Pretty People Murder

The detective called me.

When?

Just now.

Just now or a while ago?

Five minutes ago.

Did he interview you or just call?

He called. Wants me to come downtown. Says he needs to interview me about the case.

What case?

You know what case.

Who is this?

I’m the one whose car you hopped into. I took you to the police station.

I was running for my life.

Thanks for saving me.

You were running for your life in a blood-soaked dress with a bag full of money.

Is that what you thought was in the bag?

They said the victim was missing a large sum of cash.

Did they?

The news said they’re still looking for a suspect in his murder.

Is he dead?

According to the news.

The news gets things wrong.

I dropped you off at the police station.

I’d love to show my appreciation by taking you to lunch.

I save your life, and all I get is lunch?

Not just lunch.

I’m listening.

I’m taking you somewhere upscale, and I have a gift for yooooou.

You’re stretching that word. This gift must be big. I like big gifts. The bigger the better. I take a damsel in distress in a bloody dress, carrying a large bag, to the police station.

I so appreciate it.

Why didn’t you go inside?

Why don't you mind your business?

I stayed and watched.

You shouldn’t have stayed.

When a pretty woman hops in my car with a large sum of money and a blood-soaked dress, I get concerned.

Concerned enough to talk to the police?

I don’t know if I’m that concerned.

You don’t even know me. You don’t know anything.

I want to get to know you and the truth.

That’s dangerous.

I want to know what happened. It’s only fair.

Fair to whom?

To me. I’m leaving my night class. I’m dog tired. Suddenly, this pretty woman jumps in my car. She’s a bloody mess. She has a bag full of money.

You keep mentioning the money.

Because it’s hard to forget. Just like that, I became a witness of interest.

You make it sound dramatic.

This woman jumps in my car covered in blood, and suddenly, I’m part of a murder story.

I’m a witness of interest, and you are a person of interest.

This is the second time I’ve been part of a true crime story. Second?

When was the first?

The murder of my father. You mind if I tell you about it?

Shoot.

No pun intended.

He wasn’t shot. He was stabbed.

Stab.

What?

Never mind.

You’re saying “shoot” like “go on,” so I said “stab.” Same thing.

Not the same thing.

Please Person!

Okay. My father, Lemuel, and my mother were unhappily married. Four kids.

Lesa. Leya. Lexa. And Ling.

And Ling. Ling was Lemuel’s child with the babysitter. A woman pretty like you, but much older.

Really.

He started seeing her while still married to my mother.

He was unhappy.

Unhappy marriages shouldn’t end in murder.

They do.

She lived on our street.

That’s bold.

She used to babysit me and my sisters.

That’s nice.

She had a daughter. Ling. Same age as me. We called ourselves sisters.

But you weren’t.

She was Asian. I’m Black. We are both Lemuel’s daughters. We are sisters, and we are close.

Ling’s mama killed our daddy.

That’s tragic.

Before I tell you how she did it, let me tell you about Lemuel. Lemuel Lemmy Plummer. Born in 1979.

He owned a restaurant. Very popular BBQ joint.

Called Mule. Only spelled differently from his name. Mule’s BBQ is located in the East End.

The low end?

My mama called it the “Hoe End.” She said that’s where Lemmy met all his whores. You still there?

I’m here. You’re sharing this because?

Because you like true crime.

I do?!

What I saw the day you hopped in my car? That was the truest crime. You didn’t go into the police station.

You hopped into a black BMW. With a woman, I memorized the license plate.

I also remember your shoes.

Whoop-de-do.

You think the police station doesn’t have cameras?

Everybody has cameras.

Everybody doesn’t have what you left in my car.

Whatever it is, keep it.

I don’t want it. Maybe the detective does.

Why would you give the detective the money?

You left it.

I left you a tip. You’re a broke college student. Uber driver. Keep your tips.

I did.

But? There’s another thing.

Of course there is.

A grey sealed pouch. Wallet-sized. It looked important. I was going to bring it inside, but you didn’t go inside. The man you ran from, who was murdered, was important. He was under investigation, but he’s got powerful people in high places. Whoever did that to him is going to get it from all sides.The law. His connections.

The Uber driver.

You said it, not me.

This case sounds too big for a college girl, an Uber driver. Sounds like she’s in over her braided head.

I’m not an Uber driver anymore.

I’m a girl who witnessed my father’s crimes, doing stuff he shouldn’t have done, running a BBQ joint. I’m a girl who witnessed my father’s murder by my babysitter. She was nice until she wasn’t. She told me no one would believe me. Twelve jurors did. Because I’m pretty like her, like you, pretty people appear honest.

Ling’s mom was pretty, but I was younger and prettier, and I was honest.

The funny thing is, pretty, honest people can still need money.

Especially when your father dies and leaves no instructions.

Men think with a different head.

Lemmy certainly did.

So, what time would you like me to pick you up for lunch?

No picking me up.

Come on.

No.

This time, I want to be your Uber driver. I’ll drive, tip, and shoot.

Excuse me?

If you think a naive college student Uber driver can outsmart the Diamond Street princess, think again little girl.