Like Sheep Gone Astray (34 page)

“Relationship? Girl, who said anything about a relationship? Right now you are hurting, and a little love medicine may be just what the doctor ordered. I hereby grant you permission to take two pills and call me in the morning.”

Terri giggled as her mind began to wander back to Reggie's bedroom.

“And look,” Cherisse continued, “I don't want you overdosing, so you better let me handle the refills. If that medicine is as potent as it looks, I may need a dose to heal some heartaches of my own.”

“You are certifiably crazy.” Terri laughed, shaking her head. “Besides, don't think I didn't see that Durango parked in your space yesterday while your shades were drawn tight.”

Cherisse rolled her eyes, a hint of distant sadness hidden in them. “Honey, that was some generic medicine. I haven't been able to get any of that name-brand stuff you're used to getting from Anthony.”

They both grew quiet, withdrawn, but for different reasons, in different worlds.

“Do you still have that frozen lasagna and that pint of chocolate ice cream in your freezer?” This time Terri broke the silence.

“Girl, you are lucky that I love you like a sister, because you are truly eating me out of house and home. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were missing some punctuation marks.”

“Huh?”

“You know, question marks, commas. Periods.”

“Nope. There are no buns baking in this oven, but I'm sure about to reheat that cinnamon bun you have in your fridge.” They both laughed as they made a return trip to the kitchen, but Terri's snickering stopped when she saw a calendar posted on the refrigerator door.

“What's wrong, Terri? You miss a hair appointment at Freeda's House of Beauty?” Cherisse followed Terri's eyes to the posted magnet. “Don't worry. You're still beautiful.”

“I've been so caught up with work and making partner that I haven't been keeping track of dates.” Terri suddenly looked pale.

“Yeah, so?” Cherisse was pouring a glass of sparkling water so she did not see the fear creeping across Terri's face.

“Cherisse, I'm about to scream. I need to take a pregnancy test.”

Kent Cassell could not relax even after two full glasses of wine. He looked across the candlelit table at Mona and wondered if she was picking up on any of his uneasiness. Strangely, she appeared to be calmer than he normally was on a routine day. This evening he was the one on edge.

They sat at the restaurant table with a couple they'd met at the morning church service, locals, Mr. and Mrs. Clyde England. Clyde was a banker in a tiny mainland Massachusetts town, and his wife, Evelyn, was a curator at a small museum on the island. Evelyn had gentle eyes that kept landing on Clyde, who unabashedly smiled back. Obviously, they were in love. Kent was not surprised to hear that they were relative newlyweds; for both, their second marriage.

“This time around, we're going to make it because we have Jesus to hold us together.” Clyde proclaimed over appetizers.

“How romantic,” Mona gushed.

What had Mona gotten them into? Kent groaned to himself. Going to church was one thing. It was an entirely different thing taking the church to dinner. Mona was really sucking this act up. Kent studied her carefully. Dressed in a black pantsuit that brought out the silver in her hair, she was all laughs and smiles. She was not even fingering her pearl drop earrings, a normal nervous tic for her in social settings.

Kent did not miss the little New Testament still clutched in her hands. She had been reading it almost nonstop since they'd left the eleven-o'clock service, even blurting out verses to him as they drove to the formal seaside restaurant to meet with the Englands. Had he known dinner was going to be an evening service over crab cakes, he would not have given up as easily on his headache excuse. He could be using this time to figure out the whole Murdock/Banks case.

“Did you hear that, Kent?” Mona talked to him as a waiter refilled their glasses.

“Yeah, I heard. It's not God's will that any should perish.”

The slight chuckles around the table told him he was completely out of the loop.

“Yes, God does want us to choose life through His Son, but I was just inviting the two of you to join Evelyn and me on our yacht early tomorrow morning. We're having some friends from church over for morning prayer on the Atlantic. There's nothing like having a conversation with God while being surrounded by His sunrise on His ocean. We'll be on the water from five to eight, early and out of the way enough for you to keep whatever plans you have for the day.”

Clyde was a square-shaped man with silver-blond hair and deep crow's feet that made his eyes look like they were always laughing. Kent made himself smile in response to Clyde's offer, but enough was enough.

“That's very kind of you, but I had plans to get some work done tomorrow morning.”

“Kent, we're on vacation. You promised that—”

“Now, now”—Kent pushed both his hands forward in gentle stopping motions—“I did promise to avoid work at all costs, but I remembered this morning that I also promised to check in with Malloy before he went in to work tomorrow. It was the only way he would let me take time off during such an intense investigation. You can go if you want, Mona. There's no reason for you not to.”

Kent held his breath, wondering if his lie would get him out of the invitation. A boat full of church people? Next thing you know they'll be talking about how Jesus walked on water and trying to baptize him.

“What kind of work do you need to get done?” Clyde was not giving up.

“Well”—Kent furrowed his eyebrows, looking down at the table as if it would speak for him—“I was going to get briefed on a case I'm working on with the sheriff in our jurisdiction, and I need to review some paperwork with him. I'm a detective, and I can only stay off duty for so long.” There, satisfied? He sat back in his seat, taking another sip of his drink.

“If you only need to review papers, you are more than welcome to bring them along with you and call him from onboard. I purchased the yacht from a bankrupt CEO, so there's plenty of private office space if you'd like to use it.”

“Thank you, but that won't work. I don't have the papers with me. I was going to receive them from him tomorrow morning.” It wasn't exactly a lie. He wanted to see those documents that had been delivered to Sheriff Malloy. He just had not yet fine-tuned a plan to get them.

“I have a fax machine onboard. You're welcome to use it to get what you need.”

Kent looked up from his glass, his eyes peering over the rim at Clyde. He slowly set the glass back down. “Fax machine? That might work. That just might work indeed.”

It wasn't a bad trade-off. Getting a copy of papers that could possibly break the case in exchange for an early morning expedition with Jesus freaks.

“Well, praise the Lord! We'll count both of you in.” Evelyn clasped her hands together, smiling like an angel under her wavy auburn hair.

“Yes, praise the Lord!” Kent fished in his pocket for a lighter as he quickly spotted a nearby exit. He needed a cigarette break.

It was nearly four o'clock when Anthony finally got good news. The receptionist's sister called from a church friend's home, saying she'd checked her messages and would be happy to help the young man fill in his family tree. Her name was Hazel Groves and she gave instructions to meet her in front of the old schoolhouse turned vital records department in half an hour.

Anthony was relieved, jotting down driving directions with a quick hand. He'd spent the afternoon trying to waken Aunt Rosa's sleeping memory, but she refused even to be in the same room with him. After a while, the nursing director informed Anthony that he was welcome to stay, but would have to observe his great-aunt from another room. His presence was upsetting her too much. Anthony was heartbroken, but complied.

Driving down the South Carolina back roads was a therapeutic experience. The hum of dragonflies and the soft lull of wind swaying weeping-willow branches offered Anthony a soothing retreat as he drove with the radio off and the windows down. An occasional house, an occasional car were the only signs of human life in the scenic landscape before him. A right turn off the single-lane highway took him to a more developed area, developed in that the houses were only a few acres apart and not miles. He pulled into a gravel parking lot in front of a small, whitewashed building at a quarter to five. An old Cutlass Sierra in desperate need of a car wash was already parked beside it.

“You must be Mr. Murdock.” A wiry, thin woman with skin the color of used charcoal came out to greet him. Wrapped in a crocheted shawl, she gave him a hug as if he were her son come home from war. “My, you a handsome thing, but you could use a little more meat on those bones. Didn't you get some dinner yet?” A pair of black eyeglasses on a metal chain dangled over her flat bosom.

Anthony looked down at himself thinking he could afford to lose a pound or two, but he smiled back at her nonetheless.

“Thank you for your time on this glorious Lord's Day, Mrs. Groves. Yes, I did eat, and 1 don't mean to keep you from your dinner. I just need to get any information you may have about a Charles Anthony Murdock.” If he could just get some kind of vital statistic about his father, then maybe he'd be able to research his finances, his life. Right now, the only proof he had that the man ever existed was himself.

“Murdock? Can't say that rings a bell, but I'll check for you.”

Anthony was already getting a sinking feeling that only increased when he entered the musty wooden one-room structure. As his eyes adjusted to the decrease in light, he noticed that smoke damage and water stains discolored the rear wall.

“You had a fire here?”

“Yes, some years back. I was just about to get to that. Watch your head—the ceiling is uneven in spots.”

Anthony ducked as he followed her to a corner of the room partitioned off from the rest of the building. A large desk that looked like a discard from a school classroom filled up a tiny niche. Plants filled whatever space was left over and a small window spilled drops of sunlight in the otherwise darkened corner. A single flickering bulb overhead provided light to the rest of the building.

Hazel dug out a pencil and an index card while he looked around.

“It was a small fire so most of our records escaped damage, but there were a few that were destroyed. just tell me, what year was your father born?” She put on her glasses and waited with her pencil poised for action.

“I don't know.” Anthony looked around the small room. Rows of green metal file cabinets were topped with hand-printed signs.

“Well”—she studied him once over as she spoke—“you look like you're, what, in your late twenties?”

“Yes ma'am. Twenty-nine, to be exact.”

“Uh-huh.” She pulled out a calculator. “And assuming your father was in his twenties, maybe early thirties, when he had you, that would put him in the 1940s birth-year range. Good.” She tossed the calculator back on the desk. “That narrows our search. Follow me.”

She walked fast despite the full head of gray hair and the fine wrinkles that lined her cheeks. Anthony stayed close behind as she stopped at a file cabinet near the back of the building.

“We have records dating back to the early 1800s, census reports; birth, death, marriage certificates; even slave schedules.” She pointed to different areas as she spoke. “Everything's alphabetized by last name and each file cabinet represents five years. The forties start right here.”

A spray of dust flew out of the first heavy drawer she pulled open. Together, they fingered through folders and yellowed papers, stopping only when they got to a file marked
December 31, 1949.

“We can look through the late thirties that we have and the early fifties if you like.”

Anthony appreciated Hazel's willingness to help. They worked in a comfortable silence, the only noise coming from the rustle of papers and the squeaking metal drawers. Hazel went through file cabinets with dates well before and after the original estimated range. At eight o'clock she turned to him, an apologetic smile on her face.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Murdock, but it looks like we have no records of him. The only Charles Murdock I found was born in 1908 and died in a house fire in 1934. For some reason, his birth and death certificates were put in the wrong folder; otherwise I would have never even seen them. But it doesn't matter anyway. Both those dates were long before you came on the scene.”

Anthony blew out a long sigh, partly out of disappointment, but also because the dust particles floating freely in the air seemed to be choking his lungs.

“It's okay, Mrs. Groves. I believe that God will lead me to what I need to know when I need to know it. Thank you for your generous time. I did not expect to be here this long.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure. It's not often that I get to be near such a handsome young man like yourself. Your wife is a very lucky woman.” She looked down at his wedding ring. “If I was twenty years younger, and you were available, I'd take you home right now and bake you one of my rhubarb pies. That's how I snatched up my old Henry.” She grinned wide enough for Anthony to see two teeth missing from her smile.

Anthony let out a partial chuckle, unsure how to respond. But then his face became serious as hers suddenly did, her eyes looking deep into his, her mouth scrunched up like a question mark.

“You know, I can't put my finger on it, but something about you looks familiar.”

“My mother's family is from here. In fact my great-aunt, Rosa Bergenson, is a resident at Haven Ridge Nursing Home.”

“Yeah,” Hazel spoke slowly, “maybe that's what it is, family resemblances. I know some of the Bergensons. Good people. Even still…” She studied Anthony as he walked back to his car.

“Good night, young man.” She waved from the wooden porch, her other hand holding her shawl around her. “Be safe and come back again sometime. Sharen is your history, your home. You sure you don't want any pie?”

Chapter 15

N
ikki couldn't stand being alone with him in his office. Here, she really did feel like a piece of work, another check mark on his to-do list. But it was Sunday, and the evening at that. Nobody would be around to see them here. His office, as much as she detested it, was safe ground.