Like Sheep Gone Astray (31 page)

She offered a tear and a smile as a response.

“You know that I am praying for you and if there is anything I can do at all, please let me know.”

She was quiet, tearful as she went back to scrubbing an old stain on a vinyl tablecloth. Anthony leaned against the sink, praying silently for direction.

“Sister Porter, is it all right if I go up in your attic? I left something the other night I was here.”

At her nodded approval, he cut back through the living room, headed down the hallway, slipped into the guest bedroom, and pulled down the attic door. A light layer of dust sent him coughing up the narrow stairway. Within seconds he was standing in the center of the airless room. Other than an overturned stepladder and a few scattered books, everything was the same as it had been the other night.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Anthony looked at the door behind him, expecting someone's face to appear in it any second. He would have to hurry. He did not want—nor did he know how—to explain to anyone what he was doing. The green shoe box with the letter Bernard Porter wanted him to have was on the other side of the attic. He could see the lid halfway off where it sat on the bottom shelf of a low bookcase.

The footsteps were coming closer. He looked at the door. He looked at the box. He had to take the chance. He was on his knees reaching for the box when a sharp voice startled him from behind.

“Just what do you think you're doing?” It was Mabel Linstead. She stared down at Anthony, both hands on her hips, any hint of cordiality long gone.

Anthony gave her a friendly smile. “I helped Sister Porter in here the other night, and I left something that belonged to me behind without thinking.”

He left it at that, hoping she would not ask what was so important that he had to dig through the dusty attic of a grieving widow with a house full of the bereaved. Quickly standing, he headed back to the attic door. Mabel was close behind him. When he got back to the living room, he took a seat next to Sister Ethel, ate a fried chicken drumstick, and talked a little with a couple of choir members and a deacon who were there. When more knocks came at the door, he sneaked back into the kitchen to pay Kellye departing respects. She was steadfastly examining and wiping spots off some sterling silver flatware she'd found with some Thanksgiving-themed serving bowls.

“Sister Porter, I'll be back to see you later. You're getting a full house and others can use my seat. Please, go rest. You don't need to worry about any of this stuff right now.” He gave her a knowing hug. “At least try to sit down.”

“Thank you, Anthony.” The whispered words were the only ones she had uttered since his arrival.

Anthony patted her back as he left the kitchen. He quickly but politely said his good-byes to the other guests and headed for his car.

Before he started the ignition, he pulled a white envelope from under his shirtsleeve and put it in the glove compartment. Mabel had never noticed him taking the letter out of the shoe box.

The delivery truck driver checked then rechecked the address.

“Yep, it's the right place.” He shook his head. It was enough that he had to deliver this on a Saturday. But why the sender didn't just put
Police Headquarters
as the recipient instead of the roundabout name and address typed on the label, he didn't understand. Then again, anytime a sender did not even put his or her own name or return address on a package, why would he expect a straightforward recipient address?

The driver swung out of his seat and carried the package through the front doors of the precinct. He approached a serious-looking blond at the reception desk.

“A Gary Malloy work here?”

“That's the sheriff. I can sign for his packages.”

“Actually, I have specific instructions for him to sign it.” Strange, the sender doesn't want to be identified but wants confirmation. The driver shifted feet as he placed the small package on top of a counter. “Don't worry, we scanned it. There's nothing dangerous inside.” The blond disappeared with a sigh and a few moments later a redheaded uniformed man approached him.

“I'm Sheriff Malloy.”

“Then this is your package. Sign here, please.”

Malloy raised an eyebrow at the delivery, signing quickly as the driver watched.

“Have a good day.” He was gone.

“Take messages for me.” Sheriff Malloy shouted back to the receptionist as he took the package to his office. Very rarely did unmarked packages get delivered specifically to him at headquarters. When it did happen, it was almost always related to a high-profile open case. Ripping apart the cardboard box, he already knew it had something to do with that preacher-politician scandal. A shiver of excitement ran through him.

Inside were several documents, handwritten and typed pages, all carefully ordered and detailed by Anthony Murdock himself. Sheriff Malloy studied each page, “off the record” transactions the young man had noted. Questionable receipts, memos, all dating around the time the Stonymill expansion project submitted by AGS Railroad to the county council beat out the proposed bid by CASH. Six months ago.

“That boy was right in the middle of this deal, calling all the shots,” he murmured to himself. “A lot of money went through a lot of hands, even more than I realized. There's more money out there than people are letting on.” He was genuinely surprised.

Seventy-five thousand to this person; eleven hundred to that; three hundred grand to another. All of them names he and most of the community of Shepherd Hills knew and respected. Sheriff Malloy shook his head as he rubbed his own empty pockets. “One day I'll have some money of my own,” he comforted himself.

“He took some good notes.” Malloy continued mumbling as he added a few notes of his own to the pages. Pencil marks next to Anthony's black ink. He'd have to remember to erase them before the papers were submitted as official evidence. It should be an open-and-shut case. He wondered if Anthony even suspected that he had signed his own downfall with the detailed notes he'd recorded in his own hand.

“You would have almost come clean if you had not signed this receipt accepting two-point-five million on Tuesday.” He came across the paper Garfield Haberstick had made Anthony sign upon his acceptance of the check to found the BEA.

The press would have had a field day with all of this information. Sheriff Malloy wondered why the sender hadn't mailed the package to the
Shepherd Hills Herald,
the local newspaper, or WSH 12, the major local television station. The result would have been just as effective.

“It's all in my hands now.” He looked at the telephone, wondering if and when Kent would call.

Anthony found Councilman Banks sitting in his office with his head bent down and resting between two fingertips. When he saw Anthony standing in front of him, he put a slight smile on his face.

“Hi, Anthony.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I can't say my day has been too productive so far. I'm trying to stay positive, but every time I take a step forward, it seems like satan is there to push me two steps back. I just got a call from Eric Johnson of CASH. He heard about last night, me being onstage with you at that dinner. I know I sounded like a double-sided fool trying to convince him that it was all a major misunderstanding. I told him that he has my complete support. Did you hear about a rumor going around saying that he's been using CASH donations to revive a drug habit?”

“Huh?” Anthony did not hide his surprise.

“Yes.” Walter shook his head as he spoke. “Apparently most of CASH'S supporters ducked out of an important meeting he had last night. He said someone with access to his mailing list sent out a letter perpetrating that lie. I feel bad that I was not there myself, but he understood when I told him what happened. Our foes are relentless. We need to hurry up and get all this resolved before more ugly lies and rumors surface.”

Anthony knew Walter was thinking about the future of his career as he told him about Eric's misfortune. They were all in this together.
All because of me.
Anthony-stopped the deluge of guilt before it intensified further. God had already forgiven him and was working it out as they spoke. Anthony pulled out Bernard's letter and passed it to the councilman.

“Tell me if anything jumps out at you when you read this.”

Walter put his glasses on, reading silently with a slight frown. He sighed when he finished, putting his gold-rimmed frames back in a black case.

“I don't know, Anthony. Was I supposed to see something in this?”

Anthony quickly told him about his conversation with Minister Porter concerning his biological father. He shared how Bernard had made Kellye promise to give Anthony the letter, the desperate plea one of his last requests.

“Let me see it again.” Walter's concentration was obvious during the second read. After a few moments, he remarked, “The only thing that jumps out at me is the fact that Perkins Street is underlined. Maybe we should take a drive that way and see if there are any connections.”

They drove together, Anthony at the wheel of his car, Councilman Banks in the passenger seat. Starting west and heading east, they went the distance of Perkins Street, stopping at the end where an old warehouse building made a corner with weed-filled railroad tracks. The tracks were being renewed toward the construction of the Stonymill light rail extension.

Anthony looked up at the building that sat alone at the end of the ten-mile street. Broken glass and splintered wood frames were in many of the windows. The steps were cracked, cement crumbling in piles in several areas. Other than an occasional car or bus that passed, the corner was empty and silent.

“You would never believe that building was once a thriving warehouse for many of the companies that used the old AGS line.” Walter looked up at the elaborate architecture. Many of the gargoyles and statuettes that dotted the columned framework were broken, heads and fingers, limbs and toes missing or badly worn.

“Let me see the letter again,” Anthony asked after a long silence. He read it aloud to make sure he was not missing anything:

‘“January 12, 2003

‘Steelworkers' Guild #29

‘409 Central Avenue

‘Shepherd Hills, MD 29473

‘Mr. Bernard Porter

‘7493 Blue Wheel Court

‘Shepherd Hills, MD 29473

‘Dear Mr. Porter:

‘This letter is in response to your request to have your prescription plan reviewed. As is true with all retirees of Toringhouse Steel, prescription co-pays are either 7% or $15 of the purchase price, whichever is less. As your union, we can only petition in your behalf if we have the original employee folder that details the specifics of the union's agreement between employer and employee at that time. As you were last employed over twenty years ago, your file would have been maintained in our former Perkins Street headquarters.

‘During the move to our new office ten years ago, several employee files were misplaced, or otherwise lost. Unfortunately, your file appears to be among the missing. Therefore we can only help you if you have an original copy of your employee file that includes the date of your hire in 1956. Sorry for any inconvenience.

‘Sincerely,

‘SG#29'

“Former Perkins Street headquarters.” Anthony muttered the words before looking back at Walter, who was studying the letter intently over Anthony's shoulder.

“Do you know the exact address on Perkins Street the union for Toringhouse Steel had ten years ago?”

Walter shrugged. “No, and from what I understand, that union just folded a couple months back due to Toringhouse Steel's filing for bankruptcy last year. If you want, I can have Gloria check into it first thing Monday morning. I've found that she's quite good at digging up hard-to-find information.”

Anthony pressed a finger to his lips. “Yeah, that might be a good idea. I'm not sure what Bernard wanted me to pull from this letter, but I can't rest until I turn over every stone.” He looked over at Walter, who suddenly turned to him with new life in his face and voice.

“You know what, Anthony? I believe the office of CASH is in that building. If I remember correctly, Eric told me his headquarters were in the old warehouse by the railroad tracks. Maybe that's the connection Bernard was making. He knew that all of this was somehow related to the fight against Bethany Village.”

“Yeah, maybe, but what does that have to do with my father?” They both stared back at the six-story building in silence.

She tried to enjoy the kisses he planted on her, first on her cheek and neck, then her collarbone and shoulders. His hands were like black feathers, tickling the sides of her waist, just under her arms, until they began searching for other places to land.

It was when his fingers found bare skin under the edges of her shirt that she felt herself pulling back from his touch. She sat upright in the bed. He sat up slowly, his eyes serious and filled with longing.

“What is it, Terri?”

She collapsed back into the black silk sheets as whiffs of smoke and rose tumbled from the burning candles surrounding the king-sized poster bed. Although sunset was still a few hours away, the room was a playground of darkness, curtains and shades drawn, the black and silver fabric and decor creating an impression of the midnight hour.

“I don't know. Everything is happening so fast. It almost feels wrong.” She stared at her purse, tossed on the floor by the door, her cell phone peeking out along with her makeup bag. Anthony had been trying to call her all day. She had sensed the phone ringing even after she silenced it. What else could he possibly have to say to her? The anger was unbearable.

“There's nothing wrong with us being right here, right now. You're going to go file the divorce papers on Monday morning with the attorney I found for you, and I'm going to give you a life that surpasses any you've imagined.” Reginald ended his words with a gentle stroke that started on her chin and ended at her hips.

Terri felt herself shiver under his caress. She closed her eyes and then opened them to find his easy smile coming back for her face. The man was so sexy. She lifted her head up to his and gave him the kind of kiss that had up to that point been reserved only for her husband.