Page 1 of Big Mad
mad
. . .
Why did I go to that masquerade ball, anyway? I should’ve let endless rivers of champagne, king cake, and maybe a couple of selfies with the Valentine’s Mardi Gras centerpieces tempt me. Hell, I could’ve photobombed the newly engaged couple during what was obviously a proposal party on steroids. But no … I spotted my ex-husband’snewcar. And I got MAD.
“Are you listening? That. Is. You!” The detective I’d dubbedBad Copsat across from me, pointing at an enlarged photo.
He must’ve thought he was grilling me like a two-dollar burger.Bless his heart. At least my ex-brother-in-law’s girl said yes to the dress. But did I get some crawfish and shrimp?Nope.I hadn’t even entered the venue before that shiny import made me snap!
Panic had my forehead shimmering brighter than the shores near the Bermuda Triangle. I almost brushed my bangs away but rethought any sudden moves. Because I’d be damned if this New Orleans interrogation room weren’t the place where common sense vanished.
But it wasn’t the blown-up picture on the metal desk between Bad Cop and me thatcookedmy anxiety. Video footage tookthose honors. Good Cop silently towered near a flat-screen television paused on … let’s call her the Epitome of Excellence.
Not me.
That beautiful, masked Black queen used a metal bat on her ex-husband’s Bent- ahem, somebody’s baby-blue, two-door Bentley.
Bad Cop, a melted Ken Doll in a crumpled suit, leaned forward across from me. An audio recorder sat between us. Hands resting on the table, he growled, “Admit it, Madison! That’s you.”
“First of all, with a shape like that, I’d absolutely take the compliment. Unfortunately, she’s wearing a Mardi Gras mask. Sounds like this might make a good episode forUnsolved Mysteries. Second, honey, I don’t even mind if you use this recording.” I nudged my head toward the audio recorder. “But this ain’t a museum, and I ain’t an exhibit. So, you gotta hit my Cash App, Venmo, Zelle. I could go on, I got ‘em all.” My bottom lip poked out with its own attitude problems.
“We’re over the jokes, Madison!”
“Good! Me too! I have an important meeting tomorrow morn-, well, this morning. That’s another thing. I don’t appreciate y’all arresting me in the middle of the night.” I stared down at my fuzzy pajamas. Dummies should’ve found me a week ago. Now, I was missing out on sleep.
“You ain’t gonna make that meeting.” Bad Cop chuckled.
We glared at each other for a solid ten Mississippis.
Somewhere close, a juicy fly did a U-turn just to increase the tension in this interrogation room. My glare flicked toward Good Cop, up to his tangled bird’s nest, and back into his icy gaze.Whatyougotta say?
“The footage is clear, ma’am. That’s you!” Good Cop squeaked. Well, damn, he’d been silent this entire time. Now Iunderstood why. His voice was at least two feet shorter than his imposing six-and-a-half feet.
“You should’ve asked for the director’s cut, boo.” I winked. “That footage could be clearer.” Kidding. New Orleans PD must’ve confiscated this television from a kingpin. At least seventy-five inches and probably 4K too.
Bad Cop slammed a hand on the table. “Youvandalized the honorable Judge Babineaux’s Bentley?—”
“Baby No,” I corrected.
“Babineaux. That’s what I said.”
“And Madison said, ‘Baby No.’ ” Another voice, seasoned with a deliciously rough Louisiana Creole accent, came from the door behind me. “Question. Did you call me Baby No when you were my wife?”
I tried not to look, but my stiff neck needed a stretch. And when I turned … mercy.
Standing in the doorway like a gift-wrapped pair of red-bottom heels with an apologetic matching bow, all of which I didn’t need, stood my ex-husband, Washington Babineaux.
He had the eyes and jaw of Shemar Moore. No, Boris Kodjoe’s eyes and build.
Okay, so, he was the pure beauty that ChatGPT would spit out if a greedy woman asked for Shemar and Borris combined. All in a tailored suit.
How could I do this to myself? Be slightly, ever so slightly, addicted, I mean,attractedto that man. He forced me to commit vehicular vandalism. I didn’t wake up on Valentine’s and say…
Wait.I did.
I had that plan. And it went off without a hitch. Until some secret Ring camera or whatever caught me.But why take a week to find me?
“What?” I snapped, staring at the top of his shiny bald head. A safe spot. No. Never mind. He had that big scalp energy, allshine, no chill … and I remembered humming while I massaged his scalp with tea tree oil.
