Like Sheep Gone Astray (30 page)
“Bill, Kevin, thanks. I'll take over from here.” The officer smoothed his red hair and motioned for them to leave all in the same movement. “You two can help with that domestic dispute ten blocks down.”
He waited for them to leave before speaking to Eric. “Mr. Johnson, I'm familiar with CASH and the positive community work you're hoping to accomplish. That's why I wanted to handle this myself. There's too much corruption going on in this town, and I don't want your cause to slip through the cracks. We'll get the thugs who did this.” He gave Eric a warm smile and a tight handshake.
And then he turned to Nikki, who had become consumed with sweeping the office floor the moment the first officers showed up. She dropped a dustpan, picked it up, and dropped it again, careful to keep her eyes away from his.
“I, um, will help whatever way I can, with helping find who did this, I mean. And cleaning up.” She blinked nervously, her eyes still avoiding all contact. “Oops, you know, I almost forgot, I'm supposed to drop Devin off at a birthday party, his friend next door. Let me see if they can keep him and I'll be back later.” She rushed through these last words, pulling Devin by the coat sleeve and dragging him toward the door.
The officer looked less than humored. “I'll get your name and number from Mr. Johnson here so that I can talk to you as the investigation proceeds, miss. In the meantime, if you run into any more trouble while you're out, call the precinct. Ask for me, Sheriff Malloy. There's no telling how far the person willing to do this kind of damage to the office of CASH will go.” He gave Nikki one last look over as she skittered out of the room.
T
erri stared up at the stone-and-brick fa$e, the multi-leveled porches, the stately columns. From behind the iron gate, she could make out the beginning of a pathway near a second entrance that led to a gazebo peeking from behind the massive estate. It was quiet, save for a few birds screeching from the treetops that shaded the sprawling grounds.
“Nice. Very nice.” She pressed the power button to the driver's-side window and as the glass pane disappeared with a muted thud, she reached for the intercom. But before her painted fingertips could press the small orange button, a bass voice came through the speaker.
“Come in, Terri.” The gate slowly swung open.
She entered the long roundabout, feeling like she was driving down a street and not a driveway. After what seemed like a scenic drive through the countryside, she pulled to a stop behind Reginald's Jaguar. A man with short blond hair and faded blue jeans was wiping the black metal to a smooth, shiny polish. She did not see when and where Reggie appeared from, but there he was, opening the car door for her.
“Hello again, Terri. I knew you would be back soon. You're just in time.” He helped her to her feet as he spoke, his voice wrapped in a smile. “Okay, Eddie,” he called back to his car as the two of them walked to the double front doors. “When you finish with that, you can see if Leon needs your help with the south lawn.”
He turned to Terri as he pulled down the brass handle on the front door. “I'll have to take you on a tour of the property. I found Leon doing amazing work with the grounds surrounding the Quadrangle Towers. He was working for an independent contractor back then, but I offered him money to start up his own business. He's been maintaining my property ever since. When I find the best, I keep them near me, and pay them well so they don't stray away. Terri?”
She still stood in the doorway. Her mouth was slightly open, but no words were coming out. The open gallery before her was flanked by a double winding staircase. A crystal chandelier the size of a compact car dipped gracefully from the ceiling. The oak floors were stained a deep brown, and a taupe carpet that looked as though it would be velvet to the touch began where the hardwood ended.
“Let me give you a quick tour of the house.” He slipped off her coat and handed it to a young woman Terri had not noticed standing behind her.
“Thank you, Yvette. If you can, please prepare a light meal for my guest and I to eat on the patio. Come on, Terri, let me show you around.”
He took her by the arm and led her to a large room to the left. “This is the living room.” He let her take in the sight in silence for a moment. Splashes of burgundy and champagne colored the walls and the woodwork.
“The sofas and chairs I had handmade by a designer in D.C. Velour and Company—I'm sure you've heard of them.”
“Yes, we were going to use them for one of our commercial projects, the restaurant for the Hendricks Group. But that would have taken us well over budget.” She scanned the room, admiring the contemporary layout with her designer eye. “Perfect.”
Reggie nodded at her conclusion as he led her back across the foyer into the dining room.
“The only antique I allowed in the house.” He spoke as he knocked on the dining room table. “I prefer modern furnishings, but I could not pass this up. I saw it in a window of an antiques dealer during one of my trips to London. At twenty-five grand, it was really quite a steal.”
He took her through the rest of the first floor, providing detailed commentary on the rug in the family-room, the renovations to the library, and the museum-quality temperature controls of the art gallery adjacent to the conservatory.
He led her through sliding-glass doors to an elegantly set table on a stone patio. A man in a tall chef hat stood by an outdoor oven and grill, which had been built in to blend with the stone architecture of the outdoor dining area. Terri's mouth watered at the smell of barbecue, smoke, and wood chips. The chef turned briefly from the flames to face them, a long silver fork in hand.
“Honey barbecued spareribs for your dinner this evening, sir. Yvette is preparing a corn casserole and fresh collard greens. Everything will be ready soon. I've turned the woodstove on for your warmth and comfort while you wait.”
“Thank you, Tyrone.” Reggie turned back to Terri, who was sipping a drink Yvette had just placed before her.
“Good, isn't it?” Reggie stretched back in the cushioned chair. “I promised myself that when I could afford to hire my own personal chef, he or she would have to be a specialist in good old-fashioned down-home cooking. I found Tyrone and Yvette in the kitchen of a little restaurant down in Louisiana. They gave me a plate of shrimp jambalaya and I gave them an offer for a better life.” He took a sip of the bubbly orange liquid in his glass.
“How did you do all this?” Terri studied him with an admiring smile. “How did you make your millions?”
Reggie swirled the liquid around in his glass with a quiet chuckle. “I told you: I'm a firm believer in entrepreneurship, but I never thought to go it alone. I'm all about networking, and building on those networks, because that way you raise not only yourself, but also everyone around you. Let me show you something.”
He propped open a briefcase that had been sitting next to the table. He was quiet as he sorted through a bunch of papers, his face serious as he placed a bound leather portfolio in front of her.
“Let me introduce you to the Black Entrepreneurs Alliance. I know you heard about it last night at the banquet, but let me show you the hierarchical framework.”
Terri traced the gold engraved letters before opening the folder. She skimmed through the contents, flipping through and stopping at random pages.
“So all of these businesses belong to you?”
“They don't belong to me as much as we are all related to each other. For political reasons, we had kept quiet about our enmeshed interests up until this point. We knew that our plans directly competed with those of some local charity groups, and that's bad publicity in the eyes of the common man. But now with Walter Banks, who was our most vocal opponent, giving us public support as you saw at the banquet last night, we are confident that our display of unity will only help our bid before the city-council to grant us the building permits we need.”
“This is impressive. I did not realize how much you were contributing to this community.” Terri looked away. “But I'm still not understanding where Anthony's getting all his money from.”
“Ah, Anthony.” Reggie finished his glass and set it down with a loud clink on the aluminum table. “Your husband has proved to be an excellent negotiator and businessman. I guess he excels at some things”—he reached for Terri's hand as he spoke—”and fails at others. I hold nothing against him so long as his personal life doesn't clash with business.”
“Hmmpfh.” Terri sucked her teeth and let out a loud sigh. She did not want to think or talk about Anthony anymore. She quickly changed the subject. “For all these businesses that are represented, I see no females in the mix.”
“Again you prove your keen eye. It does not surprise me that a successful, career-minded woman such as yourself would make that observation. Terri, I've been wanting to talk to you about that very thing. How would you like to be the first female business owner in the BEA? You have all the merits and credits we require for membership.”
“That may be true, but I don't own a business.”
“At the moment you don't. And I know that you just made partner at your firm. But have you ever considered taking your expertise, your creative designs—your clientele—to your own office space, your own interior-design firm?”
“To be honest with you, my biggest career goal was making partner at Raylin and Blake. I never thought beyond that.”
“Terri, don't limit yourself or your abilities. Too many black people settle for working for someone else, never thinking big enough or outside the box labeled ‘employee.’] Let your dreams and passions be your boss and your paycheck. At least promise me you'll think about it. And remember, I am here to help you in every way that I can.”
Terri was quiet for a moment, listening, until a thought occurred to her.
“I know you are working on the Empress Hotel, but you never did tell me how you came to be so, well, rich. So tell me, how did you do it?”
Reggie placed the portfolio back into the briefcase and made room for the heaping plates of ribs and greens being placed in front of them before he spoke.
“Real estate, Terri. The road to my wealth is paved with real estate.”
Anthony knocked on Kellye Porter's door just after one. He felt good about his timing because he was not the only visitor. Several cars were parked in front of her house, including Pastor Green's blue Buick. This time, unlike earlier that morning, he would not be intruding. Sister Ethel from church opened Kellye's front door, her small frame draped in black from head to toe.
“Oh, Minister Murdock, isn't it just awful!” Tears ran away from her eyes in all directions as she collapsed into his arms with a loud sob. He supported her as they entered the living room of the small rancher.
Four or five other people he recognized from Second Baptist were sitting there, along with a couple of strangers and the woman who'd answered the door earlier that morning. Pastor Green sat center in an oversized armchair draped with a lace scarf. He was wearing a suit, no traces of his early morning paint job on him. Soft conversation and the smell of fruit punch and coconut cake filled the room. Sister Ethel stifled her sobs as they both took a seat on the sofa. Anthony looked around for Kellye.
“She's in the kitchen.” Pastor Green seemed to be reading his mind.
“We can't seem to talk her into staying still.” The woman who'd answered the door that morning spoke directly to Anthony, who noticed that she'd been staring at him since he came in.
“Hi, I'm Mabel Linstead.” She suddenly thrust a hand out to give him a quick shake. Her grasp felt like a slippery ice cube. “Bernard was my brother.” She sat back in her seat, but her eyes stayed on him even though she said no other words. Anthony thought he noted a quick flash of anger in her eyes. Maybe he should apologize again for knocking on the door as early as he had. He wanted to ease the awkwardness.
“So, I hear some southern in your voice. Where are you from?”
Mabel did not answer, and for the first time she looked away. She mumbled something about needing to help Kellye in the kitchen and promptly disappeared. A woman in her early thirties with the same square-shaped face as Mabel quickly piped up.
“I'm sorry. I'm Denise, Mabel's daughter. Please excuse my mother; she's having a hard time adjusting to my uncle's death. He was her younger brother and it was just the two of them. She was always protective of him, as she is with everyone she loves.” Anthony nodded at the friendly gesture, still trying to decide how best to get the information for which he'd come.
“You are from the South, aren't you?” He echoed her friendliness.
“South Carolina.” She smiled.
“Really? That's where my family is from. In fact my great-aunt moved back home there a few years ago.”
“What part?”
“Sharen. It's a little town on the southern coastline. I've never been, but I hear it's a nice place.”
“It most certainly is.” Denise's smile widened, showcasing deep dimples in dumpling-sized cheeks. “That's where we're from. My uncle Bernard was born and raised there before he came up here to marry Aunt Kellye.”
“Really? I never knew Minister Porter hailed from down there.” Another Sharen, South Carolina, descendant; Anthony could not help but wonder about the connection. But Denise did not leave him to his thoughts for long.
“What's your great-aunt's name?”
“Rosa. Rosa Bergenson.”
Denise looked thoughtful for a second. “Where have I heard that name?”
But before she could continue, Mabel came back into the living room, cutting her off by offering a platter of lunch meat, cheese, and crackers.
“We've just about finished making arrangements. Thanks, Pastor Green, for your help. The funeral is going to be on Monday at two. The wake begins at one-thirty.” She acknowledged everyone in the cramped living room.
As Mabel continued giving information about the viewing and interment, Anthony took the opportunity to catch Kellye in the kitchen.
“Hi, Sister Porter.” He gave her a firm hug and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “How are you feeling today?”
