“Fifty cents. That's how much they paid Momma for scrubbing their floors every day. Gonna be time to start school soon. I'm going this year. Are you going, Lilly Ann?”

  Mabel patted the wrinkled hands before turning her attention back to the aide. “Take a message. Her mind's not up to it today.” Sad how a lifetime of memories starts breaking down; Mabel shook her head. Her own mother had wasted away from Alzheimer's too. She continued to warm Rosa's hands.

  “It's a family member, a great-nephew. Anthony somebody. Said it's urgent that he speak to her about a relative or something.”

  Mabel almost staggered off balance. “Tell him that she is not up to phone calls today.” Her voice was as icy as the hands she held. The aide shrugged her shoulders and disappeared back into the warm building.

  “Some memories aren't worth holding on to,” Mabel mumbled to herself as she walked back to the nurses' station. She'd been holding onto a key since Mrs. Bergenson's admission. The drawer it unlocked was largely unnoticed by office and nursing staff. She opened it for the first time that morning, and removed its only content, a torn piece of letterhead with a phone number scribbled across it.

  “My payday is a-coming.” She gave a quick look around before locking herself into a corner office. “Hope this number still works.” She dialed quickly.

  Terri turned up the radio as she hit sixty-five on the expressway. The morning was filled with promise, she convinced herself. Disappointed that Anthony had not woken up in time to see her new Lexus, she kept a smile on her face as she planned out her day. She would surprise him with lunch, she decided. A turkey club sandwich from Joe's Deli would be the perfect excuse to catch him at his job later that afternoon.

  But first she was meeting with Reginald Savant and his team that morning. He had already offered praise for her blueprints and sketches, so she was confident that the rest of his colleagues would also be impressed with her ideas for the Empress Hotel.

  “Darn it!” she slammed a fist into her steering wheel. Traffic was coming to a standstill farther ahead. Terri could make out blue and white, red and yellow lights flashing from somewhere in the middle of the upheaval. A large, dark-colored sedan was scrunched against the cement median.

  Terri checked her watch and spotted an exit that would let her off before hitting the standstill.

  “Ain't going to let some traffic stop me. I'm going to have a great day!” She turned off the exit and readjusted her route. The steel-and-glass skyline of downtown was already in view.

  “I can't believe the luck I'm having this week.” Detective Kent Cassell murmured the words over and over as he paced beside his totaled car. The trunk of his Crown Victoria was tucked into the backseat, making the rear of his vehicle look like a massive accordion, while the front left of the car sat lopsided over the short cement barricade separating the two sides of the expressway. Shattered glass and metal shreds crunched under his feet as he walked back and forth.

  “I'm glad you're okay. This could have been a lot worse.” Sheriff Malloy stood beside him, patting his shoulder. “We'll find the creeps who did this. Hit-and-runs have become too popular lately.” The sheriff surveyed the car once more before looking back at the snaking traffic that had come to a complete stop for several miles up the expressway.

  “We need to start clearing out. The morning rush is in full swing.” Malloy beckoned at a tow truck. A burly man with long red hair pulled back into a ponytail jumped out of the truck and began his duty.

  “I wish I had gotten a good look at the car that ran into me. It happened so fast. I didn't see the color, the license.” Kent shook his head. “But you're right. It could have been a lot worse. They didn't get me this time, either.”

  Sheriff Malloy's head jerked up. “That's right. This isn't the first time you've been involved in a hit-and-run. You're thinking there's someone after you, huh?”

  “Look at my week, Gary. I've missed the past couple of days dealing with break-ins at my home office and my wife's day care. Nothing was taken in either case, but it looked like the intruder was searching for something. Mona is simply too shaken up. She's convinced that this is somehow related to my current case and that someone doesn't want me involved. She was scared for me to come back to work today. You should have seen her crying when I turned my cell phone back on, afraid of what calls I may get.”

  “I can't say I blame her for being nervous.” Sheriff Malloy was getting into a squad car with Kent. “You're a hard worker, Cassell. The best. But even the best detective needs a breather sometimes. You might want to consider taking some more time off, you know, take a vacation, just you and Mona. Get away from all this. I can get some other guys to take over your cases for a while.”

  “You know I can't leave my work undone. These two days alone that I've missed are eating me up. I feel like I missed something big.” Kent's hands were clenched into fists in his lap. His eyes, ever alert, scanned the passing cityscape as the car turned toward the exit that would take them to police headquarters.

  “You're too involved.” Sheriff Malloy's voice was flat as he stared straight ahead at the roadway. “You need to take care of yourself, your wife, that knee. Take a vacation. Go to Martha's Vineyard. You always said you wanted to go. I'll keep everything under control here.”

  Kent rubbed his knee. Mona's tear-streaked face sat firmly in his mind as he recalled seeing her cry in her sleep the night before.

  “Maybe you're right, Gary. Maybe I do need to take Mona away for a week or two.”

  Malloy smiled. “I'll get Burke and Morris to cover for you. You can give me your folders when we get to the office.”

  Kent nestled back into his seat, trying hard to ignore the sour feeling building in his stomach.

  Terri took in the view from the forty-third floor of the Quadrangle Towers. The people and commuters on the busy street below looked like colorful worker ants marching to the beat of an unheard drum. From where she stood behind the massive glass pane, all of the sounds that accompanied the outdoor morning hustle were silenced to her ear.

  “You're early. I like that.”

  Terri turned around to see Reginald Savant standing in the doorway of the lavishly furnished reception area. A cup of steaming coffee was in his hand. It smelled of hazelnut and cream. He smelled of suede and spice.

  “I make a point of ensuring that all of my clients know they're receiving my most attentive care. Your project is important to me.” Instinctively Terri knew she was smiling too much, but the sudden vision she was having of his black Jaguar and her red Lexus riding side by side in the streets of downtown was too much. They were both elitists, a king and a queen in the cutthroat world of success.

  Anthony should wear a watch like that, don a suit like that. Terri's smile almost betrayed her thoughts as she carefully studied Reginald head to toe. Anthony's a multi-millionaire now so he should dress like one. She made a mental note to talk about that with him later. Of course she would wait for him to finally tell her about his “surprise.” She wondered why he was waiting so long to share his overwhelming financial-success story with her.

  “My team will be joining us in a conference room down the hall.” Reginald was also obviously studying her. “As I told you before, my colleagues have already expressed awe at your work, Mrs. Murdock. I assure you that this meeting is nothing more than a platform from which you can further implement your design ideas.”

  Terri walked with him down the hallway. Standing next to this visionary businessman, dressed in her best black suit, carrying her polished attach3e, she wondered if the incoming office workers could see how important she was. Like Reginald, she did little to acknowledge the passersby who stepped to the sides of the corridor for them.

  “I am personally looking forward to your presence at tomorrow evening's function.”

  Reginald's words caught her off guard. Terri tried to keep a question mark from forming on her face as she played along with this turn in the conversation. What function? she wondered.

  “You should be proud of him.”

  “Who?”

  “Anthony. Your husband.” There was a flatness in his voice as he spoke these words.

  “You know Anthony?” Terri could not hide her surprise. Anthony had never made any indication to her of knowing or meeting Reginald Savant. “How do you know him?”

  “I see there's a lot he hasn't told you.” Reginald smiled at her curiously. “It's not good when a young man starts keeping secrets from his unsuspecting wife.”

  “Oh, I'm sure he's just waiting for the right time to tell me whatever he has to share.” Terri suddenly felt unsure of something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She hadn't been seeing much of him lately. Was there something more she should know? Was he hiding more from her than information about his new financial status?

  “You don't even know about the function, do you?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” Terri finally confessed with a grin.

  “That's surprising. Even if Anthony didn't tell you about it, Fabian's Caterers is helping with the event. Isn't your best friend, Cherisse Landrick, employed by him?”

  Terri paused before slowly easing into the cushioned seat offered by Reginald.

  “Boy, you really do know a lot about my life.”

  “As I told you at our first meeting, Mrs. Murdock, I do my research when I handpick my team members. I like to know as much as possible about everyone with whom I have intimate dealings and vested interest.”

  Before any more could be said, the door to the conference room flew open and several well-dressed ebony businessmen filed into the room, clipboards, briefcases, pens in hand.

  “Gentlemen, Mrs. Murdock, let's begin.”

  Nagging questions were racing through Terri's mind by the completion of the meeting, despite its overwhelming success. The flood of praise and commendation offered by Reggie's team did little to lessen Terri's mounting doubts and fears. Was Anthony purposely not telling her everything she needed to know?

  She'd merely guessed that he was about to share with her the story of their new multi-million-dollar status before she cut him off during the dinner at Romano's. What if he really had something else to say? She strained to remember his words from that evening as she crept through the slow-moving downtown traffic.

  I really need not worry that something's wrong; Anthony is a preacher. For once the thought comforted her. Preachers don't keep secrets, especially dirty ones, she told herself. Even still, she had not seen him at prayer meeting the night before, and he never mentioned that he had somewhere else to go. Anthony was a faithful attendee of the midweek service as far as she knew, considering she rarely attended herself. Where had he been? Even Pastor Green had seemed concerned, she remembered.

  Thinking of the look on Pastor Green's face, she suddenly recalled the meeting Anthony said he had with the pastor that past Monday night. Had he really met with him? Terri thought of how anxious Anthony had looked when he'd left their fireside celebration that night. She'd been asleep when he returned and then he'd left for work in the morning before she could question him. What was Anthony up to? Was he hiding something? Or someone?

  These were Terri's thoughts as she waited for Joe to call her number at the crowded deli counter. After paying for two turkey club sandwiches, she switched off her cell phone, not wanting to chance a call from him at the moment. The drive to Haberstick Associates was a short one, and the surprise element was crucial to her quickly devised plot.

  She did not even park the car. The moment she pulled into the dingy parking lot, she noticed a battered blue Dodge Shadow in Anthony's assigned spot. That was not his car. He was not there. Her instincts told her he had not been there all day. What was Anthony up to? What was he not telling her and why? The questions scared her. But she was determined to get the answers. Anthony managed to pull himself out of bed for good at eleven. Not usually a late sleeper, he'd delayed getting up until after Terri left for work, still unsure how to face her with his ongoing and unfolding drama. After failing to reach Aunt Rosa at the senior home in South Carolina, he'd gotten back in bed, wanting to ignore the rest of the day.

  It was the phone ringing that woke him the second time. Groggy from oversleeping, he missed the call, noting the BLOCKED message on the caller ID box. He'd check for a message later.

  For now, he planned to visit the Porters. Reverend Bernard seemed anxious to talk to him. Maybe he held a missing piece to the puzzle of how this Stonymill deal that started six months earlier had come back to haunt him even more. Anthony could not imagine how his long-dead biological father was related to his current circumstances, but he hoped Bernard could offer more insight into dealing with the faceless people who were involved in the unending nightmare.

  At twelve-thirty he was standing on the front porch of the Porters' small ranch home, waiting for someone to answer his knock. A minivan pulled into the driveway next to the Porters'. Anthony watched with a smile as a couple of redheaded and freckled preschoolers spilled out, followed by a young woman also with curly red hair. She held an infant in one arm, a grocery bag in the other. She greeted him with a tired but courteous smile before disappearing into her home.

  Anthony knocked again on the Porters' door, louder, harder. Still no response. Disappointed, he turned to leave. As he unlocked his car door, the neighbor's door flew open.

  “Are you looking for the Porters?” The young mother offered another smile, but concern sounded in her voice.

  “Yes. Is everything okay?” Anthony feared the answer.

  “I'm not sure.” The woman's attention was diverted back into her house for a second before she continued. “An ambulance was here around three this morning. I think they took the reverend to the ER. I'm not really sure what's going on, but I haven't seen either him or Mrs. Porter today. They usually sit out on their porch after lunch. I hope everything's all right.”

  “Thanks for the information. I hope everything's all right too.”

  The woman disappeared back into her home, leaving Anthony standing alone on the quiet cul-de-sac, not sure what to do next.

  Terri blew her nose softly, hoping that no one passing by her office could hear the phone conversation she was having with Cherisse.

  “Look, Terri”—Cherisse's voice was soothing over the receiver—“you need to pull yourself together and calm down. I haven't heard you this upset since you thought Marlene Gibbons beat you out for homecoming queen. Remember, junior year, college?”

  Terri had to smile at the memory. She remembered how silly she'd felt taking the winning platform to accept her crown and the bouquet of roses with eyes puffy and red from crying. The announcer had mistaken her tears as a sign of joy and had not known what they really were: tears of relief. She had been wrong then; maybe she was wrong now.

  “You're stronger than this, girl,” Cherisse continued. “I'm sure you're making something out of nothing. Anthony may or may not be telling you everything, but that doesn't mean he's hiding anything. Remember, we're talking about Anthony, Mr. Goody-two-shoes, the preacher.”

  “I know.” Terri sighed. “But I can't figure out why Reggie Savant seems to know more about what's going on with my husband these days than I do.”

  “This Reggie character is creeping me out. You said he knows who I am?”

  “He knows that you work for Fabian's and that your company is catering whatever function is happening tomorrow night—the function Anthony hasn't told me about.”

  “That's odd,” Cherisse mumbled. “Mr. Fabian must have assigned someone else to oversee that account. I usually know about these things. Unless …”

  “What is it?” Terri demanded.

  “Does Mr. Savant drive a black Jaguar?”

  “Yes, he does. Why?”

  “Then that's who's been coming back and forth to see Mr. Fabian this week. I should have recognized his voice from that time I saw him talking to you at the Westcott Room on Tuesday. He is involved in some event Fabian is catering. I get the impression it's a rush job—an expensive, elaborate rush job.”

  “That still doesn't explain how he knows Anthony.”

  “If that's really him, then he was one of the two men talking Tuesday about Anthony getting millions. I have no idea who the other man was. Whoever it was sounded young and polished.”

  There was a long pause broken only by a few sniffles from Terri and the new quartz clock on her desk striking one P.M.

  “Something isn't right,” Cherisse finally conceded.

  A new rush of tears burst from Terri. “Cherisse, what do I do?”

  “First things first.” Cherisse's “about-business” tone was back. “I'm going to get us tickets to whatever is going on tomorrow night. I work for Fabian and you're the wife of an attendee. There's no reason for us not to be there. Pull yourself together, girl. Whatever Anthony's hiding, whatever game he's playing, we'll find out. I'm not going to let some man toy with my best friend.”

  “Thank you.” Terri sounded stronger already. “Call me back when you have some details.”

  The intensive-care waiting room at Good Shepherd General Hospital was quiet. Anthony sat next to Sister Porter, her hair pulled back in a hurried, gray-streaked bun. Both were silent and staring at a massive aqua-blue aquarium that stretched across one side of the small room. Several fish of different sizes and brilliant colors swam back and forth against the quiet hum of the filtration system.

  “Pastor Green should be here soon.” Anthony barely recognized his own voice. He kept his eyes on a small blue-and-yellow fish that seemed trapped in an elaborate castle in a corner of the tank.

  “They're taking him off the life support at two o'clock. Bernard always made it clear to me that he would not want to stay in a vegetative state.” Sister Porter glanced at Anthony, the look on her face seeming to plead for permission and understanding.

  “They”—she pointed to the nurses' station—“are saying there's no brain activity at all. He's only alive right now because of those machines. The stroke that he had last night came when his body was the most vulnerable. He was already weak from all those years of cancer.”

 

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