by Angela Henry
I watched as she stepped off the curb to cross the street to her car. When she got to the middle of the street, I heard tires squealing and saw a dark colored car pull out from down the street and barrel straight for her. Cherisse was frozen to the spot.
“Cherisse! Look out!” I screamed and ran out grabbing Cherisse and pushing her out of the way just in time. The car never stopped.
“Are you okay?” I asked. We were on the other side of the street by her gold Ford Escort. She was clinging to my arm and staring after the car.
“Did you see that? They didn’t even stop!” she said breathlessly.
But I was too busy staring at the side of her car to answer her. She noticed me looking and looked down, too.
“Oh no!” she said, covering her mouth with her hands.
Someone had keyed the words, “You Will Pay For What You Did” on the driver’s side door.
I tried to get Cherisse to report the vandalism of her car—and almost being run down—to the police. She refused. She was too rattled and upset and just wanted to go home. Understandably, Cherisse thought the message on her car was from yet another person who held her responsible for Julian Spicer’s death. Thinking back on the conversation I’d overheard between Vanessa and Audrey about the strange voice mail message left on Audrey’s cell phone, I wasn’t so sure. Then there was what Dennis Kirby had told me about coming home to find his garage vandalized. The vandal had painted some kind of message on his garage wall. Was his message the same as Audrey’s and Cherisse’s? If so, could all three messages be from the same person? Was this person also the one who almost ran Cherisse down and was behind Audrey’s drug and alcohol interaction and Dennis almost being electrocuted? And what about the baby oil I found at the top of the cafeteria steps Ms. Flack fell down. Had she gotten a message too? She certainly hadn’t mentioned receiving one. More importantly, what were the messages about? What were they going to be made to pay for?
I followed Cherisse to make sure she got home okay before heading home to read about the Montessori Method.
Chapter Six
I WAS STILL THINKING about the message on Cherisse’s car the next day at work. If I was right, and Audrey, Dennis, Cherisse, and possibly Ms. Flack had all gotten the same message, after suffering near fatal accidents, then Gerald and I should be next. That is, if Gerald hadn’t already received a message. I had to find out. During my two-hour break between the morning and afternoon class session, I headed over to Wheatley Financial, where Gerald worked, to pay him a little visit.
Wheatley Financial was in downtown Willow on the second and third floors of a beautifully renovated three-story brownstone. The first floor had been occupied by a real estate company that had recently moved to larger office space, at least that’s what the sign on their closed office door said. I headed upstairs and found myself in an open landing that had been turned into a warm and inviting waiting room. The walls were robin’s egg blue and abstract art in muted watercolors hung on the walls, thick plush brown carpeting cushioned my footsteps. A young black woman with braids, dressed in a white suit and seated behind a glass topped desk, looked up and smiled as I approached.
“May I help you?” she asked in a well-modulated, slightly accented voice. The brass nameplate on her desk informed me she was Sunny Abou, receptionist.
“I hope so. I’m here to see Gerald Tate. I’m an acquaintance of his. I don’t have an appointment. I just wanted to see if he could spare me a few minutes.”
“Really,” she said, staring at me quizzically for a moment. “Let me check to see if he’s free.” Sunny, the smile never leaving her face, consulted a leather bound planner on her desk before picking up her phone and punching in a number.
“Mr. Tate a—” She looked up at me expectantly.
“Kendra Clayton,” I supplied when I realized I never told her my name.
“Kendra Clayton is here to see you.” I watched as she listened to his reply nodding her head in agreement to whatever he’d told her.
“You can go on back. It’s down the hall, the third door on your left,” she said, half standing and gesturing down a long narrow hallway.
I thanked her and headed back. Before I got halfway down the hall, Gerald appeared in the doorway of his office.
“Kendra? What brings you by?” He had a slightly confused expression like he couldn’t decide if he was happy to see me or not. He shot a quick, nervous glance over my shoulder and I turned to see Sunny staring at us with a tight smile. Gerald’s tie was loosened and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He wasn’t sporting any bandages or bruises indicating a recent accident, which meant I was going to have to do some digging.
“I hope I’m not bothering you. I just needed some financial advice and I thought who better to consult me than Gerald, right?” I didn’t wait for his reply and walked past him into his office and took a seat in one of the two chairs in front of his desk, which was a larger version of Sunny the receptionist’s. His office was small and much plainer than the waiting room with stark white picture-free walls and cold chrome furniture. But it was free of clutter, if a little impersonal, and he’d maximized what little space he had.
“So, what kind of advice are you looking for?” He sat behind his desk and closed his laptop computer so he could give me his full attention. Gerald was a handsome guy and someone I could have been attracted to if I didn’t know what an asshole he could be. Plus, with three ex-wives and four kids, he had way too much baggage.
“That’s a good question,” I said, laughing. “I recently came into a sum of money and I have no idea what to do with it. That’s why I’m here. I can’t decide if I should invest it or just stick it into my retirement fund or what.” I knew that there was probably no reason for me to lie about why I was really there but I still wasn’t sure there was any connection between what had happened to Dennis, Audrey, and Cherisse and didn’t want to come across as crazy or paranoid.
“How much money are we talking about?” he asked. I couldn’t help but notice he had perked up considerably at the mention of money and was again reminded of the missing reunion fund cash.
“About five thousand dollars,” I said, wishing I was talking about real money.
“Are you enrolled in a four hundred one k plan through your job?”
“Actually, I’m only part-time and not eligible for the four hundred one k plan my job offers. But I am enrolled in the school system’s retirement fund,” I told him truthfully. At 29 I wasn’t thinking as much about my financial future as I should be and hoped I wasn’t going to be dining on cat food cuisine in my old age.
“Then I’d recommend opening an IRA.” He pulled open a desk drawer and pulled out some brochures on the types of IRA accounts Wheatley Financial offered and the pros and cons of each. He really seemed to know his stuff.
“I think I’d like to take these home and give it some more thought,” I told him when he’d finished. “I just hope I live long enough to retire. It was so sad about what happened to Julian, which just goes to show that you never know when your time is up.” I was hoping to get the ball rolling. Gerald stared at the top of his desk and shook his head slowly.
“I know that’s right. Hell, I almost joined Julian.” He leaned back in his chair and gave me a grim smile.
“Really? What happened?”
“I fell asleep on my couch and woke up and the house was filled with smoke. I’d left a cigarette burning in an ashtray in my kitchen next to an open kitchen window. A breeze must have blown the curtains against the cigarette and caught them on fire. I woke up just in time to put out the fire before my whole kitchen went up in flames.”
“Damn! You were lucky you weren’t killed,” I said with genuine feeling.
“And do you want to know what the craziest part is?” He was tapping a pencil nervously against his desk. I shook my head.
“I distinctly remember smoking half of that cigarette before putting it out when I left the kitchen. But after I took care of t
he burning curtains, I noticed a whole smoldering cigarette in the ashtray. Isn’t that crazy?”
“That does sound weird.” I also didn’t remember it being breezy last night, either, but decided not to mention that. Instead, I filled him in on what had happened to Audrey, Dennis, and Cherisse.
“Maybe it’s some kind of reunion curse,” I told him jokingly after I’d finished. Gerald laughed. Clearly he didn’t see any connection between his and the other accidents.
“Naw. I can’t speak for the others, but I really need a vacation. I didn’t realize how much until last night. I must have been really tired to have forgotten to put out that cigarette.”
“Maybe you should just quit smoking,” I suggested. He cocked his head and looked at me like I was clueless.
“Maybe,” he said with a bored shrug.
“Speaking of the reunion, what do you think about that missing money?” The smile vanished from his face making me smile in turn.
“Hard to say what could have happened to it.” He laughed nervously. He made a point of looking at his watch and then stood up. I knew he wanted me to leave but I wasn’t finished yet.
“You haven’t received any strange anonymous messages have you?” I asked. He blinked nervously a couple of times and shook his head slowly but never looked me in the eye.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Look, I’m glad I could help you out, Kendra. But I’ve got another client coming pretty soon. Go on home and think about which IRA you’d like then we can schedule another consultation and we’ll have more time to talk.” He walked over to his office door and held it open for me.
He wasn’t the worst liar I’d ever seen but he sure was close. Just for fun I sat and stared at him for a minute without speaking and watched him twist in the wind. He rocked back on his heels, looked at his watch again, pulled on his earlobe, looked up and down the hall. Finally, he looked away from me and down at his highly polished shoes.
“Thanks for the advice. I appreciate you taking the time to see me.” I got up and walked out the door.
I sat in my car across the street from Wheatley Financial to think. Something was very wrong. Gerald’s kitchen curtains had caught fire last night. He admitted the kitchen window had been open and assumed a breeze had blown the curtains against the cigarette in the ashtray. It hadn’t been breezy last night. In fact, it was muggy and humid. The heat had hung thick, stagnant, and unmoving in the air. I ought to know. The air conditioner in my apartment was broken and I was miserable.
With Gerald’s window being open, it would have been easy for someone to reach through the window, put a burning cigarette in the ashtray, and hold the curtains against the cigarette to catch them on fire. Just as it would have been easy to put baby oil on the cafeteria steps Ms. Flack fell down, spike something Audrey drank with alcohol, tamper with Dennis’s vacuum, and try and run Cherisse down in the street. I knew Audrey and Cherisse had gotten strange threatening messages. Even though Dennis had never told me what had been painted on his garage wall, I would bet anything it had been the same message saying: “You Will Pay For What You Did”. Now I just had to find out if Gerald had gotten a message, too.
I knew the black BMW convertible parked in the small lot next to Wheatley Financial was Gerald’s. I got out and went over to inspect it. There wasn’t anything keyed in the paint like on Cherisse’s car. I heard the sound of an approaching voice and ran over and hid beside a large dumpster next to the building. I stood on tiptoe, peaked over the top of the dumpster, and watched as Gerald came around the corner talking and laughing on his cell phone. The playfulness in his voice, and his soft seductive laughter, told me he was talking to a woman and it wasn’t about IRAs. He must be working on wife number 4. I watched him hop in his car and drive away and decided to have a go at his office.
Sunny Abou, receptionist, was on the phone when I went back inside. She covered the receiver with her hand and gave me a quizzical half-smile.
“Sorry, but I left me keys in Gerald’s office. I can see you’re busy so I’ll just pop in and get them.” I started down the hall. Sunny looked uncertain and stood up to stop me before whoever she was talking to on the phone commanded her attention and she absently waved me on.
Gerald’s office door was closed but unlocked. I walked in and pulled it shut behind me. I put my ear to the door and could hear Sunny still talking on the phone. I quickly went over to his desk and looked through a thin stack of papers in a steel wire tray. No message. I looked in the metal wastebasket by his desk but found nothing except receipts for gas and coffee, an apple core, a newspaper, an empty Pepsi can, and four pink telephone message slips all from someone named Clair Easton wanting him to call her about her account. On a whim, I grabbed one of the pink slips and stuffed it in my pocket. Next, I turned my attention to his laptop. The top was open and I could see he was still logged into his e-mail. I skimmed through his inbox but didn’t see anything unusual until I got to an e-mail marked urgent with the name Clair Easton in the subject line. I opened it. The message was from one of Gerald’s coworkers questioning him about some inaccuracies with Clair Easton’s account.
I skimmed through the rest of the messages and found nothing else of interest unless you counted the numerous e-mails he was getting from someone with the address [email protected]. I resisted the urge to open one and tried his trash folder instead. Bingo. Five messages down from the top I found one with “You Will Pay For What You Did” in the subject line. I opened it and saw that it was the same message repeated over and over all the way down the page. The e-mail address the message had come from was [email protected]. I grabbed a pen and wrote down the e-mail address just as I heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. I pulled out my keys and was at the door as Sunny, the receptionist, opened it. I shook the keys in front of her face.
“Found them. They were hiding under Gerald’s desk and I had a hell of a time spotting them.” I brushed past her on my way down the hall. I looked back and saw Sunny looking into Gerald’s office with a frown on her face. I ran down the steps and back to my car.
I still had more than an hour to kill before I had to be back at work and had yet to eat lunch. I was sitting at a red light, trying to decide what my taste buds were in the mood for, when I happened to look to my right and spied a man through the window of a shop called the Coffee Break Café. It looked like Carl. But it couldn’t be Carl because it was the middle of the day on a Tuesday and Carl should be half an hour away at work in Columbus. I parked and went in to get a better look to see if it was indeed Carl, the man who’d been blowing me off for the past several days claiming to be busy at work.
The coffee shop was cute and cozy and about as big as my apartment. There were only four other people in the café besides the person behind the counter. Two of them were women sitting separately as they drank their coffees and read. The other two people, a black man and a white woman, were sitting together, laughing and talking more like two old friends instead of ex-spouses. It was Carl and Vanessa.
Carl looked up as I approached the table and gave me a deer caught in the headlights look, while Vanessa, who turned to see what he was looking at, sighed heavily and rolled her eyes like a pissy teenaged girl.
“Well, this is a surprise,” I told them as I sat down at the small table next to Vanessa. The table was really only meant for two people, so Vanessa was squeezed up against the window when I sat down, giving her a real reason to be pissy.
“I hear congratulations are in order. When are you due?” I looked at her stomach, then at Carl who was silently sipping his coffee and staring straight ahead.
“February,” she said simply and started gathering her stuff together.
“How’s Audrey doing? Is she still in the hospital?” I continued undeterred by the awkwardness of the situation.
I could tell my friendliness was more irritating to Vanessa than if I’d come charging into the café, making a scene, and calling her names. As for
Carl, he just looked grim, like he’d resigned himself to his fate. Vanessa stood up and squeezed past me.
“She’s fine and back at home.” She turned to Carl. “Thanks for the coffee, babe. I’ll give you a call later.” She tossed me a shit-eating grin and headed out of the café.
“You don’t have time for me, but you have time to come here in the middle of your workday to have coffee with the woman who walked out on your marriage when her daddy dangled money in her face?”
“It’s not like that,” he said softly, turning to stare moodily out the window.
“Well, I wouldn’t know what it’s like cause I haven’t heard from your ass since Friday. So, explain it to me.” I glared at him.
“Vanessa just needs a friend right now. She’s going through a hard time.”
“Is she the one you were with when you hung up on me Friday?” He just stared down into his coffee cup and I had my answer.
I sucked my teeth in disgust, which must have pissed him off because he slammed his cup down on the table and leaned forward angrily.
“She called me Friday. She was really upset and asked if I could meet her to talk. All we did was talk. She just needed a shoulder to cry on,” he said loudly causing one of the other women in the café to turn and stare at us.
“Hmm, a shoulder to cry on. Well that sounds to me like a job for her current husband, not her ex-husband. You’re not married to her anymore, remember?”
He sighed heavily. “Her husband is the problem. He doesn’t want this baby and it’s tearing her apart. She just needs someone to talk to.”
She sure as hell didn’t look too broken up the last couple of times I’d seen her. And why in the world couldn’t she talk to her best bud, Audrey Grant, if she was in so much distress?
“No. She and her husband need to be talking or going to counseling or something. You’re a lawyer not a therapist. And if you ask me, it’s poetic justice,” I said, not so subtly referring to the fact that Vanessa had had an abortion not long after she split with Carl, a baby that could have been his, even though she’d been sleeping with two other men at the time. A child Carl would have welcomed. How ironic it was that she was now pregnant, again, by a man who didn’t want a baby.
