Like Sheep Gone Astray (16 page)

Anthony marveled at the eloquence of a man who had never graduated from high school, who had spent over a decade with his mind asleep under the lull of narcotics. Surely the hand of the Lord was upon his life.

What about my life
? Anthony faltered at the thought. He was too ashamed to enter the sanctuary, and sadly turned toward the exit. Before he could push the worn brass handle of the front door, he heard a series of violent coughs and wheezes coming from the basement stairway.

“Is everything okay?” He turned toward the stairwell.

There, on the middle of the steps was the assistant pastor, Bernard Porter, his frail hands weakly gripping the banister. He coughed uncontrollably as Anthony helped him up the rest of the steps and led him to a bench under a large cork bulletin board.

“Anthony, Anthony,” he wheezed between coughs. Anthony tried to quiet him, but the man seemed intent on talking, his tired eyes haunted by desperation.

“It's good to see you, Minister Porter, but you need to take it easy. I'm going to go get your wife and a cup of water for you.”

As Anthony tried to pull away, Bernard grabbed his wrist and pulled Anthony close to his face. Anthony was surprised at the force of the gesture, but could tell immediately that the effort had taken the remainder of what little energy Minister Porter had as his voice dropped to a breathless whisper.

“I know … I know.…” he wheezed.

“Take it easy, Minister Porter,” Anthony continued to repeat.

“I know your troubles, Anthony.”

“It's no trouble helping you.” Anthony's concern was sincere.

“No … no … You must stay…here with me.…” The elder reverend struggled to get the words out.

“Sit back, Minister Porter. Don't exert yourself.” Anthony helped him sit back in the wooden bench.

“I know your troubles.…The money…”

At that, Anthony froze, his eyes searching the sunken ones of Minister Porter.

“You're wondering why…why you…why you're in the center of it all.” His breathing was becoming more erratic. “I only came tonight... to see you ... to tell you…there's something you need to know…”

Anthony was stunned. What was Bernard Porter's connection to Stonymill? He was a preacher. A retired factory worker.

“You need to know…about your father.…” With the words came another violent episode of coughs.

Anthony frowned. His stepfather had been a postal worker before the accident that had taken his and Anthony's mother's lives. What did he have to do with any of this? Surely Bernard was mistaken, his thoughts confused by the long menu of medications he was taking.

Anthony smiled. “Oh, Minister Porter, don't worry about him. I knew Harold since I was four years old. He—”

Minister Porter cut him off immediately. “Not your stepfather…your real father. You need to know that—” A deep cough stifled out his words.

As Anthony patted his back, Sister Porter appeared in the foyer, a rare look of worry etched across her broad features.

“Oh, there you are, sweetheart. When you didn't come back from the rest room I got concerned.” She quickly sat beside him and gently rubbed his back. “Thank you, Anthony, for helping him. I told him that he needed to stay home, but he insisted like never before that he come tonight.”

“You…need … to know…that…” Bernard was still trying to whisper between hacks.

“Hush, hush, sweetheart.” The worry lines on Sister Porter's forehead deepened. “I'm taking you home, back to bed where you belong. Anthony, can you help me get him to the car?”

Minister Porter's coughs became more aggressive, strangling any words he frantically tried to force out as Anthony helped him into the passenger seat of the Porters' Oldsmobile.

“I'll come to visit soon,” he said as he closed the car door. Bernard Porter's eyes were glued on him and wide with anguish.

Anthony watched them pull out of the parking lot before heading to his own car.
My father
. Charles Anthony Murdock. A man who was only a name to him, not even a face.

Anthony took the long way home. This had to be an answer to some of the questions, although it raised many more.
My father
. He would call Haven Ridge Nursing Home in Sharen, South Carolina, in the morning. His Great-Aunt Rosa might have some answers for him. She was the only person in his twenty-nine years of living he had ever heard mention his real father by name.

Chapter 7

Sharen, South Carolina

M
abel Linstead signed off on the last chart. She'd finished her morning rounds early for a change and wanted to take advantage of the crisp fall air. Many of the residents at Haven Ridge Nursing Home enjoyed sitting out on the patio on clear days when the smell of pine and magnolias floated in the wind, unearthing lost memories and thoughts. A nursing assistant had agreed to help her wheel the residents out of their rooms and onto the cement terrace.

Haven Ridge was an old plantation home near a forgotten end of the Carolina coast. Seagulls mingled with sparrows on the estate, a formidable white-marbled building whose past glory had never been reclaimed. The landscaper did his best to keep down the weeds and wild grasses that peeped in the driveway and grounds, but he could not keep up with the fast-growing ivy climbing over the walls and pillars.

Several coats of paint and careful carpentry had not stopped the spread of cracks and splinters on the outside walls and porches. Despite its dismal exterior, the interior of Haven Ridge was a bright yellow-green. Clean hallways and inviting wallpaper kept the patient areas cheerful and relaxing. Residents were allowed to bring as many photos, knickknacks, and other personal mementos as their shared rooms would allow.

Although the estate was grand in scale, the executive board members of Haven Ridge were determined to keep the population small, giving it a cozy, intimate feel. Each of the home's twenty-three residents were assigned personal volunteers who visited them at least twice a week to keep them company, and keep them lucid and talking. The care was impeccable, the attention revolutionary. Mabel locked up the medicine cart and joined the residents on the terrace.

“Mr. Gregory, you need to keep your shirt on if you want to stay outside.” Mabel helped the ninety-one-year-old-man readjust himself.

As she spoke, she kept her eyes on another resident, a woman with long, silver braids wrapped around her high forehead like a coiled hat. Her wheelchair was parked alone in a corner of the patio, and she was singing an old spiritual Mabel did not recognize. She watched as the older lady clapped worn, wrinkled hands together in rough time with the music. Sometimes the singing would stop, but her mouth and hands kept moving.

“Ms. Rosa, would you like a blanket to put over your legs? It's a little more chilly out here than I realized.” Mabel walked over to her as an aide stepped out into the courtyard.

“There's a telephone call for Ms. Bergenson,” the young girl shouted from the doorway.

“You up for a phone call today, Ms. Rosa?” Mabel smiled in the woman's face.

“Fifty cents. That's how much they paid Momma for scrubbing their floors every day. Gonna be time to start school soon. I'm going this year. Are you going, Lilly Ann?”

Mabel patted the wrinkled hands before turning her attention back to the aide. “Take a message. Her mind's not up to it today.” Sad how a lifetime of memories starts breaking down; Mabel shook her head. Her own mother had wasted away from Alzheimer's too. She continued to warm Rosa's hands.

“It's a family member, a great-nephew. Anthony somebody. Said it's urgent that he speak to her about a relative or something.”

Mabel almost staggered off balance. “Tell him that she is not up to phone calls today.” Her voice was as icy as the hands she held. The aide shrugged her shoulders and disappeared back into the warm building.

“Some memories aren't worth holding on to,” Mabel mumbled to herself as she walked back to the nurses' station. She'd been holding onto a key since Mrs. Bergenson's admission. The drawer it unlocked was largely unnoticed by office and nursing staff. She opened it for the first time that morning, and removed its only content, a torn piece of letterhead with a phone number scribbled across it.

“My payday is a-coming.” She gave a quick look around before locking herself into a corner office. “Hope this number still works.” She dialed quickly.

Terri turned up the radio as she hit sixty-five on the expressway. The morning was filled with promise, she convinced herself. Disappointed that Anthony had not woken up in time to see her new Lexus, she kept a smile on her face as she planned out her day. She would surprise him with lunch, she decided. A turkey club sandwich from Joe's Deli would be the perfect excuse to catch him at his job later that afternoon.

But first she was meeting with Reginald Savant and his team that morning. He had already offered praise for her blueprints and sketches, so she was confident that the rest of his colleagues would also be impressed with her ideas for the Empress Hotel.

“Darn it!” she slammed a fist into her steering wheel. Traffic was coming to a standstill farther ahead. Terri could make out blue and white, red and yellow lights flashing from somewhere in the middle of the upheaval. A large, dark-colored sedan was scrunched against the cement median.

Terri checked her watch and spotted an exit that would let her off before hitting the standstill.

“Ain't going to let some traffic stop me. I'm going to have a
great
day!” She turned off the exit and readjusted her route. The steel-and-glass skyline of downtown was already in view.

“I can't believe the luck I'm having this week.” Detective Kent Cassell murmured the words over and over as he paced beside his totaled car. The trunk of his Crown Victoria was tucked into the backseat, making the rear of his vehicle look like a massive accordion, while the front left of the car sat lopsided over the short cement barricade separating the two sides of the expressway. Shattered glass and metal shreds crunched under his feet as he walked back and forth.

“I'm glad you're okay. This could have been a lot worse.” Sheriff Malloy stood beside him, patting his shoulder. “We'll find the creeps who did this. Hit-and-runs have become too popular lately.” The sheriff surveyed the car once more before looking back at the snaking traffic that had come to a complete stop for several miles up the expressway.

“We need to start clearing out. The morning rush is in full swing.” Malloy beckoned at a tow truck. A burly man with long red hair pulled back into a ponytail jumped out of the truck and began his duty.

“I wish I had gotten a good look at the car that ran into me. It happened so fast. I didn't see the color, the license.” Kent shook his head. “But you're right. It could have been a lot worse. They didn't get me this time, either.”

Sheriff Malloy's head jerked up. “That's right. This isn't the first time you've been involved in a hit-and-run. You're thinking there's someone after you, huh?”

“Look at my week, Gary. I've missed the past couple of days dealing with break-ins at my home office and my wife's day care. Nothing was taken in either case, but it looked like the intruder was searching for something. Mona is simply too shaken up. She's convinced that this is somehow related to my current case and that someone doesn't want me involved. She was scared for me to come back to work today. You should have seen her crying when I turned my cell phone back on, afraid of what calls I may get.”

“I can't say I blame her for being nervous.” Sheriff Malloy was getting into a squad car with Kent. “You're a hard worker, Cassell. The best. But even the best detective needs a breather sometimes. You might want to consider taking some more time off, you know, take a vacation, just you and Mona. Get away from all this. I can get some other guys to take over your cases for a while.”

“You know I can't leave my work undone. These two days alone that I've missed are eating me up. I feel like I missed something big.” Kent's hands were clenched into fists in his lap. His eyes, ever alert, scanned the passing cityscape as the car turned toward the exit that would take them to police headquarters.

“You're too involved.” Sheriff Malloy's voice was flat as he stared straight ahead at the roadway. “You need to take care of yourself, your wife, that knee. Take a vacation. Go to Martha's Vineyard. You always said you wanted to go. I'll keep everything under control here.”

Kent rubbed his knee. Mona's tear-streaked face sat firmly in his mind as he recalled seeing her cry in her sleep the night before.

“Maybe you're right, Gary. Maybe I do need to take Mona away for a week or two.”

Malloy smiled. “I'll get Burke and Morris to cover for you. You can give me your folders when we get to the office.”

Kent nestled back into his seat, trying hard to ignore the sour feeling building in his stomach.

Terri took in the view from the forty-third floor of the Quadrangle Towers. The people and commuters on the busy street below looked like colorful worker ants marching to the beat of an unheard drum. From where she stood behind the massive glass pane, all of the sounds that accompanied the outdoor morning hustle were silenced to her ear.

“You're early. I like that.”

Terri turned around to see Reginald Savant standing in the doorway of the lavishly furnished reception area. A cup of steaming coffee was in his hand. It smelled of hazelnut and cream. He smelled of suede and spice.

“I make a point of ensuring that all of my clients know they're receiving my most attentive care. Your project is important to me.” Instinctively Terri knew she was smiling too much, but the sudden vision she was having of his black Jaguar and her red Lexus riding side by side in the streets of downtown was too much. They were both elitists, a king and a queen in the cutthroat world of success.

Anthony should wear a watch like that, don a suit like that.
Terri's smile almost betrayed her thoughts as she carefully studied Reginald head to toe.
Anthony's a multi-millionaire now so he should dress like one.
She made a mental note to talk about that with him later. Of course she would wait for him to finally tell her about his “surprise.” She wondered why he was waiting so long to share his overwhelming financial-success story with her.