Cinnamon Kiss

Cover Cinnamon Kiss
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Genres: Fiction
Dream Dog asked as I snaked my hand down to turn the lock on the doorknob.
“Hindu religion,” I said, remembering a talk I’d had with Jackson Blue in which he explained how much he disagreed with the Indian system of the moral interpretation of responsibility.
You know, the undersized genius had said, ain’t no way in the world that black folks could’a done enough bad to call all them centuries’a pain down on our heads.
Dream Dog smiled. “Yeah. Hindu. All about what you do an’ how it comes back t
...o you.”
“Is this apron Cinnamon’s?” I asked.
We were in the door.
“Sure is. But you know she wasn’t really a maid or nuthin’ like that. She had a business degree from Berkeley and wanted to get on Wall Street. Oh yeah, that Philomena got her some spunk.”
“I knew she was in school,” I said. “The whole family is very proud of her. That’s why they’re so worried. Did she tell you where she was going?”
“Uh-uh,” Dream Dog said while he gauged my words.
The utility room led into a long kitchen that had a lengthy butcher block counter with a copper sink on one side and a six-burner stove-oven on the other.
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