Like Sheep Gone Astray (9 page)

“So you're asking me to take this questionable, anonymous gift and use it to buy political influence for whatever you're planning.”

“You assume this is my plan. This is bigger than me, bigger than both of us. As I said earlier, there are many who are counting on you. And besides, the donation is not anonymous. That's a signed check. Why don't you look and see who signed it.”

Anthony looked again at the envelope.

“Go ahead, Mr. Murdock, open it. See the philanthropist behind the check.”

Anthony slowly reached for the brown envelope and took out the check as Mr. Haberstick softly chuckled.

“This makes no sense! I'm not getting involved!” Anthony slammed the check back onto the desk.

Mr. Haberstick suddenly grew humorless. “Remember, Mr. Murdock, you're not being asked.”

Anthony jumped to his feet. “And you, Mr. Haberstick, are not hearing me! I will resign from this place before you or anybody else uses me again!”

“That actually may not be a bad idea, you resigning, that is. You'll have more time to devote to your new organization.” Mr. Haberstick chuckled.

Anthony glared at Garfield Haberstick for a few seconds before stomping out of the office. The check still sat on Haberstick's desk.

“Lord, what do I do now?” Anthony rested his head in his hands. He was relieved to see that Marvin had disappeared from their office. He wanted some time to sit and think, and the quiet corner office they shared, though cramped and cluttered, was just the retreat he needed. He thought momentarily about his talk with Pastor Green. It was hard to believe that had happened just the night before.

“I thought I could simply confess and give the Stonymill bribe money back, but I see things are about to get even more complicated. When is this going to end, Lord?” he prayed aloud.
More importantly, how is this going to end?
The thought added no comfort.

You know there is nothing in your life that Jesus can't handle.
Pastor Green's words echoed in Anthony's mind. As he continued praying and thinking, he began making a list of people he needed to call.

First on the list was Terri. He dialed her number slowly and was surprised to hear her answer on the first ring.

“Hello, baby!”

“Terri?”

“I saw that it was your number on the caller ID and I couldn't wait to talk to you!” Terri sounded ecstatic.

“That's great, honey, because we do need to talk.” Anthony perked up his voice to match Terri's rare jubilant mood toward him. She was obviously having a good day and he was not ready to ruin it quite yet.
Wait until she finds out all that we're about to lose,
he thought, and shuddered.

“Maybe we can go out for dinner this evening,” he continued. “I've got a lot to discuss with you. There's some things you need to know. I just came out of a meeting that…I don't want to get into it right now, but Terri, there's so much I need to tell you. Our lives, our future might—is—going to change.”

“Our lives, our future…our finances?” She sounded like she was holding her breath.

“Uh, well, yes. Now Terri, I know how important—”

“Oh, baby, I can't wait to talk! Dinner would be perfect. Let's try Romano's. You know they were recently named the finest restaurant in town.”

“Uh—” Anthony paused. “Okay.” His enthusiasm and courage were waning. “You do deserve at least one good meal at Romano's. Maybe we can pick up where we left off last evening. We still need to finish celebrating your new partnership.”

“Oh, we have a lot more to celebrate than just that! I'll call now to make reservations!” Terri's elation must be contagious, Anthony thought as he heard Cherisse giggling in the background. As miserable as he felt, he brightened at the thought that maybe Terri had some good news to share with him.

Next on the list was Kent Cassell. Anthony located the business card and opted to dial the office number rather than the cell-phone number listed. He was surprised when a young woman's voice answered. She informed him that the detective was not in the office, but if it was urgent, he could speak with Sheriff Malloy. Anthony passed, uncertain of what to say, and decided to leave a message for the detective to call him at home.

Anthony stared at the last name on his list. Guilt flooded him afresh as he remembered the signature on the check. Anthony, familiar with the name, could tell the signature had been forged.
What have I done to make someone want to get his name involved and why?

Anthony reached for the phone once again. It was a number he'd called many times over the years, a number he knew by heart. Halfway through dialing, he slammed down the receiver.

“I can't tell him about all this over the phone. This calls for a face-to-face visit.” Anthony headed for the door, dread slowing every step. He knew that there would be no words to ease the blow of his deceptive actions to his mentor, fellow church member, and friend, Councilman Walter Banks. But someone wanted to get him involved in the mix, and Anthony felt responsible for letting the councilman know. Anthony's secrets of the last six months were about to be uncovered, one victim at a time.

Chapter 4

E
ric Johnson rose slowly from his knees and sat back down on the brown couch. He ran his lanky fingers over the tattered material of the sofa as he made a mental checklist of what other furniture and equipment the small office needed.

“Lord, I can't stop thanking You for what You've already provided.” He raised his arms in gracious surrender. “I can't wait to see what else You're going to do.” Eric surveyed the room, admiring the work completed by a team of volunteers. The walls had a fresh coat of eggshell paint and the plumbing had been refurbished. The volunteers had also carried all the furniture up the four flights of stairs to place in the office.

Everything in the office had been donated, including the antique secretary's desk, the three couches, several folding chairs, and an old dinette that would serve temporarily as a conference table. Even the new equipment—the two computers, the telephones, and the patch of beige berber carpet on the floor—had been gifts from various residents of Shepherd Hills. Through strong political backing, the office space itself had been leased at sixty percent below its already low market value.

“And this is just the beginning,” Eric smiled to himself, already seeing in his mind the office teeming with workers, staff who would be committed to the cause, prayer warriors who would see this thing through. Eric could already hear the phones ringing off the hook, financial and spiritual support flooding the office to the point that they would have to move into one of those fancy office buildings downtown to administer everything, instead of working out of this forgotten warehouse sitting next to old railroad tracks. Tracks that were being reclaimed as part of the Stonymill project.

Eric refused to be bitter. He was too grateful for the small successes that seemed to be piling up every day. At least here he was near the plot of land Bethany Village was trying to claim. The vision was clear in his mind. This was just the beginning of a ministry that would reach into the gutters and dark corners of Shepherd Hills and bring hope and life to those who felt neglected and forgotten.

He stared down at his arms. They looked like an old man's limbs on a young man's body. Rows of old track marks scarred his cinnamon-brown skin. Scars from dirty needles that had poured heroin into his veins the way sewage pipes chug waste into clean water covered his lanky forearms and legs.

Eric remembered the day when he'd had enough. He remembered the exact moment when he'd cried out to an unseen God from the dark basement of an abandoned crack house. He promised the Jesus he'd learned about in Sunday school that if he could just be free, he would help bring freedom to someone else with scarred arms and legs. And he would bring hope to someone else's mother who was on the verge of abandoning her children, for it was too late for his mother. And he would give support to some young father so that a child somewhere would know a real daddy's love.

He had cried out to his Heavenly Father from the steps of that broken-down basement and he knew in that moment what it meant to be re-fathered and renewed. And then came the vision of Bethany Village.

Once he was clean inside and out, he'd presented the vision to the Citizens' Alliance of Shepherd Hills. At first the board, made up of several prominent businessmen and community do-gooders, eagerly took on the project, voicing their support to city leaders, pastors, and anyone else who would listen.

But as support from city hall dissipated, so did the fuel for the fire that had at one time kept the small civic group determined to complete the project. After several key businessmen pulled complete funding and support from Bethany Village, Eric was sure that only cold ashes remained where the living vision once stood.

Devastated at CASH's dissolution, he had almost returned to the high that brought him low in the first place. Then he remembered the One who was higher than the politicians and the corporations, and the dying flicker within him sparked into a bold, confident flame.

With the help of the few remaining members of CASH, Eric had obtained the new office space to fan the single flame inside of him. This time he would keep the vision free from political influence. This time he would
start
with the support of the local churches. This time Bethany Village would win.

“First things first,” Eric mumbled as he flipped through the long list of names and phone numbers to be contacted, “I need a secretary.”

Gloria Randall was typing, letting her skillful fingers run rampantly over the computer keyboard, when Anthony entered the tidy office. She was so absorbed in her work that she did not notice him until he was standing right in front of her desk.

“Sister Randall! Good afternoon! I didn't know you worked here!”

Gloria looked up into the kind, caramel-colored face of the young minister from Second Baptist Church of Shepherd Hills. Even at the end of the business day he looked strikingly fresh and unruffled.

“Minister Murdock!” she exclaimed. “It's good to see you. You preached a wonderful word on Sunday. It had me dancing in the aisles.” She laughed before quickly sobering up and removing the syrup from her voice.
This is a married minister
, she reminded herself, quivering at the thought of Terri Murdock's glassy, high-and-mighty stare.
That woman carries a cold breeze with her
. Gloria shivered, but warmed up again as she looked back into Anthony's sunny brown face.
Help me, Holy Ghost
, she prayed for the second time that day.

“Thanks for the encouragement, Sister Randall. I thought I saw that purple hat of yours flopping around the sanctuary.” He grinned as he leaned against a mahogany file cabinet.

“What brings you here to Councilman Banks's office today?” Gloria straightened up in her seat and imagined that her voice sounded as polished as one of those girls working the receptionist desk at the Quadrangle Towers.

Anthony's smile dissipated as he remembered the seriousness of his visit. “I need to see the councilman immediately.”

“Mr. Banks is not in right now, but he should be back any minute. You're welcome to wait for him if you want.” Gloria beckoned toward a mushroom-colored leather sofa that sat next to the door of the councilman's personal office.

“I'll do that.” Anthony sat down as a distant look etched itself onto his perfectly chiseled face. He sat quietly for a moment before flipping through his little green Gideon New Testament. Gloria watched as the tautness in his jawbone relaxed. “Whatever happened to Nikki?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Nikki? Oh, you mean Nikki Galloway, the former secretary. She quit all of a sudden a couple of weeks ago. From what I understand, she was here one day, gone the next. I never met her.”

“That's odd,” Anthony commented out loud. “She'd been working here for quite a while. I thought she liked her job.”

Terri pulled into the parking lot of the Shepherd Hills Town Center Mall. A shiver of excitement tingled up her spine as she scanned the upscale shopping complex.

“The celebration begins!” she shouted to no one in particular. She turned up the radio for the last few notes of Stevie Wonder's “Uptight” pumping through the speakers. She closed her eyes and let her head and hips move to the music.

“Cherisse, this was a great idea.” Terri finally faced her friend as she cut the ignition.

Cherisse was already stepping out of the passenger's side, her “about-business” mode kicking into full gear. “Terri, come on!” she barked, her eyebrows wrinkled in deep concentration. “It's not every day that we get to take the afternoon off to go shopping together! Especially with millions of dollars to spend.” Her eyes twinkled with excitement.

Terri emerged from the car as gracefully as the Queen of England. “Slow down, sister. We're only an hour into day one. I can't believe all my dreams have finally come true. First the promotion, and now this.”

With the word “this,” she opened her arms toward the mall as if she could contain the entire brick-and-steel complex in one open, surrendering embrace. “I feel like a million bucks,” she said dreamily.

“Terri, you
are
a million bucks. And as your best friend, I'm going to make sure we look like it. Now come on. We've got a lot of spending to do. Where do you want to start?” Cherisse turned around, expecting to see Terri still leaning against the car door. To her surprise, Terri was already headed for the entrance of Nordstrom, several credit cards in hand.

They started at one end of the mall and worked their way to the other, stopping only once to indulge in tropical fruit smoothies. They cleared several racks at Nordstrom and Express, exchanged severe words with two customers at The Limited, purchased an array of boots and shoes from Nine West, and several suits from Ann Taylor. Cherisse helped Terri pick out one of the most expensive watches from the mall's premier jeweler and they argued over a pair of Gucci sunglasses until a security guard threatened to escort them out of the store.