when you call me ‘ma’am,’ Sarah snapped in an edgy, angry tone as she followed the detective. You make me sound old enough to be your grandmother. Try calling me Ms. Braxton or Sarah. You can even call me ‘hey you’ if you can’t remember all that!

      Alexia suddenly stopped marching down the hallway to turn around and confront her tormentor. Look, Ma’am, I mean Ms. Braxton. I’m sorry you lost your brother tonight. I’m trying to make this as easy as I can. I’d appreciate it if you’d…

      Just shut the hell up and go along with your game plan, right, Detective?

      That’s not what I’m saying at all! Why are you testing my patience tonight?

      And what, Detective Carson? There’s nothing you can do to me I haven’t already done. Sarah looked distraught. If I’d just stayed home, Henry would be alive. I know it.

      Alexia cleared her throat as she studied the Braxton woman, noting the dark circles under red-rimmed eyes for the first time. There’s a good chance you’d be dead too, Ms. Braxton. Killers don’t like witnesses to their evil deeds, she remarked quietly, reminding herself for the hundredth time how upset the Braxton woman was.

      Sarah dabbed her eyes, then blew her nose. God, I didn’t think about that.

      No, Ma’am, you wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t expect you to either. Come on, the lab’s just down the hall. Alexia strode ahead down the corridor, pushed the door open, and then stepped inside. She spotted a medium height, brown-haired man bent over a microscope. Benny, this is Ms. Braxton.

      Dr. Lewis Benson looked up when the door swung open and smiled when he recognized Alexia. Hey, how’re you doing, Al? Frank told me to expect you and Ms. Braxton. He stood up to greet the women. How’re you doing tonight, Ma’am? I’m Dr. Benson, but everybody calls me Benny. Or you can call me Lewis.

      Alexia groaned at his use of

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