Like Sheep Gone Astray (41 page)

“Yes, Uncle Bernard definitely had his ways.” Denise chuckled quietly, the dimples in both cheeks showing before she drew back into serious contemplation. “But I loved that man like a father, although I did not see him much. He was the closest man I had to a father since my own moved to Texas before I can remember.”

“Moved to Texas?” Kellye jerked her head back. “Mabel, I thought you said that Roger passed?”

“Roger? I thought my father's name was—”

“Listen, that's a chapter in my life that's been closed for three decades.” Mabel cut in with an uneasy smile. “I did the best I could as a single mother with no help from anybody.” Anger tinged her words. “Now I just lost my brother, and I don't feel like bringing up any other man that I lost from my life, the hows or whys. If y'all don't mind, I think we should go on and sit down for that dinner the kitchen committee of your church prepared. That fried chicken and cornbread sure smell good.”

She began to leave, walking away as if the matter had been settled. Both Kellye and Gloria studied Denise, who stared back at them with tears in her eyes. Obviously, hurt was there, too.

“Mabel, I want to see that picture you were trying to hide from me earlier.” Kellye's voice was low, but loud enough for Mabel to hear. “I'm not convinced that chapter ever ended.”

“Oh, honey.” Mabel turned around with rage trembling in her jaw. “Trust me, that chapter ended. There're just some parts that need to be rewritten. And the pen is moving now.”

Chapter 18

T
hat man has some nerve. I will see to it myself that these are the last days he flashes that badge.” Walter talked nonstop as he drove, hoping that Anthony would remain calm and encouraged as they drew strength from each other. “Is that ice pack helping? Maybe I should have had that lawyer meet us at the hospital. I'm sure the judge who tries this case will want to see medical records.” The upbeat chorus of an old gospel quartet played softly on an AM radio station as Walter stared at the ugly knots rising on the back of Anthony's head, the blood on his neck and face. “Frankly, I'm tired of that sheriff thinking he can just do what he wants, when he wants to. I'm glad he's finally getting called out.”

Anthony was quiet as the day was just beginning to finger the early evening hours. The traffic on the outer loop was at a head, bumpers edging on bumpers, car horns sounding like the unconducted warm-up of a brass band. Walter checked his watch again.

“At this rate, we're going to miss that lawyer. I need to get off this highway.” He took a sudden exit heading west, away from Baltimore.

“Are we still meeting him halfway?”

“Yeah, I'm going to have to take the back roads and loop around. Don't worry”—Walter was reassuring as he smiled—”we'll get to him soon.” The smile faded as he refocused on driving.

“I can't believe this.” Cherisse and Reginald were standing next to their stretch limo at a gas station-convenience store, a cell phone flipped open to Cherisse's ear as she talked. “I can't get through to anyone. Nine-one-one keeps putting me on hold, Terri's not answering her cell phone, and now I can't even contact darn Anthony.” They both looked through the glass window at a television flashing under a Fresh Donuts sign. Replays of the beating Anthony took from Sheriff Malloy flooded all the local networks.

“I'm surprised at how much you seem to care about Terri's disappearance. I would never have expected this response from you.” A scowl was etched on Reggie's broad features.

“What? What are you talking about?” Cherisse glared at him as she pressed Redial. “Terri has been my girl since college. We always have each other's back. My only regret today is that I let her trust you enough to get in that broke-down piece of shadoozle you claim you did not send. I should have kept her from going.” Cherisse bit her lip, struggling to hold back tears. “I feel like I need to take my own advice that I told Terri the other day, and have a little talk with Jesus myself. Can we pray?” Cherisse pleaded, her eyes staring desperately into Reggie's.

“And I would think that this scenario would be exactly what
you
would want.” His scowl deepened.

“What
I
want? Why would I want my best friend to be in danger?” She hung up and pressed Redial again, but was greeted by another busy signal. “Darn it!” A quick tear slid down her nose.

Reggie seemed unmoved by her distress. “I don't know, it just seems odd to me that a woman determined to tear apart a marriage to get another woman's goods would be so upset to see her on the way out of the picture. Seems to me that you would be rejoicing to see Terri gone without getting an arrest warrant tagged to your name.”

“What? Me tear apart a marriage? You're the one who's been trying to get Terri's bounty by flashing yours all over the place.”

“I was just trying to spare her the sorrow, give her something to hold on to, once she found out about you and Anthony.”

“Me and Anthony? Me? And Anthony? Are you serious? You thought me and Anthony had something going on?” Cherisse recoiled. She knew her boundaries, loose as they were.

“Well, yes. I was told—”

“Who in the heck told you this? Why would somebody be putting out lies on me and Anthony like that?”

“So you're not having an affair with Anthony Murdock?” Reggie looked confused.

“No!” Cherisse was horrified. “I want to know who—”“Look, we don't have time to argue right now. We need to find Terri! Is nine-one-one still putting you on hold?”

“Where are we?” Anthony looked up at the log cabin he and Walter pulled up to. Tall, mature trees spread thick limbs as far as Anthony could see. After driving down the rural road for almost forty minutes, Anthony was surprised to see something other than green branches. The house had a rustic quality to it, contrasting with a gold Escalade parked by the door.

“Don't tell me that big-time Baltimore lawyer lives all the way out in these backwoods?” Anthony looked around as he limped up onto the porch. He massaged the back of his head as fresh pain seared through it, and used a dirty-paper towel to wipe new blood off of his face.

“No.” Walter smiled, picking through a set of keys. “I own this place. It's my personal retreat when I get tired of dealing with politics. I like to come here and be alone with God. Some of my best quiet times have been sitting out back where a small stream ends. Reminds me of my childhood fishing days down in Georgia. Not Atlanta; I was from the sticks. You know my story, had to leave the small town to make it in the big city and ended up settling down right here in Shepherd Hills.”

“That's something.” Anthony shook his head, trying to imagine Walter Banks sitting in a fishing boat in one of his pin-striped suits. “I'm just not getting that picture.” He chuckled as he stepped into the cabin with Walter. “I honestly did not know that side of you, Mr. Banks.”

“Yeah, well, a lot of people don't.” The councilman flicked on some lights and both of them blinked to adjust to the sudden brightness.

“Oh boy.” Walter looked around. “Guess I haven't been here in a while. Excuse the mess. Here, let me wipe a place for you to sit and I'll go back out front to see if that lawyer is coming. That driveway can be an easy miss. I'm just going to go flag down any car I see coming. He should be here any moment. I'll be right back.”

“That's fine. I've been wanting to check my messages anyway. I haven't done it since I came back from South Carolina this afternoon.” He prayed that Terri had been trying to reach him.

“Good luck finding a signal.”

Walter stepped back onto the front porch as Anthony flipped open his cell phone and began pacing the pine-scented living room to no avail. His nationwide service plan had failed once again. He was about to give up checking messages when he noticed an old-fashioned telephone sitting on an end table in the generous room. Fortunately, it was only a reproduction of an older model. Anthony was relieved to see that it had a touch-tone keypad that would allow him to review his home phone number's voice-mail messages.

He skipped through a message from Marvin asking if he could have one of Anthony's desk organizers. The next message was from a woman who sounded like the assistant who worked for the supposed Detective Kent Cassell. Anthony shook his head, wondering how law officials could be so crooked.

“The detective would like you to come down to headquarters tomorrow morning for questioning. Be there by nine. Oops, eight. And come in through the door marked Exit. I mean, Emergency Exit.”

Anthony shook his head. That message had been left the day before, Sunday, when he was down in Sharen, South Carolina.

He pressed 1 to listen to the third and final message.

“Uh, good morning, Mr. Murdock. This is Florence James from the Vital Records Department of Shepherd Hills. You were here on Saturday, trying to find out information on a Charles and Stephanie Ann Murdock? I'm sorry your trip was not more helpful, but I did come across something today. The auditor asked to see our name-change files, and I don't know why I did not think of this on Saturday. I don't want to take up all of your answering machine, but I did want to let you know that I did a check on Social Security numbers under our changed-name index, and I came across a man whose birth name was Charles Anthony Murdock.

“Apparently, he must have gotten caught up in the Black Nationalism Movement back in the sixties and began to go by the name Kofi Olakunde. Your mother must have changed back to her maiden name or something after he was out of the picture. I wish I could give you more information, but that's all I've been able to find. If you still want their Social Security numbers, you can come back to the office, fill out form 295782 and bring a money order, check, or cash, twenty-five dollars. Hope this helps. Bye, now.”

Anthony held the phone frozen in his hand.
Kofi Olakunde. Kofi Olakunde.
He had just heard that name somewhere recently.

“Jesus, please.” He racked his mind, straining to place the name, and then memories fired away like bullets. Aunt Rosa. The nursing home. Alzheimer's. When his mother was angry at him, she always told him that he looked just like his father.
Kofi Olakunde.
The vital records department in Sharen. Hazel Groves. Anthony fished in his wallet for her phone number. He had noticed yesterday that she wrote it on the napkin that covered the piece of rhubarb pie she'd talked him into taking. He had felt like a crazy man, opting to file the dirty napkin in with his business and credit cards instead of throwing it away, but now he knew that keeping it had been divine intervention. Providence. He dialed quickly.

“Hello?” Her voice was rich with southern cadence.

“Hello, Mrs. Groves. This is Anthony Murdock. I was with you yesterday at—”

“Anthony? Oh, I know who you are.” She smacked her lips as she spoke, her words mingled with food. “Yes, Anthony Murdock. I was just sitting here thinking about you, sugar. I hoped I would hear from you again. Did you like the pie?”

“Yes, it was delicious. Thanks for everything. I'm sorry I took up so much of your time yesterday, but listen, I need to know—”

“Oh, sugar, it was my pleasure to help you. I was just talking about you too, telling all the ladies on the senior choir that you were such a nice, kind, handsome, respectful, God-fearing young man, the likes of which seems to be disappearing from down here in Sharen. You need to come back to visit. And bring your wife with you, too. She cooking good for you, sugar? A man like you deserves a good hot meal every night. Now I—”

“Mrs. Groves,” Anthony cut in, “do you know anything about a Kofi Olakunde?”

“Kofi Olakunde?” She screeched. “Now what do you want to know about that no-good, dirty rotten thief? Why did you even bring that name up? There are people down here in Sharen who'd rather cuss in the Lord's house than speak that thing's name.”

“What did he do?” Anthony spoke quickly, both of his hands wrapped around the receiver.

“That little devil said he was going to run for mayor down here back in the early seventies. He said he was going to do for us what them white politicians couldn't and wouldn't do. He was all about black power this and black power that, was going to go start an evolution or revolution or pollution or something. Then he took all our money and disappeared.

“I had neighbors who gave him their little bit of life savings, insurance-policy funds, parts of their children's college tuitions they'd been accumulating for years; all kinds of cash was given to him, all for the cause, the great black hope. He had everyone believing that he was raising money for the common good, but he wasn't concerned about anybody but himself. That was a dark moment in Sharen history. We lost so much money as a community that it took nearly a decade to get over it. I think there are some who still haven't, to be honest with you, but don't nobody talk about it much no more. How did you come across his name?”

Anthony was quiet for a moment before answering. His answer to her was as much a statement to himself. “Kofi Olakunde was my father.”

“What do you mean he was your father? I thought you said your daddy's name was Murdock, Charles Murdock.”

“It was. He changed it.”

This time Hazel was quiet before responding. “I guess that could be. I remember him standing up there on that platform talking 'bout how he was an orphan who grew up in foster homes. His parents supposedly died in a house fire. Hey, remember we came across a Charles Murdock who died in a fire back in 1934? That must have been his father, your grandpop. Kofi must have changed his name before we really got to know him. I knew your eyes looked familiar, but I would never have thought that you came from that clown, sweet as you are.”

Anthony did quick addition in his head. “So that means he was around forty when I was born.”

“Don't get me started on that. Kofi was always hanging around young women. Girls, if you ask me. I think I remember your mother, Stacey, Stephanie, something like that, right? She was a quiet little thing who used to visit down here all the time with her mother, but she disappeared with him that last summer he was here once the rumors started coming out about her growing belly. She had to know what he did and was too ashamed—or afraid—to come back to Sharen, 'cause if memory serves me right, I ain't seen her since. I never knew she was Rosa Bergenson's niece. Rosa never talked about such things.”