Like Sheep Gone Astray (21 page)

Maybe some answers would be in those files.

It was nearly six forty-five when Terri lifted the large brass knocker on Cherisse's condo door. She waited impatiently, listening to the taps of Cherisse's heels from inside. When the door opened there was a brief smile from both as they admired one another in their classic black ensembles: Terri in a satin form-fitting black gown with a small matching sequined clutch bag; Cherisse in a keyhole top with a flourished mini that showcased her long legs. The smiles quickly diminished as Cherisse locked the door and the two headed down the steps to Cherisse's Maxima. There was business to discuss.

“I met Reginald Savant today,” Cherisse began. “Now before we talk about how fine that brother is, I need to show you what he gave me.”

Cherisse handed Terri a folded-up piece of paper before letting them both into her car. As she started the motor, Terri slowly unfolded it to see what looked like a program for the night's events.

“See, right there.” Cherisse pointed with an index finger as she pulled onto a main thoroughfare.

Underneath the words THE FIRST ANNUAL BLACK ENTREPRENEURS ALLIANCE GALA was the name of the guest of honor: Anthony Michael Murdock.

Terri gasped. “He
never
mentioned this to me.”

“If you saw the seating chart, you would know why.”

“What did you see, Cherisse?”

“The name Gloria Randall was written in the space next to his. You said you saw him with her, so you know who she is already. Who is she, a co-worker, his new secretary?”

“No, girl.” Terri was too mad to cry. “She ain't nobody but a member of Second Baptist who's always jumping up and down the aisles all the time. I can't imagine what Anthony sees in her.” Terri thought of all the Sunday afternoons when she would see the slightly overweight woman with the straggly cornrows embracing Anthony alongside Sister Ethel, and wondered if and how she had missed something.

“What do I—”

“I'm a step ahead of you. When I saw that Reginald Savant's name was listed at a table right next to the guest of honor, I mentioned how I knew you were working so hard on his hotel project. Girl, you should have seen him beaming. He said he would make sure that you had a seat near him. Anthony's going to meet you face-to-face tonight.”

“And I promise you, this meeting is going to be ugly.” Terri's arms were crossed over her chest as the silver Maxima fell into line with the row of luxury cars turning into the valet entrance of the Diamond Mount.

“You know what's funny, Cherisse?”

“What's that?” Cherisse pulled to the curb, where a uniformed valet was waiting.

“When I first met Reginald, he told me he'd done his homework. I knew he knew a lot about me when he mentioned my friendship with you. But he must really know more about my personal life than I do. Did it ever occur to you when he talked about my seating arrangements, that he knew I was coming tonight, but not courtesy of Anthony? I'm going to talk to him, and see exactly what he knows about my life that I don't.”

Councilman Banks entered his office suite bleary-eyed at almost seven P.M. He did not look surprised to see Anthony and Gloria sitting at a conference table with a stack of documents in front of them. They'd been sitting there since lunch, highlighting every name and date found on each paper. Anthony had worked in silence most of the afternoon, stopping only to stare at the wall from time to time, as if the answers he needed would suddenly be written there by an unseen hand. Gloria, afraid they were making a big issue out of nothing, looked apologetic when the councilman walked toward them.

“I'm glad to find you here, Anthony. I've been studying these same documents myself all day. Thanks for making copies for me, Gloria, but everything's been so crazy I ended up going down to the records department myself today to make some sense out of this confusion. I think someone is out to make me pay for not supporting the Stonymill project the first go-around, and now they think they can bully me into giving in this time.” He collapsed into an armchair as he spoke.

“Mr. Banks, uh”—Gloria looked quickly at Anthony before continuing—“I'm sorry, but I think it's all my fault. When I copied these files the other day, I think I might have given away too much information to a man who I thought was a journalist. He was actually a former co-worker of Anthony's. I apologize for my indiscretion. I did not mean to get you in any trouble.”

Walter smiled weakly. “Gloria, no apologies are necessary. This situation extends beyond anything you may or may not have said.” He directed his next words to Anthony. “Are you finding anything of interest in those files?”

“Well, I think I've got a better handle on some of the groups and businesses who had or want to have a vested interest in the expansion of the Stonymill light rail line. There are several businesses that have pending building permits along that route, the same area where CASH wants to build Bethany Village.” Anthony sighed with his last words.
Lord, why did I let money get in the way of such a needed project as Bethany Village
?

“What businesses did you find?” Walter flipped through a legal pad as Anthony continued.

“There's Blakeman Brothers Tax Services owned by a Christopher and Shawn Blakeman; Coleman's, a high-end jewelry store owned by a man of the same name who wants to open a second location near the expansion stop; a day-trader group operated by a group of local businessmen; the Empress Hotel, CEO is Reginald Savant—my wife just got that project; and a business named Pride and Fidelity. It appears to be some kind of holding company.”

“Who's running that last company you named?”

Anthony shrugged. “I've been reading through these papers, but I've only been getting a vague idea of the owner. I get the impression that he or she is foreign, African maybe. The name Razi showed up somewhere near the listing, and it only showed up once.”

“Hmmm, somebody who shies away from discovery,” the councilman reflected. “That might be a good place to begin investigating.”

“I was thinking about talking first to this Coleman jewelry guy.” The sting of Wednesday night's setup involving a jewelry store trying to report stolen money was still fresh in Anthony's mind.

“Did you ever get in touch with that detective?”

“I ran into the law the other night, and after that meeting, I feel like I need to have something to present to them that won't leave me looking overly suspicious. I have enough explaining to do about my involvement with Stonymill without looking like I'm the mastermind behind this scheme. I don't know what scares me more—where the money came from or where it's supposed to end up.”

Gloria, who had been quiet throughout this interchange, could no longer hold her fears.

“What is going on, Anthony? Are you in some kind of trouble too?” She looked from the councilman to Anthony for relief but was given none. “If you are, I think you probably should call the police or somebody right now.”

Anthony was quiet at her words, rubbing fingers briskly over his temples. He looked back and forth between Walter and Gloria.
The police, the press. I may lose my reputation on top of losing every cent I have. Lord, there's got to be another way, a more quiet way, to come clean
.

“What do you think, Mr. Banks?” His eyes pleaded for direction, advice. Hope. There had to be another way.

Walter responded, a fatherly wisdom in his tone, “I think it's your call, Anthony. I'm not sure what to do right now, but I have full faith that if you do what you believe God is leading you to do, everything will be all right. Whatever you think is best, I'm behind you one hundred percent.”

Anthony nodded his head at Walter's solemn face. He appreciated the kindness and support extended, but he did not miss the fear in the politician's eyes. It was not only Anthony's life in the balance.

Why did I get involved in this
? Anthony sighed for a long moment, waiting to see if direction would suddenly appear in front of him.
Maybe it's all in presentation, he decided. If I can get this detective on my side, maybe I won't have to lose everything, right, Lord
? Anthony made up his mind.

“You're right, Gloria. This appears to be bigger than what we can handle. I'm calling that detective right now, for both of our sakes.” Anthony nodded at the councilman as he spoke. He found Kent Cassell's number in his wallet and dialed the agent's cell phone. A young woman answered.

“May I help you?”

Anthony paused before speaking.
This voice almost sounds familiar
.

“I need to speak with Detective Kent Cassell. It's urgent.”

“Is this Mr. Murdock?”

Where have I heard this voice
?

“Yes it is. Did I speak with you the other day, Ms.—?”

“I'm Mr. Cassell's personal assistant, so it's possible that you spoke to me if you've been trying to get in touch with him.” The woman talked fast over a piece of chewing gum. “Anyway, Mr. Cassell has been waiting to hear from you and wants you to come meet him immediately at the delivery entrance of the Diamond Mount on Twenty-third Street.”

“Can I just—”

“You must be there by seven-thirty. It's the only place he can talk to you.”

“Why—”

“He's waiting there for you right now. Good-bye, Mr. Murdock.”

Confused, Anthony looked at the phone before slamming it into the receiver.

“I don't understand what's going on. The detective wants me to meet him at the back entrance of the Diamond Mount within half an hour. This makes no sense.”

“Look Anthony, I had an important meeting to attend tonight, but in the interest of getting all this resolved, I'll come with you. That forged check, and the money, these phone calls…” The councilman rubbed his temples before continuing.

“We can talk to this detective together. Gloria, would you mind coming with us? I know you've only been working for me a couple of weeks, but the detective may be interested in talking with you too. As my executive assistant, you know my schedule and dealings right now probably better than I do. Maybe you can help remove any suspicions he's bound to have about me. You can tell him about that man quizzing you the other day.”

“I'll help both of you any way that I can.” Gloria hoped she sounded more certain than she felt.

Anthony buttoned his coat with shaking fingers. How was he going to explain himself to this detective?

Eric Johnson looked hopefully at the empty seats before him. It was only five minutes after seven; maybe everyone was simply running late. Standing in the cool basement of one of the members of CASH's home church, he checked and rechecked his watch. Besides a couple of senior residents who steadfastly supported any pro-community action, nobody else had showed up for the meeting.

Mrs. Malburn-Epworth, a local pastor's wife, sat in the front row. A large woman with large gold-and-gray curls framing her heavily rouged face, her eyes followed every small movement Eric made as he paced back and forth in front of the thirty-odd metal chairs arranged before him. Ernest Rutherford was asleep directly behind her. Soft snores competed with the ticking of a large wail clock to fill the small hall with a pestering reminder that nobody was there and the meeting was not moving forward.

In a move of faith-filled optimism, Eric picked up the prearranged stack of papers and handouts from his duffel bag and placed one on each of the empty chairs. With each resonant ping of a staple hitting steel, he grew more aware of a knowing that something was terribly wrong.

This meeting had been planned for two months. It was to be a decisive, action-oriented gathering of CASH's old and new members, united in a spiritual and physical front to secure support for a bill that would be presented before the city council the following week. The bill would secure the location and funding of Bethany Village on a large lot near the expanded Stonymill light rail line. The location was perfect, large enough to accommodate the facilities, close enough to be considered part of the community, but not too close as to warrant objections from neighbors wary about active addicts and homeless persons, discontented youth and teens seeking refuge and treatment.

And, most importantly, it would be near public transportation, in particular, the Stonymill expansion light rail stop currently under construction. When the expansion project plans won over CASH's initial bid for development six months prior, Eric had been devastated. But now he saw it as a demonstration of God's foresight. What had been a major bump in the road was now a blessing to the destination. The plot of land for which CASH was bidding was still in the general area of the original bid, but now it would be near the proposed light rail stop.

With that type of accessibility, and a promise from the city's public transit administrator to donate a few monthly bus and light rail passes for use by Bethany Village clientele, those who needed help would not be limited by a lack of transportation. And, as an added bonus of the delayed blessing, the new blueprints included acres that could be used for an overnight summer camp, providing open fields for penned-up urban youth.

Now they only needed the city council to approve the bill that would let them begin building. Unfortunately for CASH, a multitude of businesses were once again pushing council members to let them use the land for their purposes. Bethany Village was not the only project that would benefit from prime location near the Stonymill light rail stop.

From an economic standpoint, entrepreneurial development made more sense than investing in cast-offs and rejects who would be bringing their problems and not their pocketbooks to the area. But Eric knew that God's economics were not measured by the divvying of dollars, but by the eternal gains of delivered souls.

However, politics and public hearings in Shepherd Hills were not necessarily run by divine counsel. Which was why CASH needed the support of all of its members and volunteers. Which was why this planning meeting and rally was so important.

Eric and the other members of CASH had agreed to pray and fast for the entire week leading up to the meeting. He knew from experience that everyone who signed up on the mailing list would not come. But where was Sister Nichols, the enthusiastic schoolteacher who pulled him aside after a church presentation? And Brother Tomlin, the church trustee who ran a hardware store outside of downtown and wanted to donate building supplies? Where was Mother George, the lady who successfully started and ran a sewing circle for teenage girls, and Brother Philman, a former drug dealer turned barbershop owner, who promised financial and counseling support for the rehab center that was to be a part of Bethany Village ?