Arrived

Sneak Peek of Discovered

After a smooth flight back to Washington, I raced home, threw my suitcase on the floor  and collapsed on the living room couch. I inhaled the sweetest smell of vanilla sugar wafting through the fabric.

Home Sweet Home, I thought happily. As soon as I hear my parents opening the door, I brushed the hair away my eyes then helped them carry their things in their bedrooms. "Make sure you unpack your suitcase before you rest, okay?" Dad insisted.

Even though Dad recovered in hospital, I can still see scars and bruises over his eyebrows. "Okay," I beamed. "But you need to rest and let Mom or me take care of it."

He gave me a long look. "Cleo for the last time," he sighed. "I am fine, I feel like an eagle." I smirked at that comment. "You feel like an eagle?" I giggled. "You sound like Uncle Seth." "You know what I mean," Dad moaned.

Mom came inside the house, carrying her heavy luggage. Her face was tired and sweaty. After she set her suitcase on the ground, she fell on the couch with her arms and legs hanging. "Thank goodness, we're home!" Mom groaned.

Dad walked over to Mom, stroked her hair, and kissed it. Dad and I walked over to the couch and lied next to her. "On second thought," he began. "Maybe we should wait until tomorrow. We are tired, after all."

I snuggled against my father's chest and closed my eyes. It was a couple of weeks after we solved the kidnapping case of Malcolm Goodman.

In order for Dad to spend quality time with me, he took me to Cuba where we were supposed to have fun, but Senior Goodman, a once great wealthy charity organizer, begged Dad and me to help him bring his son back.

Long story short, Senior Goodman turned out to be an evil person and became  arrested for hiring a professional criminal, killed his father, and ruined Malcolm's life. It was a blessing from God that Dad and Malcolm survived the abuse of their captors.

The good news is that we're safe, but the bad news is that I was grounded for a week, all because I went to Senior Goodman's house without permission. But after realizing that it was my first time making a mistake, Mom and Dad let me off with a warning.

After smelling my sweaty coat, I decided to take a long, hot shower and watch some television. I kissed Mom and Dad on the cheeks, dragged my suitcase, and hurried upstairs.

My bedroom was just like where I left it: periwinkle blue walls, the bookshelf was still filled with my favorite mystery novels, and a hint of apple cinnamon lingered in the air.

As I put away the clothes and stuff out of my suitcase, I collected my black 2Pac t-shirt, undies, skinny jeans, and black boots then trudged to the bathroom. Plopping the clothes on top of the sink, I took off my clothes and turned on the shower.

I applied some soap and scrubbed hard until the greasy residue slid down my back. After the shower, I dried my body with a towel and put on my clothes. I brushed away my damp curls.

"Honey!" Mom called downstairs. "Come downstairs!" She sounded scared. "Coming!" I called back. I marched downstairs and found Mom and Dad staring at a news broadcast.

The news took place in Harlem, New York where a young brunette woman in a purple dress, carrying a microphone. Behind her was a KFC restaurant being surrounded by police crime tape and not surprisingly, the police.

"Good morning," the news reporter greeted. "This is happening live on CBS News. I am Amy Grant, today I am at Harlem where a murder just happen." "Isn't that obvious?" I asked sarcastically. "A man named Lewis Porter, one of Harlem's best school principals, has been shot in the chest as he was getting KFC."

But when the camera turned to a male witness, Mom shut off the television and tossed the remote on the couch. "What's wrong?" I asked. Dad immediately walked over to Mom, who sat on the couch and stared blankly on the floor.

"Mom?" I asked. Dad calmly held her hand then leaned on her shoulder. "Cleo," Mom said softly. "Could you come over here for a minute, please?"

I nodded then sat next to her. Something was definitely wrong about Mom. She stroked my cheek sadly then looked at me. Just then, an idea popped in my head: I was starting to realize what was going on.

"Were you related to that guy?" I asked. "I think you were too young to remember him," Mom answered as she nodded her head. "But do you remember when you went to your grandparents' house in Harlem?"

I squinted my eyes then shook my head. "I think you were at least twelve years old," Mom added. "You helped your grandmother make her famous chocolate chip cake." I was starting to get what Mom was talking about.

I remembered holding Mom's hand and wore a plaid white shirt, khaki pants, and sneakers. My hair was straightened down and wore a blue headband. Grandma showed up in front of a small house.

"Where were you, Dad?" I asked, looking at him. "I was at work," he chuckled. "Doing another late shift." I smiled at the sight of Grandma's favorite antique bowl, full of cookie batter.

All of a sudden, I started to frown. I also remembered that my grandfather wasn't in the picture. "Mom," I began. "Where's Grandpa? Was he at the house?" Dad rose up from the couch then took the luggage upstairs.

Mom swallowed a gulp then let out a sigh. "Your grandfather was in the house," he began. "But I didn't want you to see him." "How come?" I asked. "Because," she explained. "Your grandfather cheated on your grandmother a long time ago."

I stared at her in surprise. "I never trusted your grandfather," Mom sighed. "Whenever he's near you, I always think he will do something bad to you. The notebooks will tell you all about it."

"But I don't understand," I said. "What does this have to do with the murder-" "It was your grandfather," Mom interrupted. "What?" I asked. "Lewis Porter is your grandfather," Mom admitted.