02/25/2013
All the women want him and all the men fear him. The murder by arson of hunky Daryl Graham shatters his Queens, NY, community, including the suspects: Krystal, an ex-flame and schoolteacher whose passion for Daryl can't match her insatiable desire for drugs; her cocaine-dealing fiancé; Connie, a sex-starved house frau who's let herself go to pot; her husband Avery who kicks her out to set off on a life of crime; and 21-year-old brainiac Benny whose womanizing firefighter dad wonders what kind of influence Daryl wielded over his son. Weber (The Choir Director) packs his latest urban soap opera with all seven deadly sins in a bawdy mystery that doesn't take its flawed characters too seriously. The villains and heroes, each given their own, rotating perspectives, are a hot mess—alternately coldly selfish and admirably selfless. Though an unlikely twist gives everyone exactly who and what they deserve, fans will likely suspend belief for the tidy bow on this flashy little package. After all, to err is not only human, but a whole lot more fun to read. (Feb.)
The Man in 3B
Narrated by Mike Ray, Shay Moore, A. Jai Simone, D. Michelle, King Parker
Carl WeberUnabridged — 9 hours, 55 minutes
The Man in 3B
Narrated by Mike Ray, Shay Moore, A. Jai Simone, D. Michelle, King Parker
Carl WeberUnabridged — 9 hours, 55 minutes
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Overview
Editorial Reviews
"After a church member commits suicide, secrets are exposed that could destroy the church and various relationships as Weber (Up to No Good) successfully explores the multiple megaproblems challenging this church family and scores again with a lively mix of church politics and bedroom follies."—Publishers Weekly on THE CHOIR DIRECTOR
"Weber's in top form with this fast-paced and oh-so-zany soap opera."—Publishers Weekly on BIG GIRLS DO CRY
"Popular author Weber (The Preacher's Son, 2005; Up to No Good, 2009) fills his books with lifelike characters-flawed, confused, frustrated, and sometimes plus-sized. His latest is perfect for readers looking for an emotion-filled human drama, and Big Girls Do Cry will be a welcome addition to any library's African American fiction collection."—Booklist on BIG GIRLS DO CRY
"As James, Darnel and Jamie switch narrative duties, betrayals and odd plot twists become the norm with at times shocking results...this trashy page-turner should give fans what they want."
—Publishers Weekly on UP TO NO GOOD
"Weber keeps the pacing brisk and loads the narrative with enough surprise turns to keep readers guessing to the end."—Publishers Weekly on THE FIRST LADY
"Major revelations and an eye-raising twist will make even seen-it-all fans gasp. And the drama doesn't end but plants the seeds for Weber's next, The First Lady."—Publishers Weekly on SO YOU CALL YOURSELF A MAN
"Popular author Weber (The Preacher's Son, 2005; Up to No Good, 2009) fills his books with lifelike characters-flawed, confused, frustrated, and sometimes plus-sized. His latest is perfect for readers looking for an emotion-filled human drama, and Big Girls Do Cry will be a welcome addition to any library's African American fiction collection."
"The drama and the characters had me turning the pages, and staying up until 1 a.m. trying to finish. Daryl is a main character everyone would love, especially the ladies . . . I will definitely be reading more books by Carl Weber very soon."
"A delicious gift of drama, suspense, and romance . . . Weber entices with wonderfully crafted 'ordinary' people."
"Contains lots of the drama and tight writing style that has made him a New York Times bestselling author, and more importantly, all the surprises and shocks readers won't see coming."
"Wow. Wow. Wow...Just when you think Carl Weber couldn't possibly have any more drama or mystery left in his imagination to capture the reader, he does it again."
"A delicious gift of drama, suspense, and romance . . . Weber entices with wonderfully crafted 'ordinary' people."
"Popular author Weber (The Preacher's Son, 2005; Up to No Good, 2009) fills his books with lifelike characters-flawed, confused, frustrated, and sometimes plus-sized. His latest is perfect for readers looking for an emotion-filled human drama, and Big Girls Do Cry will be a welcome addition to any library's African American fiction collection."
"Wow. Wow. Wow...Just when you think Carl Weber couldn't possibly have any more drama or mystery left in his imagination to capture the reader, he does it again."
Weber (The Choir Director; Big Girls Do Cry) opens his latest novel with police investigating a body burned beyond recognition that’s found in apartment 3B. Could it be sexy Daryl Graham, who female neighbors tag as a cross between Tyrese, Teddy Pendergrass, and Michael Jordan? In a flashback we find that each member of the tight “family”of the building’s residents has a controversial past and at least two of the women have a sexual connection with Daryl. The main players in this story of alternating narrators are overweight Connie, who is being divorced by her man, and her nasty, sexually wild stepdaughter, Krystal. Then there is 21-year-old Benny , who is intrigued about Daryl’s collection of books about living a down-low lifestyle. Skullduggery builds to the point at which any one of these folks has a reason to see Daryl dead. It gets even more complicated because this awesome dude who women want and men admire couldn’t leave 3B due to house arrest and an ankle bracelet. Was a murderer invited into 3B? VERDICT Weber’s closed-room mystery asks age-old question of whodunit, but adds an inner city vibe. His ear for street dialog hits the mark, and he balances street scenes, sex, and male/female romantic relationships with a skilled hand. The author’s instantly recognized name makes purchasing this title an easy-peasy decision. Buy multiple copies. [See Prepub Alert, 8/16/12.]
(c) Copyright 2013. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940173463753 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Hachette Audio |
| Publication date: | 11/15/2019 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
Read an Excerpt
The Man in 3B
By Carl Weber
Grand Central Publishing
Copyright © 2013 Carl WeberAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4555-0524-1
CHAPTER 1
Four months prior
I stepped off the bus and briskly walked the eight blocks home, carrying two heavy shopping bags filled with groceries for my husband's birthday celebration, for which I planned to go all out. I could have gotten off the bus at the corner of Guy R. Brewer Boulevard and 109th Street about a block from my apartment, but I'd heard some weight loss expert on The Today Show the other day explaining how if you get off one stop before yours and walk the rest of the way home every day, you can lose up to ten pounds per year. Sounds crazy, right? I'm not even saying that I believed her, just that I was so desperate to lose the fifty-plus pounds I'd gained after my wedding that I was willing to try anything. I'd tried every diet book, tummy-buster DVD, and weight loss infomercial gimmick there was, all with no results. With money being so tight now, walking was a lot cheaper than buying another set of DVDs or a gym membership.
I had to do something to lose this weight. I couldn't even get my husband, Avery, to look at me in a sexual manner, and the Lord knows I missed his touch.
About halfway down my block I saw anchorwoman Nancy Williams staked out in front of my building, reporting the six o'clock news. Some folks watched CNN; others ABC or CBS; many got their news from 1010 WINS radio; but the women of my neighborhood got our local information from Nancy Williams and the 109th Street news team of gossips. Along with Nancy was her number one investigative reporter, Lily Nixon, our building super's wife. Nancy's weather girl, Ms. Bertha Dunbar from 1B, could tell you the next day's weather just by how her bones felt. They were surrounded by three other neighbors from our building and a couple of girls from across the street.
"Hey, y'all," I greeted as I stopped in front of them, trying to catch my breath after my walk. They greeted me in their usual friendly manner, but the looks that passed between them told me something was up. Either they were trying to decide if they would include me in the latest gossip, or they were trying to decide who would be the one who got to break the story.
"Okay, what's the latest?" I asked Nancy. I knew it wouldn't be long before she spilled her guts because Nancy couldn't hold water. "Or should I be afraid to ask?"
"Be afraid," Nancy quipped.
"Be very afraid," Pam from across the street added with a smirk.
"Humph! It's our men that should be afraid." Lily laughed as the women around her traded high fives and uh-huhs.
It was starting to look like it would take a while for them to deliver the news, so I set my heavy bags down on the stoop. "What in the world are y'all talking about?"
"Three-B." Nancy pointed in the direction of the third-floor apartment on the right. "Or should I say, the man in 3B. That's what we're talking about."
I looked over at Lily. "So y'all finally rented it, huh?" I asked, wondering why that was such a big deal. Lily's answer told me there was much more to the story.
She practically purred when she told me, "We sure did, and I hope this one stays forever. It's about time we had some new eye candy around here."
"Here, here," a couple of the women chimed in unison.
"I'll tell you what," Nancy added with a devilish grin. "I'm willing to chip in if he falls behind on his rent, just as long as he's willing to work it off. If you know what I mean." She wiggled her rear like she was about to take it from behind.
"Well, if that's the case, then count me in too," one of the women cosigned with gyrating hips. "And hell, he ain't even gotta do any work. I'll take care of everything." They all busted out laughing.
I shook my head and joined their laughter. "I take it our new neighbor is a man?"
"He's more than just a man. He's the man that's gonna have the water and electric bills on this place going sky-high," Jewell replied with deadpan seriousness.
"Excuse me? Why's that?" The last thing I needed was for our bills to be going up.
"Because, honey, that man's so fine, we gon' be going through our wet panties like drawers is goin' outta style. We gon' be doing laundry and taking cold showers more than ever."
The cackling and high-fiving resumed.
"Nancy, you and Lily ought to be ashamed of yourselves," I said with a smile. "You're married women for crying out loud." I felt bad for their husbands. I mean, how bad were things at home if they were lusting over the new guy in 3B like that?
I grabbed my bags before making my way up the steps and opened the door.
"I may be married, but I ain't dead," Lily quipped.
"That's right," Nancy said. "Go on with your bad self, but I guarantee you'll be right out here with us once you get a load of what we're talking about."
"I seriously doubt that. I got a man, and he's all I need to get me through the night," I answered before disappearing into my apartment building. I meant what I said about Avery being the only man I needed. I just wondered sometimes if he still felt the same way about me.
Out of habit, I walked toward the elevator, but then remembered the advice of the woman on TV and headed for the stairs. Carrying those two heavy bags, I huffed and puffed up three flights. By the time I reached the landing to enter the third floor, my chest was heaving and I was so out of breath I thought I was going to pass out. My vision was so blurry that the number three on the door almost looked like thirty-three.
This is ridiculous, I thought. How the hell did I ever let it come to this? Those were only three flights of stairs, not ten! I hauled my sweaty self through the doorway, leaning against the wall as I trudged down the hall to my apartment. In front of my door, I let both grocery bags fall out of my hands as I struggled to catch my breath.
"Hey, are you okay down there?" a man's voice called from the other end of the hall.
It sounded like Benny, the young college kid who lived in 3C, but I was still too damn out of breath to lift my head and find out as I fumbled through my purse for my house keys.
"Miss? Are you okay?"
As he got closer, I finally looked up, and I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me because I swear I was staring at a god or maybe an angel or something.
"You okay?" he asked again.
My vision was fine now, and this incredibly handsome figure stood before me. I could only nod.
If this was who Nancy and her news crew were talking about outside, they hadn't told no lies, because this brotha was finer than fine—the kind of fine where you turn to stare and walk right into a damn wall! He was tall with a skin fade and a perfectly manicured beard—a combination of Tyrese, Teddy Pendergrass, and Michael Jordan all wrapped up in one. He was wearing a jogging suit that fit him like it was tailor-made, and I could tell he was pure muscle underneath it. He wore an earring in his left lobe and an expensive watch on his wrist, but the piece of jewelry that stood out the most was the thick gold chain and a Star of David pendant he wore around his neck.
"Umm ... are you okay?" he asked for the third time before I finally realized this gorgeous man was waiting for me to speak.
"Good Lord, I've died and gone to heaven! And you're ... you're an angel, aren't you? God sent me an angel, and he's fine as hell."
Did I really just say that? How embarrassing. Now I was not only sweaty, but my face was also probably bright red. I had this terrible habit of saying really stupid things when I was around handsome men, and this was probably one of the best looking I'd ever seen. If I had my wits about me, I might have been able to play it off like I was joking, but I was so flustered by this guy I could barely think straight.
"Well, I wouldn't say all that." He chuckled and flashed a smile with teeth so white I swear they lit up the hallway. "This place is nice, but I wouldn't call it heaven, and the closest thing to an angel I've seen is you, pretty lady. Now, are you all right?"
Pretty lady! Was he flirting with me? He couldn't be flirting with me. Men like him didn't flirt with me. But it sure sounded like he was flirting with me. Get it together, girl. You're a married woman. I willed myself to snap out of it and start making some sense before he thought I was a complete lunatic.
"Oh, there's nothing wrong with me. Just getting a little exercise. I probably should have taken the elevator instead of the stairs. These bags are a little heavier than I thought. I think I might have overdone it." I closed my mouth when I discovered that now I had gone from being unable to speak to rambling like an idiot. Miraculously, he didn't seem to notice my crazy behavior. In fact, he was still flirting.
I swear to God I felt my knees tremble when he leaned in close to me and whispered in my ear, "A woman who likes to keep in shape. That's very impressive. But between me and you, everything already looks to be in shape." He pulled away. "So don't hurt yourself, you hear me? I can't go having my new neighbor all sick and laid up. At least not until I get some food in my house so I can make you my homemade chicken soup and nurse you back to health."
Thank goodness that wall was there to hold me up.
"Baby, I don't care if that soup comes out of a can ..."
Oh no. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm a married woman. Connie, get yourself together, girl, before you make a bigger fool of yourself than you already have.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call you baby. It's just I call my husband—"
He stopped me. "Your husband? Listen, I apologize for my forwardness. I'm not trying to cause any trouble, especially since I just moved here. I'm really sorry. I didn't see a ring."
So it wasn't in my head. This gorgeous man had been making a pass at me. I had to smile. My ego hadn't had a boost like this in years.
"I stopped wearing my rings a few years ago when they got too tight. You know, um, I'm not quite the same size I was on my wedding day."
His eyes traveled down my body, and unlike the way Avery looked at me lately, this guy seemed to like what he saw. Damn, it felt good to be admired that way. I tried to switch to a more neutral subject before I got myself into trouble.
"You, uh, must be the new man moving into 3B that I've heard so much about."
His pleasant, happy face became stern. "What exactly have you heard? I just got the keys twenty minutes ago. I haven't even moved any of my stuff in yet."
I was a little taken aback by his reaction. "Oh, nothing bad," I said to reassure him. "I just heard that there was a new man moving into 3B, that's all. We look out for each other around here, but everyone kinda keeps to themselves," I lied.
"Oh, I see. That's good, 'cause I'm kind of a private person, and I like to keep a low profile myself."
Hah! With that face and that body, no way you're keeping a low profile.
Fortunately, I hadn't spoken out loud this time, but I still felt the heat on my cheeks. This man had me thinking all kinds of crazy things. It was time to get out of there, because there was no telling what I might say or do next.
"Well, neighbor, it was nice meeting you. I guess I better get these groceries inside and start dinner," I said, hoping to escape whatever power he seemed to have over my good sense.
His eyes were all over my curves once again, and I swear he looked like he wanted to pour chocolate over every single inch of me and lick it off. Or maybe that was just the fantasy I was having in that moment. Either way, I thought I would melt into a puddle right there in the hallway when he took my hand, kissed it, and said, "Well, pretty lady, your husband's a very lucky man."
"Uh ..." I'd lost the power to speak again. All I could do was give him a stupid grin—and yet he still looked at me like he thought I was something special. This was one sexy mutha.
"I'll see you around, neighbor," he said.
I nodded, wishing he would stand there and hold my hand forever.
"By the way," he said, "I didn't get your name. Mine's Daryl. Daryl Graham."
I finally regained the power of speech and said, "I'm Connie Graham."
"Hey, how 'bout that? We could be related. Is Graham your maiden name or married name?" He stared at me and waited for an answer, but I'd barely heard his question because I was so wrapped up in those sexy-ass eyes of his.
"Huh?" I whispered. "Did you say something?"
"I said your name's Graham, just like mine. Maybe we're cousins or something."
I said my name was Graham? Oh. My. God. There must be some kind of correlation: the sexier the man, the stupider I become.
I tried to laugh it off. "Oh, you must have heard me incorrectly. My last name is Mack. Connie Mack."
I'm sure he knew I was full of shit. There's no way someone could mistake Mack for Graham. He knew I'd just called myself Connie Graham, but he was so sweet he let it slide so I wouldn't be more embarrassed.
"Yeah, I probably heard you wrong. Well, Connie Mack, I'll be seeing you around."
He kissed my hand once again, and then he floated off into heaven. Or maybe he took the elevator or the stairwell. Heck, I don't know. All I knew was that I had to hurry inside, so I could make dinner before my husband got home. I'd planned on giving him the blow job of his life as a birthday present, but now that Mr. 3B had me all worked up, we were going to have to rethink things 'cause Connie Mack was gonna need a little something herself.
CHAPTER 2
I was looking out my bedroom window, laughing at the neighborhood women ogling the new tenant in 3B as he came out of the building. He headed toward the U-Haul truck that was parked in front, and every pair of eyes on that stoop was glued to him like he was a big, juicy steak and they hadn't eaten for weeks. I watched as he gave them a friendly nod, then disappeared into the back of the truck. Don't get me wrong. He was a handsome enough man, but those sisters were losing their minds with the way they were acting, especially now that he was out of sight. If they knew I was watching them as they flashed their breasts or wiggled their asses at him when his back was turned, they'd probably keel over and die.
But all that came to an abrupt end when my father, Ben Senior, came walking down the block. Normally when he approached, the women of the neighborhood were all quick to speak. Some even flirted with my old man, but today they had nothing to say. No need for leftovers when fresh meat had arrived, I guess.
Ms. Nancy, as I called her out of respect, who had led the women in their antics, practically sprouted angel wings when Pop approached. Not that she was an angel by any stretch of the imagination. Ms. Nancy had been seeing Pop behind her husband's back for quite a while. Considering how often she'd sneak up to our apartment in the middle of the night or after her husband left for work, I'd say she was pretty smitten. She knew my dad didn't play that junk, and if he had seen her lifting up her shirt the way she did, they'd be over. I think she could already sense that he'd been looking for an excuse to kick her to the curb.
What she didn't know was that one of the other ladies who hung around our stoop, her friend Ms. Pam, had been making overtures toward Pop for quite a while. Ms. Pam was a thirty-five-year-old bombshell that all the older men on our block had been trying to get with. From the way she and Pop were giving each other eye signals, it looked to me like tonight was the night he was going to seal the deal—that is, as long as Ms. Nancy didn't pick up on it and find some way to cock block.
As you can probably tell, my father is a ladies' man. He is also a New York City fireman. Even more importantly, he is my hero. There were not a lot of men like Pop, and although I had a hell of a lot of respect for his uniform, I had even more respect for him as a man. He'd raised me by himself since I was eight without one complaint. He'd sacrificed his entire life for me, and I'd never wanted for anything growing up. As a kid, I told him and everyone who would listen that I wanted to be just like my dad.
"Nah, son, I don't want you to be like me," he'd tell me. With his hand on my shoulder, he'd look down at me and say, "I want you to be better than me. I want you to use that brain of yours and make me proud." I looked up to my father then, and now at twenty years old and in my second year of college, I still looked up to him.
Turning my attention back to the street, I watched my father give one last signal to Ms. Pam. He seemed to purposely ignore the other women on the stoop as he headed toward the truck, probably going to introduce himself to our new neighbor.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Man in 3B by Carl Weber. Copyright © 2013 Carl Weber. Excerpted by permission of Grand Central Publishing.
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