Unconditional by Eva Marie Everson Page B

a friend of Joe’s, all right?”
    â€œNaw, I’m not buyin’ that. Give it to me straight, or I’m tellin’ Joe you up to somethin’. I’ll tell him you were in T’s house.”
    I stopped again, this time facing him head on. I felt my face flush, my eyes grow narrow. “Oh, I see. Okay, I’ll play along. Name your price.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œName your price. I’ve seen how you play. You want something from me. Am I right? So what’s it gonna cost me, Macon? Name your price.”
    I watched his eyes shift back and forth as he calculated an answer. “Double what was in the grocery box. A case of Coke. Three big bags of M&Ms. And a roll of quarters.”
    â€œIs that all?”
    Macon looked over to his sister, back to me. “The horse! You gonna take Keisha to see that horse of yours. And if you do one more crazy thing, I swear I’m telling Joe. I can promise you that.”
    I breathed a sigh of relief. Macon was a player all right. But he was straightforward with anyone who understood his rules. “Uh-hunh,” I said, extending my hand toward him, daring him to shake it. “Well, sir. You just made me a promise.”

Chapter Ten
    I told the children to run on ahead of me and that I’d catch up to them. “Just get on back to Joe’s,” I said.
    As soon as they were out of earshot, I pulled my phone from my purse. After meeting with Detective Miller the week before, I had entered his number into my phone in case I ever needed to speak with him again. Obviously, going to his office was a waste of time. But with what I now knew about Anthony Jones, there might be something more for him to look into.
    I dialed the number, and it went straight to voicemail. “Detective Miller, this is Samantha Crawford. I know you think I’m crazy, but I need you to run a name for me. Anthony Jones. Five-seventy-eight Shelby Avenue, here in Nashville. He’s a mechanic. Please. Just run the name and call me back.” I recited my number before ending the call.
    I flipped the top of my cell phone back into place just as a door squeaked open behind me. Anthony stepped out of the door and onto his stoop, no more than thirty yards away. He wore clean slacks and a pressed shirt. He pulled a cigarette from behind his ear. As he lit it, his eyes locked on where I stood, startling me. There was no mistaking it this time: He saw me.
    I turned and walked, moving as quickly as I dared, forcing myself not to run so as not to appear afraid or out of place.
    Quite honestly, I couldn’t have been more of both.
    Back at Joe’s, I found Macon sitting with Joe at one of the tables and having a private conversation. The noise of happy, playing children drowned out his words, but it was obvious Macon was telling on me.
    Joe’s look said it all.
    He stood and confronted me. “Is this true?” Concern laced his words.
    I closed my eyes momentarily, opening them to look at Macon with eyes of accusation.
    â€œAbout the horse and the farm?” Joe said.
    Denise stepped out of the back door, carrying a plate stacked with peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. At seeing her, the kids rushed noisily for a seat at the picnic tables. I was grateful for the brief interruption, for the chance to look Macon in the eye, to see the mischief there. He was no deceiver—at least, not this time. This time he was a plotter.
    â€œOh,” I said. “Yeah. Absolutely.”
    Joe’s face showed nothing but gratitude. He clapped his hands. “Attention, ladies and gentlemen!”
    The children stopped instantly, as did Denise. All gave their full attention to Papa Joe. “I got a huge announcement. Out of the graciousness of her heart, Miss Sam has invited all of you on a field trip to her farm!”
    The children erupted in cheers of pleasure and excitement.
    And what was I to say? I could only smile at them. At Denise, whose hand