What Simon Didn’t Say

by Copeland, Joy

  “I guess you figured that he and I had a thing,” Lena said, swirling the ice in her glass.

  “I guessed. I wasn’t sure. He never said anything.”

  “He wouldn’t,” Lena sighed. “Well, it was off and on again. Always more off than on, if you know what I mean.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Zoie, taking a sip of her drink.

  “And you and Jahi?”

  Zoie hesitated. How much should I confide? How jealous is this woman? “We’ve had a few dates.”

  “Hey, give me credit here. I know this wasn’t merely business-related curiosity. Look, the Jahi I know is a straight shooter. Let me give you some insight. He and Sister Te were hooked up for a long time. Have you met her?”

  “Sister Te? The name sounds familiar.”

  “If you’ve been to the Shelter you might have run into her.”

  “I think I know who you’re talking about,” Zoie said, sitting up with new energy. Sister Te was absent the day she visited the Shelter. Her absence was the reason Zoie was barred from the women’s section. “Does she run the women’s part of the Shelter?”

  “I’m not sure, but if you ask me, that’s not all she runs. She and Jahi were a thing for many years. She went to UDC with us. She and her friends took Jahi in when he was homeless. Have you heard that story?”

  Holding her glass steady, Zoie slumped back into the couch. She felt Lena’s glance relishing in her discomfort.

  “You didn’t know about that either, huh?” Lena asked.

  “I knew the part about his being homeless.” Zoie went quiet. Of course, Jahi lived a full and complete life before they met. She never let herself dwell on his past relationships. It was the summer of knowing this man and at the same time not knowing him at all. But then she hadn’t spelled out her whole past to him either. “Were he and Sister Te married?”

  Lena took a deep breath before answering. “Sister Te is Ethiopian or Eritrean. I get that mixed up. Anyway, I think he said something about having a commitment. I wasn’t too worried about it. Our relationship wasn’t going anywhere. So it didn’t matter.”

  “My God, he never said a word.”

  “Well, how long have you known him? A few months? Been sleeping with him a couple of months?”

  Zoie’s jaws went tight.

  “I don’t get you,” Lena said, her tone “home girl” curt. “You come here, all prim and proper, accusing your man of messing up, being involved in fraudulent activity. For what?”

  “Wait! I said maybe,” Zoie interjected.

  “Well, you’re one of many who wants something from that man. He’s trying to do good for his community. So make up your mind. Why did you come here, anyway?”

  Zoie searched for an equally powerful retort, forgetting for a minute that she had promised herself that she would not go toe to toe with Lena. Two women yelling at each other would not accomplish anything. The fragile moment was blessed by an interruption, the beeping from Lena’s cell phone. Lena gave Zoie a cutting stare and then rose from the couch to retrieve the device.

  Zoie rose too, deciding it was long past time to go.

  Lena scanned her latest message. It read, “Ray Gaddis, head of Crayton Foundation, found dead at his home in Potomac. Call in. Need you to cover background. Pete.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” said Lena.

  “What happened?” Zoie asked.

  “Honey, you better sit down so you can tell me.”

  “Is it about Jahi?” With fear in her eyes, Zoie backed up and again sat on the couch.

  “My office just texted. Looks as if your boss is dead. Wow! Did you know that? Is that why you’re here?”

  “Oh no!” Zoie gasped with hands to her mouth.

  “Look, stay here. I’ve got an important call to make. Don’t go anywhere. This may involve you,” Lena said.

  Oh shit! Zoie took a large gulp of her drink. Liquor in the morning had turned out to be most appropriate. She sat frozen while Lena disappeared from her sea of white. Folks at the office must be going crazy, Zoie thought. If Lena was being informed by the Washington Times, then all of the main media were involved. Zoie was surprised that so far no one at the Foundation had thought to call her. She dialed Regina. The call rolled to her assistant’s voice mail. Zoie surmised that everyone was probably gathered around Milton’s office. She scanned her contact list and found Milton’s cell number. It rang a few times before he answered.

  “Oh, Zoie, I’m glad you called in. I was going to call you. Did you hear the terrible news about Ray?”

  “Yes, I heard, but no details. What happened?”

  “When he didn’t make his morning meeting or answer his phones, we had Sam Moxner from the Bethesda office go to his house to check on him. Sam found him. He was floating face down in the pool,” Milton explained.

  “Ugh. How horrible. Did he drown?” Zoie’s head was spinning.

  “No one is sure. We need to put out something official from the Foundation.” Milton choked for a moment. Zoie envisioned him fighting back tears. “I have to call all the Board members before they hear it on TV. The place is crawling with Crayton-headquarter types. I’m preparing a statement now. Can you get here right away?”

  “Sure. I’m on my way,” Zoie said, ending the call. She took a minute to contemplate the news. Ray dead! She wanted to tell Milton that she’d been to Ray’s house last night. She wanted to explain how she had waited outside his house and felt disgusted that he’d stood her up.

  Zoie headed after Lena, and the two almost collided at the kitchen door.

  “I have to leave,” Zoie said. Her heart was pounding.

  “I bet you do!”

  “I just talked to my office.”

  “Do they know how he died?”

  “He was found face down in his pool. Could’ve been an accident. They don’t know yet.”

  “Could be murder,” said Lena in a low voice.

  “Anything is possible at this point.”

  “You said that as if you know something. Look, maybe someone needed to shut him up about the stuff you were telling me. And if so, maybe you’re in danger too.”

  In truth, Zoie hadn’t thought that far ahead to consider her own safety. She considered the possible damage to the Foundation’s reputation and possible damage to her career, should she fail to come forward. But physical danger hadn’t crossed her mind. White-collar crime was different, usually bloodless. No blood on anyone’s hands, just dirt from dirty money. Then she remembered Rosen’s allegation, how his client had felt strong-armed. She remembered Carmen Silva’s insistence that she not be at all involved. There’d been real fear, not just annoyance behind Carmen’s insistence.

  “Are you going to tell the police about your suspicions?” Lena asked.

  “What choice do I have? It’s out of my hands. I was trying to work something out with Ray, so…” She stopped cold. She’d already told Lena more than she should have.

  “So Ray Gaddis went bobbing for apples and never came up for air.”

  The two stood quiet for a minute. Zoie was coming to grips with the depth of her quandary.

  “Look, I’d like you to help me figure out what’s going on. I mean I’d hate to see Jahi get in trouble if he’s truly an innocent party,” Zoie said.

  “So you’re going to spill the beans?” Lena cocked her head to the side and smiled. “You actually care what happens to Jahi?”

  “Yes, I do. And the Shelter.”

  “Strange, he does have that effect on us.”

  Zoie didn’t respond.

  “I actually think Jahi’s innocent of whatever you think he might have done,” Lena said. “Perhaps I’m being naïve, but I think he’s the real deal.”

  “Then you’re going to help?”

  “Don’t know what I can do. But, hey, you’ve got spunk. I was having a hard time envisioning Jahi with a ‘Ms. Goody Two Shoes.’”

  Zoie turned to leave. “I’ve got to go home for some things then head to the office.”<
br />
  “Wait. Yeah, I’m in. I just need to ask that I get an exclusive on whatever we find out.”

  Zoie thought for a second. “Okay, agreed, at least for myself. I can’t make any agreements for the Foundation. In the meantime you can’t say anything about what I’ve told you here today. This whole discussion was strictly off the record.”

  Lena thought for a moment. “Okay, that’s fair.”

  “And you’ve got to agree not to print a word until I give you the go-ahead.”

  “Hey, we reporters are used to dealing with confidential sources. Speaking of confidential”—Lena grabbed a paper and pen and scribbled her cell number—“we’d better keep this on the QT. It’s best if people don’t know I’m in the loop. Right?”

  “Right.” Zoie reached into her pocketbook and brought out one of her business cards and handed it to Lena. “I’ll call tonight. There’s a lot I haven’t told you.”

  “I bet!” said Lena. “I bet.”

  Chapter 29

  I Know How to Find You

  Zoie grabbed a cab from Lena’s place and went back to her apartment. The day’s macabre events and the too-early vodka and tonic were taking their toll. News of Ray’s death left her in semi-shock. Ray, the poor man, was no longer an impediment to going to the Board. If Ray was murdered, the situation was truly dire. She should be talking to the police.

  It was sad that Ray Gaddis was dead, but in truth, he wouldn’t be missed—not by her and probably not by others. That sleazy smile of his was a turnoff. An image of Ray and Milton’s alleged copy-room encounter drifted through her mind. Although she hadn’t witnessed the episode, Silva’s account was enough to activate Zoie’s vivid imagination. She shook off that image, but it was quickly replaced by a gruesome vision of Ray’s body bobbing in the pool. What a way to go! Zoie shook her bowed head.

  “You all right, lady?” the cabdriver asked. His dark eyes had been peering at her in his rearview mirror.

  She didn’t answer.

  “If you’re going to throw up, I want to pull over. I just cleaned this car.”

  Zoie glanced down at the discolored taxi license posted behind his seat. It bore the driver’s face and an unpronounceable name. On most days she would have asked the driver, what country are you from? or, how do you pronounce your name? But today too many other things occupied her mind.

  “No problem. I’m okay,” she finally answered, looking up. Their eyes met in the rearview mirror, and he turned his attention back to the busy street.

  Zoie’s brain was trying to make sense of it all. What could have been going on in Ray’s house while she waited outside? Was he already dead while she sat in his driveway? He could have drowned just that morning. The cause of death could have been a suicide, an accidental fall, or a heart attack. Or was it murder, as Lena had speculated? Ray could have been distraught, fearing the exposure of his dirty dealings, causing him to commit suicide. Somehow Ray didn’t seem the suicide type. The scenarios of what went down were endless.

  When the cab slowed in the heavy Connecticut Avenue traffic, she became conscious of the early lunch crowd. Where was Jahi? She thought of looking at the throng. Had he heard about Ray? Once again she tried to contact him. Her attempt went to voice mail with one ring, as had all of the other attempts. Irritated, she left no message. It’s time to move past worrying about Jahi Khalfani, she thought. Despite what she told Lena, Zoie felt no obligation to protect Jahi or his budding political career. She wouldn’t withhold information on his account. Too much else was at stake.

  She had legal obligations as the Foundation’s attorney and the Board secretary. There would have to be an internal investigation. She would have to disclose everything she knew to the police and others, including her attempt to meet with Ray on the prior evening about the Shelter’s funding. Her personal relationship with Jahi couldn’t be a barrier to telling what she knew.

  As they neared her building, Zoie noticed that a nervous sweat had taken hold and left unsightly underarm stains on her silk blouse. She needed to retrieve her papers and make a quick wardrobe change before heading to the office.

  “When we get to the building, I want you to wait for me,” she blurted to the driver.

  “Lady, I can’t just sit and wait,” he said with pleasantly accented English.

  “Please, I just need to run in for a few minutes. Look, I’ll make it worth your while.” She rooted through her pocketbook and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “See?” she said, waving the bill like a flag so he could view it in the rearview mirror. “This is the tip if you wait.”

  “Then where do you want me to take you?” the driver asked.

  “Back downtown to K Street.”

  Unlike the continuous stream of cabs that cruised New York City’s main thoroughfares, DC cabs were few and far between. She’d been lucky to hail this cab in the southwest area of DC. Today Zoie didn’t want to deal with the Metro and the heat. The cabdriver mumbled under his breath as he considered her request. When he stopped in front of her building, he turned to her with a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know, lady,” he said.

  Zoie raised the twenty-dollar bill again for him to see. Twenty dollars for twenty minutes seemed fair to her.

  “Okay,” he responded, although his agreement to the arrangement was less than enthusiastic. “But you pay me now. I’ll wait for twenty minutes. But no more.”

  “Whatever,” Zoie said in a low tone. She paid him the fare she owed from Lena’s, plus the extra tip. “Okay, how about you give me your cell phone number. I’ll call you if I have to be longer.”

  “Lady, already you’re changing the deal,” he protested.

  “No, I’ll call if I don’t need you to wait. Look, I’ll make it worth your while.”

  The driver found a business card and, with a stub of a pencil, scratched a number on the front and handed it to her.

  “Thanks. Now I know how to find you,” she said half-jokingly and somewhat ominously.

  “Okay, lady. I got to feed my family. Twenty minutes only,” he reiterated as she backed out of his cab.

  Zoie keyed into her apartment building, whizzed past the door clerk (who seemed oblivious to her entry), and checked her watch as she entered the waiting elevator. The clock was ticking.

  Once in her apartment, she headed straight for the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and then entered her bedroom to find a different outfit. While flipping through her clothes rack, she put in a call to her assistant.

  “Regina! Good, I got you. I’ve been trying to reach you. Where have you been?”

  “They pulled us into the boardroom at ten thirty to tell us about Ray,” Regina said, sounding anxious. “You heard, didn’t you? Ray’s dead.”

  “Yeah. I talked to Milton.” Zoie was solemn.

  “It’s crazy around here. Arleen’s been balling nonstop, and Milton’s freakier than usual. I asked him whether I could leave. He told me we all had to stay. If you ask me, he needs to shut this place down. Ain’t no work getting done here today.”

  Zoie let out a heavy sigh. Her young assistant failed to realize that today would be one of the Foundation’s busiest days.

  “Zoie, can I leave? They’re letting Arleen go home,” Regina continued.

  “Regina, wait until I get there. Then we’ll see.”

  “And, Zoie, they’ve been looking for you.”

  “Who’s the they?”

  “Corporate, corporate legal, a couple of Board members, and a couple of grantees,” said Regina.

  “Damn!” Zoie stopped shuffling through her closet for a replacement outfit to consider what Regina had said. So the Board members had already found out. And maybe one of the grantees calling was Jahi, though Regina would have mentioned that.

  “Which grantees called?” Zoie asked to confirm her thinking.

  Regina rattled off the names of several people, none of whom had anything to do with the Shelter. She added, “I told them that you were out t
his morning on personal business.”

  “That’s fine. That’s all you need to say.” Zoie paused. “I’m sure Milton has told them that I’m on my way. What else?”

  “London is supposed to be here, and I heard he’s bringing another attorney from corporate to help out.”

  “London, huh.”

  From Regina’s account the Foundation’s office sounded like a zoo. Zoie knew her young assistant tended to exaggerate, but this time she believed her. If Averell London, Crayton’s chief operating officer, and his entourage were putting in an appearance, well, who knows what. London usually shied away from the Foundation’s business. He let Ray run his own show. After all, the Foundation was a separate entity. The additional legal assistance from corporate made sense. An emergency Board meeting had to be called, and a myriad of other things would need to occur.

  Changed from her summer suit into long pants and a fresh blouse, Zoie took thirty seconds to freshen her makeup. It would be a long evening. For a moment her thoughts shifted to Nikki. It was good that her daughter was out of town. The coming days would be hectic: the funeral, efforts to ensure continuity, police questioning, the emergency Board meeting, and God knows what else, once she told the Board her suspicions.

  As the clock ticked down on her twenty minutes, Zoie picked up the pace of her movements. She grabbed her pocketbook and keys from the bed then headed to the living room to grab her briefcase from between the couch and a small table. But other than the large fichus plant, the spot where she usually kept her briefcase was empty. A nearby stack of magazines lay toppled on the floor. Anxious, her eyes scanned the room. She was disgusted that she had misplaced her bag at such a crucial time. But her eyes returned to the spot where she’d last seen her briefcase, where her carefully stacked magazines had mysteriously collapsed. She checked the other side of the couch. No luck. Her eyes went to the table where she expected to see her laptop in its usual place on a placemat. The placemat was there but no laptop.

  “Okay, Zoie, get a grip,” she told herself. She moved around the room, this time being more surgical in her search. She checked all corners and then went into the bedroom. No luck. Could last night’s phone call with Nikki have left her so off kilter that she’d taken her laptop and briefcase into the bathroom? They weren’t in the bathroom or the kitchen. In the kitchen she noticed that her usually neat pile of bills on the side counter had been rifled.