Jeremy nodded, but it still took him a few seconds to turn around. This time, I was the one who held him and inside, I berated myself. Why had I suggested this? Now, Jeremy felt worse and he still had no answers.

As we got to the end of the walkway, a woman shouted out, “Hey!”

We both looked toward the voice and saw a woman, waving from a dark blue SUV — a BMW, I thought. Jeremy and I paused as the woman, about thirty years old, slid out of the car and sauntered toward us.

"They ain't home. They haven't been home," she said, as if she were some kind of neighborhood watcher. But then, she explained, “I've been here every day for the past three days and they ain’t been here. Do you know where they are?"

She looked at me like she fully expected me to answer her question. And I looked at her, wearing a sequined jacket with matching pants like she was heading to a New Year's Eve party — in the middle of April.

Jeremy and I exchanged glances, then he said, "And you would be?"

She did a little gangsta lean back and asked, “Who are you?" as if she’d been offended by Jeremy’s question.

I put up my hand to stop Jeremy and took a step forward. "You approached us,” I said, keeping the attitude that I felt out of my voice. “So before we divulge anything, it would be nice if you introduced yourself."

She folded her arms as if she had no intention of doing that. But then, she huffed as if she knew she had no other choice. A slow smile crept up on her face. “I'm Shaniqua.”

“Shaniqua,” I repeated her name as a way for her to explain further.

She said, “Ovide’s wife."

"What?" Jeremy and I said together.

"I didn't stutter." She pointed to the SUV where four sets of eyes peered back at us. "And those kids are Ovide’s kids."

If I hadn’t been stunned into silence, I would have turned to Jeremy to ask who was this fool?

"Look," Jeremy began, “I don’t know what kind of game you're trying to run -"

"It ain’t a game, it’s the truth." She held out her hand as if she were giving us proof. Her ring finger rocked a huge stone — cubic zirconia. “This is my wedding ring."

"Really?" Jeremy said. "So, we’re supposed to believe that Reverend Robinson is married to you because of that? That ring means nothing."

"This ring means everything to us."

"You’re lying,” I jumped in. “Reverend Robinson is married. He can’t be married to you when he already has a wife that he’s had for almost forty years.”

"No, correction: he has two wives," she said, like that was a normal thing. “He has the one who lives here and then, he has his family, that would be us, in Natchez, Mississippi. He has a whole house there.” She glanced over my shoulder. “I mean, it’s a nice enough house, but not as nice as this one.”