Like Sheep Gone Astray (36 page)
“You don't have to call me mister,” he grumbled. He hated being reminded of his age, especially when the reminder was from a pretty young blond like Jess. “Look, are you in Malloy's office?”
“I'm standing right by his cabinet, trying to reach a folder I left in here.”
He tried not to imagine her reaching for anything, her long, thin arms a graceful curve over her body. He needed to focus on getting those papers.
“Do you know anything about a special package the sheriff's received recently?”
“That delivery he's been hoarding in his office? I sure do. You know Ms. Hope, the cleaning lady? She said he was locked in his office for most of the weekend studying it. It's sitting right here on his desk.”
“Is there any way possible you can fax it to me?” He heard a shuffle of papers before she spoke.
“It's a lot of pages, but I can send it if you don't mind waiting.”
“Not at all.” He gave her the number and sat down to wait. Within twenty minutes, he had the entire seventeen-page document in his possession.
The cabin door swung open.
“There you are!” Mona beamed. “Why don't you come back? The views and the conversation are inspiring. I'm sure there's something you can add to the discussion. There've been plenty of times things have worked out for you in a way that couldn't be explained, don't you think? Why don't you come up and talk about it? At least listen.”
Kent knew it was pointless to argue. He was surprised he'd gotten away for as long as he had.
“Okay.” But even as he spoke, he noticed a different style of handwriting on the papers written by Anthony.
“Why would Malloy write on evidence?” he mumbled, recognizing the sloppy scribble. He turned to the next page, and the next. More notes by Malloy. It was not just the fact that he'd written on Anthony's records; it was
what
he had written.
Kent thought back to the conversation he'd had months prior when Malloy had informed him about the investigation the FBI was heading up, delving into possible public corruption by political figures in Shepherd Hills. Malloy had told him then that the FBI wanted the local authorities to help. Kent was initially surprised that he, and not someone who still officially worked for the department, was given the case. But Malloy had insisted that it would be better if someone outside the precinct headed it up, and Kent, who'd started his private-eye business after retiring and removing his bid for the sheriff's seat, would have the time and experience to pursue the matter. It had never occurred to Kent that outside of Malloy, he might be the only law-enforcement official in Shepherd Hills who knew anything about the case.
Kent quickly dialed the number to the regional FBI office near Shepherd Hills and fielded a couple of questions to an agent.
When he hung up, he rested his head in his hands and then sat back with a heavy sigh. Mona was still standing at the door, a calm seriousness settling into her delicate features.
“We need to go back to Shepherd Hills this morning. Right now. I think someone is in danger.” He stood, bracing himself against the padded swivel chair in front of the fax machine.
Mona started to say something, sighed, and then looked back at Kent. “Do you want to let Sheriff Malloy know you're coming back into town?”
“No. Let's just go.”
Anthony chewed slowly on the scrambled eggs and let the sweet aroma of hot chocolate fill his nostrils. Sitting next to a window inside a crowded diner, he scanned the rest stop, knowing that would be the extent of his sight-seeing in southern Virginia. He was a little over halfway home. Within another five hours, he would cross the Maryland state line and be on the final leg back to Shepherd Hills. He was determined to get back in time for Minister Bernard Porter's funeral. He probably would miss the wake at one-thirty, but he hoped he would be seated inside Second Baptist by the time the funeral started at two.
As he crunched on a piece of toast and jelly, he checked the time on his cell phone. It was a few minutes after eight-thirty. Time to check in with Councilman Banks. Anthony hoped Walter had managed to have a peaceful Sunday. He wished he had better news to tell him. This goose chase into his father's history was bound to leave Walter more unsettled. Gloria answered the office phone on the first ring.
“Anthony, I'm so glad you called! I've been stressing out all weekend after what happened Friday night. I feel like there's something I should be doing to help the two of you out of all this chaos. I can tell that you both were here over the weekend. You left some food containers on my desk.”
“That's my fault, Gloria.” Anthony chuckled. “I've been so focused on cleaning up the big mess I made that I'm neglecting the little ones. But on a serious note, I'm sorry that you are even involved with all this. Please try not to worry. God is in control and nothing's going to happen without Him knowing about it first.”
“I know, it's just hard being in a place of helplessness. But I am feeling a little better now. Walter left a note on my desk that he would need my help with some research this morning. I'm waiting for him to come in so I can get to it.”
“Oh, I know what that's about.” Anthony remembered the drive down Perkins Street he and Walter had made on Saturday afternoon. “He was going to ask you to look up the old address of the union that served the workers of Toringhouse Steel before it went bankrupt. Not its last location when it folded a few months back, but where it was ten years ago.”
“I will work on that immediately. Address. Union. Toringhouse Steel. Ten years ago.” She wrote as she talked.
“And if you have time, can you get some general information about both the union itself and Toringhouse Steel? I don't know exactly what I'm looking for—I guess anything that looks interesting.”
“I'll look up whatever it takes to help you.”
“Thanks,” Anthony said as a waitress gave him a receipt and change. “I won't be back in town until early afternoon, but I'll have my cell phone on if you need to call.”
“I'll contact you as soon as I find out something.”
“Excuse me, ma'am,” Anthony called after the waitress as he clicked off his phone. “Here, you gave me back a dollar too much.”
“Oh, aren't you a good man. Most people would not have thought twice about keeping that little bit of money.”
“Been there, done that. Ain't going back.”
Terri sat alone in the doctor's office. It was pretty busy for an early Monday morning. She must not have been the only one who'd had an eventful weekend. Just the Monday before, she had been sitting across from Reggie at the Westcott Room at their first meeting. She never realized how profoundly the entire direction and focus of her life could change in seven days.
She looked around at the mix of women around her, knowing that most were there for routine checkups. A young couple sat cuddled with their arms around each other, a baby name book sitting across their laps. Same room, worlds apart. Terri looked away.
With the hustle and bustle filling the small waiting area, she was surprised at the ability of the receptionist to squeeze her in the schedule on such short notice. But she had been coming to Dr. Levinson's office for years, and found the staff willing to accommodate her pleas. She still could not believe that she was pregnant. Maybe her longtime doctor would have a different story for her. She hoped so.
Her cell phone ringing caught her off guard. She had been reluctant to turn it on, refusing to check her messages, not wanting to risk hearing Anthony's voice. When she did not immediately recognize the number, she answered.
“Terri, I'm glad you are finally taking calls.”
It was Reggie.
“Before you say anything, I want to apologize again for Saturday's debacle. I'm hoping that you will be able to forgive me for allowing you to endure such a humiliating scene. I still feel that I have a lot to offer you, if you are willing to open both your personal and professional interests to possibility.”
Before Terri could respond, a young woman wearing a pastel uniform and carrying a chart called from a nearby doorway.
“Mrs. Murdock, you can come back now.”
“Reggie,” she spoke softly into the phone, “I have to go.”
Terri followed the nursing assistant to the exam room. After undergoing detailed lab work, she was left alone to her thoughts and fears. Dr. Levinson was a doctor who believed in providing the best care for her patients. High-tech machines and the latest obstetrical medical equipment lined the walls alongside more traditional blood-pressure cuffs and boxes of latex gloves.
Terri sat in silence, waiting for Dr. Levinson to make her appearance, wishing that Cherisse had not gone in to work that morning. She really could have used a hand to hold. When the doctor finally came in, she was smiling, a stack of books and magazines in her hands. On top was a tiny pink paperback book titled
Pregnancy
.
“Good morning, Terri, and congratulations. Welcome to the beginning of your new life.”
“No.” The finality in Terri's tone quickly changed the demeanor of the middle-aged brunette.
“No?” She was suddenly serious, stacking the books on a shelf out of Terri's view. “Terri—”
She waved a hand to cut her off. “I really don't need to talk about it. I've already made up my mind. I am not having this baby.”
Dr. Levinson snapped on a pair of gloves and rolled a large machine toward her. “Let's see what we have here, see how far along you are.” She called in another staff member as she explained to Terri that she would use a specialized ultrasound for early pregnancy to help date it. “Is this really necessary?”
“Let's just see what we're working with so we can narrow down your options for termination, if that's really what you want.”
“It is.”
Dr. Levinson and the staff members were quiet as the whir of the machine and the occasional peck on computerized keys filled the beige-and-pale-green exam room.
“Okay, you said that you think it's been over six weeks since your last cycle, and this ultrasound is consistent with that, showing a gestational age of four weeks, five days. Let's go over your options.”
“Let me see what you're looking at.” Terri was curious as they turned the ultrasound screen to face her.
“See that round blob? That's your baby.” Dr. Levinson pointed. “There's the amniotic sack. You're too early to make out much more than that, but we can zoom in if you like.”
She pressed a button and the blob was magnified. Terri raised an eyebrow at a slight flicker in the sack.
“What's that? Is it ... moving?” She pointed a finger.
“Huh? Oh, that's just the heartbeat.” Dr. Levinson scribbled notes on her chart as she spoke.
“Heartbeat? This early?”
“The heart starts beating around twenty-one days after conception. That's about a week after your period's late. Okay, let's go over your options. You're so early you could…”
Dr. Levinson's words became drowned in Terri's ears as she heard and felt her own heartbeat pounding in her head. She stared at the screen, trying to imagine a life with another heart to tend to while salvaging her own. Could she do this without Anthony? Would Reggie care enough to be around? Why did this little blob with a heartbeat have to come and make things so darn complicated?
“…And so we can take whichever route you are most comfortable with. Mrs. Murdock?”
“Excuse me. I need to go talk to someone.” Terri's voice was barely audible as she quickly redressed and headed for the door. For once, she wondered if Jesus was available.
S
hepherd Hills City Hall was a stone rectangle in the middle of the downtown district. Squeezed between a soaring office building and the courthouse, it looked like an afterthought that had been designed by an architect obsessed with castles and fortresses of the Middle Ages. At exactly 9:01, a blue-and-white mass-transit bus pulled to a stop in front of the hall, letting out a horde of people who immediately dispersed in all directions. As the crowd thinned out, Eric Johnson stood in front of the stone building, a battered briefcase in hand. He knelt down for a brief second to wipe a fresh scuffmark off his three-year-old church shoes and then set his eyes on the mission for the day.
It was the last council session before the vote. As of tomorrow morning, CASH would either be calling the construction company to begin building, or it would be calling on Jesus for a new game plan. Eric felt in his heart and soul that it was time to build, so why was he so nervous?
It was more than the usual jitters that crept up on him when he was about to enter an official-looking building where people dressed in money and status might smell him out as the former homeless drug addict he was. Eric looked down at himself, from his feet on up, his long shirtsleeves covering the telltale needle marks on his arm. There was no reason for the sudden burst of insecurity and shame. God had graced him to look as important and worthy as the polished young professional walking by him at that minute.
“I
am
just as important and worthy,” Eric said to himself as he adjusted his tie. “I am because Christ is.”
He started up the massive stone steps toward the front door, stopping just shy of the rotating entrance. It was more than the self-conscious jitters because those were fading away and he was still feeling like something was wrong. He stepped into the lobby, alert and observant as he went through security. The men's room, a few paces from the main council floor was his first destination. As Eric walked in Councilman Banks walked out.
“Eric.” He grabbed both hands into his, a warm gesture although he appeared to be troubled. “I'm so glad to see you. I think this is going to be a tough day, and your presence is right on time. I've been hearing about sudden changes of minds of several council members who previously promised to support CASH alongside of me.”
“Sudden changes, huh? Just like last time. I'm not surprised. Our enemies have had a busy weekend. It's been so bad, I can't even begin to tell you how terrible it's gotten. You know about the vandalism and the rumors, and that's only the beginning. I knew I was stepping into the heat the moment I stepped off the bus. I felt it.