by Joy Copeland
“I told Milton I’d be in later. Anyway, I’m here now,” Zoie said, shaking off Howard’s obvious criticism of her absence. She never liked him. “Is Milton in his office?”
“I think so. Poor guy, he’s taking this hard.”
Zoie found Milton in his office. He was trying to focus, but she could tell he wasn’t having much success. He looked up from the papers on his desk. His red puffy eyes indicated that he’d been crying, and his milky skin, which was more translucent than usual, made him look sick.
“How are you doing, Milton?” she asked gently, settling into the chair at his desk.
“Hanging in there,” he answered with a sniffle. “You missed London and his entourage.”
“I heard.”
“They intend to name me the acting head of the Foundation.” He waited for her response to this news, but Zoie was silent. “That’s just until they vet candidates to present to the Board,” he continued.
“Okay,” she finally said.
“We need you to do the acting paperwork. Did you see the announcement about Ray we e-mailed out?”
She hadn’t seen it and didn’t have a laptop to take a look. But she wasn’t going to bring up the missing laptop now. She was just happy that so far Milton hadn’t asked about her morning whereabouts.
“I’m still in shock about this whole thing,” Milton said. “A Montgomery County police detective called about an hour ago. He said Ray’s death looked real suspicious.”
“Suspicious how?”
“The drowning might not have been an accident or a suicide.” Milton grabbed a tissue and wiped his nose.
“Oh!” she said, feigning surprise.
“They’re are going to want some of Ray’s papers. We’ll have to send some boxes of his stuff up to Crayton’s headquarters. Could you give Arleen some guidance on preparing those boxes?”
“Sure.”
“That is, if she can pull herself together tomorrow,” Milton said.
“Yeah.”
“And they want some of us to go up to Gaithersburg to make statements. Since you are the Foundation’s attorney, I think you should be present.”
Zoie winced. Milton, having lowered his head, missed her reaction.
“Sure, if that makes sense,” she said. “I’ll probably have to make a statement as well.”
“I promised them our full cooperation. Hey, we’ve got nothing to hide, right?”
“Right,” she answered, thinking of all she was hiding already.
“Who would have wanted to kill Ray? This whole thing doesn’t make sense.”
Actually, it did make sense, but Zoie couldn’t tell Milton what she knew. She took a few notes about calls to the Board and plans for an emergency Board meeting, plus other odds and ends, things that she would suggest to him. Milton wasn’t only grieving. He was overwhelmed. When she left him, he was sitting with his elbows on his desk, cradling his face, and trying—through misty eyes—to focus on some papers.
Zoie stopped by her office to grab a few papers and check Regina’s cube. Still no Regina. Needing a computer, she installed herself in a guest cubicle. But before logging on she took a deep breath, unfolded the small paper, and read Simon’s latest prophecy. “What you want to know is through a place men dare not go.”
“What the hell?” she said under her breath. She read the prophecy two more times. “I don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?” said a breathless Regina, who popped her head into the cubicle. “Zoie, why are you sitting here?”
“I left my laptop at home.”
“Oh,” Regina said with a bewildered look. “Anyway, I brought donuts, if you’re interested. Oh, some woman’s called you a couple of times. Something about your grandmother.”
“What about my grandmother?” Zoie demanded.
“Sorry, Zoie. I couldn’t follow her accent. I told her you were due here any minute.”
“If someone calls about my grandmother, you call me right away,” Zoie instructed.
“Gee, sorry. I figured you’d walk in the door right after I hung up with her. I was distracted by all those Crayton execs. The phone call skipped my mind until just now.” Regina sounded truly contrite.
Yeah, distracted by that skinny-assed boy. Zoie’s jaws were tight, but she took a deep breath to calm herself. She wasn’t going to mention Tarik unless Regina did. Zoie whipped out her phone and called her grandmother’s house. The phone rang a number of times before shifting over to voice mail.
“I can’t get my grandmother on the phone. God, I wonder what’s going on. She’s not answering. Queen’s not answering.”
“Who’s Queen?” Regina asked.
“My grandmother’s caretaker—probably the woman whose accent you couldn’t decipher.”
“Oh.”
“Look, I have to leave. It might be a medical emergency. Tell Milton.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll check in later.”
“Zoie…may I just leave? Ain’t nothing going on here.”
“No!”
Regina was none too happy. She sucked her teeth, rolled her eyes, and stomped away. Her behavior reminded Zoie of Nikki, except Nikki was six and Regina was twenty-something.
Zoie shook her head and called Muwakkil. “Meet me outside…now.”
Foundation business would have to wait.
Chapter 36
Who’d Want to Burn Down Your House?
Muwakkil pulled up behind the fire department’s wagon, which was parked in front of Frances Woods’s house on Brandywine.
“My God! What’s going on?” Zoie said as she stretched to see ahead from the taxi’s back seat.
“Doesn’t look good,” Muwakkil replied. “Do you need my help?”
“No. Stay here,” Zoie ordered.
She grabbed her pocketbook and bolted from the taxi. The smell of smoke filled her with dread. She looked up at the house, which sat some seventeen steps above the street, and then wasted no time bounding the steps to the front porch. There she found a uniformed officer, who was wearing examination gloves and busy scanning the porch’s banister with a magnifying glass.
“Who are you?” the officer asked, coming forward to greet her.
“This is my grandmother’s house. Where is she?” Zoie said, trying to catch her breath. “What happened?”
“The older lady who lives here was taken away earlier today.”
“What? Where?”
“Calm down. Nobody was hurt.”
“But what happened? Where is she?”
“We were told she went to a friend’s house. There was a fire here earlier. As far as I know, the two ladies who live here are okay.”
“Thank God,” Zoie said, finally exhaling.
“You best go around the side. That’s where the damage is. You’ll find the officer in charge. He’ll fill you in.”
Zoie made her way down three steps and off the porch, to the level portion of the steep yard. The low-cropped ivy, which had overtaken the stone pavers, had been trampled by recent activity. At the side of the house, she found a uniformed police officer and two uniformed men, who seemed to be fire investigators. Mason Hall, Queen’s brother and her grandmother’s sometimes handyman, were also there.
“Zoie, we’ve been looking for you all day,” Mason said, coming over to her.
“Mason, where’s my grandmother?”
“Don’t worry. She’s safe. She’s at my sister’s place.” Mason’s accent was not as thick as his sister’s.
“How did this happen?”
“Not sure, but my sister said she heard some noise. She came downstairs and smelled smoke and then saw flames outside the kitchen door. The smoke was coming in under the door. Wasn’t nothin’ she could do, so she grabbed your grandmother and got out.”
“But how’s my grandmother?”
“Doing well, considering. What a scare.”
“Thank you for taking her in.”
“Well, she wasn’t going to the hospital—she
made that clear. Her nerves are bad. Look what’s happened to her house.” Mason shook his head and pointed to the large swath of blackened bricks and the charred remnants of the side porch. “I’m taking pictures to show her. When these guys give me the okay, I’ll board up this door. Can’t leave the place open like this.”
One of the fire investigators came over to Zoie. “Are you related to the owner?”
“Yes, I’m Mrs. Woods’s granddaughter. Can you explain how this happened?”
“We’re still working on it.” He wiped his brow. “But we’re pretty sure it was arson. Around 1:15 p.m., a 911 call came in to respond to a fire here. The call came from one of your grandmother’s neighbors. A preliminary investigation of the fire scene indicated arson. The firemen were able to put out the fire, which caused little damage. Looks as if the kitchen, though, is going to need some fixing.” He pushed open the charred kitchen door with its broken window to reveal the inside damage. Zoie stuck her head inside and coughed. The place was black with smoke.
“You said arson?”
“Yeah, we’re pretty sure it was arson.” The investigator directed her attention to labeled items in clear plastic bags, which were all spread out on a large tarp. “We found melted plastic from a milk container. The perpetrator probably filled the container with gasoline and used it as the igniting device. The technique reminds me of fires caused by Thomas Sweatt. He set side porches on fires.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not familiar with that man.”
“I thought everybody knew about that guy. He set fires all over DC and PG County some years back. But this ain’t him. Sweatt’s doing life at a federal pen.”
“Oh, I just recently moved back to the area.”
“I see. Well, we’ve had a few copycats since then…I didn’t get your name.”
“Zoie Taylor.”
“Ms. Taylor, I’m going to need to get your grandmother’s insurance information, and I’m going to want to get her statement and the statement of someone named Queen Fleming.”
“Queen Fleming is her caretaker and Mr. Hall’s sister. I’m sure my grandmother wants him to board up the place until we can get the insurance company in here and the repairs made. My grandmother’s frail.”
“We’ll go wherever she is to get the statement. We’ve already interviewed several of the neighbors to determine whether they noticed anyone casing the place or just anything. After we talk to your grandmother and Ms. Fleming, our report will be ready in a few days. She’ll need that report for the insurance adjustor. He handed Zoie a business card.”
“Thanks.”
“Ms. Taylor, do you know who might’ve wanted to hurt your grandmother?”
“No, not off hand,” Zoie lied.
“Why would someone want to torch her house out of all the houses on the block? These things usually aren’t random.”
Zoie’s eyes widened. She shrugged.
“Well, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“I hope the people who live in that house are okay,” Muwakkil said when Zoie entered the taxi. He’d been watching the action from down the street.
“Yes, thank God,” Zoie sighed. She leaned back into the seat and closed her eyes.
“Okay, lady, where to now?”
“Back to the Northeast,” she answered. Then she handed him the bit of paper that she had been holding—Queen’s Brentwood address.
Queen’s house was a small structure that could have been a row house since its distance from the neighboring houses was about the width of two persons standing shoulder to shoulder. With a chain-link fence and a screened front porch, the place looked sealed up. Zoie passed through the fence, went up a few stairs, and rang the doorbell. Queen opened the door before the bell stopped ringing.
“Mason said you were on your way here. Thank God you finally got my message,” Queen said in her singsong fashion.
“So sorry that I took so long.”
“I’ve been calling you on your mobile.”
Some of the calls I didn’t answer must’ve been from Queen. “Sorry. I’ve been having phone problems all day,” Zoie explained with a lie. “When I got to work, they told me that you called about my grandmother, so I went to the house.”
“Didn’t your secretary tell you to call here? I left the number.”
“Unfortunately, no. Things are crazy there today. The head of the Crayton Foundation, where I work, was found dead at his home this morning. But enough about that. How is she?”
“Come see for yourself.”
“Zoie! Zoie!” said Frances Woods, who was sitting on the couch in the small living room, which was filled with furnishings that seemed bloated in comparison with the room’s dimensions. Frances Woods looked lost in the oversized couch. But there were plenty of pillows stuffed behind her and a small stool for her feet.
Zoie sat next to her grandmother and hugged her.
“I’m so glad they found you. How’s the house? Did you see it?” Frances Woods asked, grabbing Zoie’s arm.
“The house will be repaired. A lot of smoke-related damage, but it’s a sturdy brick thing. As you used to tell me when I was little, ‘The big bad wolf can’t blow our house down.’ Gonna take some work to fix it, though. Mason is taking pictures. He’ll be back soon. But how are you?”
“Still alive,” Frances Woods answered with a shrug. “Still alive, thanks to Queen here. God don’t give you more than you can bear. Though I guess I’m homeless for a while.”
“The arson investigators are going to come and talk to you and Queen.”
“I’m not going to be able to tell them much. Why someone would want to set fire to my house, I don’t know.”
“Well, Grandma, I’m going to have to leave. Things are crazy at work,”
“Crazier than this?” Frances Woods asked, her tone sarcastic. She wheezed a bit and started to cough.
“My boss was found dead this morning at his home. The police are speculating that it wasn’t an accident.”
“Lord, Lord,” Frances Woods exclaimed.
“So you see things are crazy there. But I’ll be back.”
“Zo, this has nothing to do with that guy you were upset about, does it?”
“I sure hope not.”
Frances Woods grimaced. “You stay safe. In the meantime I guess I need to find some place to stay until my house is livable again.”
“Mrs. Woods, you’re welcomed to stay here until your house is ready,” Queen said. “Now I think you need to stop talking before you bring on one of your spells.”
Frances Woods gasped for air and then coughed again. She wanted desperately to continue talking and to question her granddaughter about the troubles at her job, but her body wasn’t cooperating. “Zo, stay safe,” she managed.
“I’m trying.” Zoie went to the door and whispered to Queen, “Thank you so much for having my grandmother stay with you.”
“Not a problem. I’d be taking care of her at her house anyway. I’ll put a little TV in the spare room. She can sleep there,” Queen said
“Okay. I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter 37
The Sisters’ Bond
Zoie said goodbye to her grandmother and Queen and went outside to find Muwakkil. Snippets of a plan began to percolate in her head. Leaning on the chain-link fence of the small Brentwood house, she called Lena.
“Just heard about another downsizing at the paper,” Lena said, sounding sober.
The paper was none other than the Washington Times, the politically right-leaning, second-banana DC newspaper. The changing world of digital newspapers, blogs, and news feeds, plus the 24-7 cable news, played havoc with hardcopy news readership and its advertising revenue. Like a dinosaur in the ice age, print media was in a fight for its very existence. Would the Washington Times survive? Zoie doubted that it would in the long term. Lena was surely thinking the same.
“Sorry to hear that,” Zoie said, stifling the urge to immediately spill the tale of her own trib
ulations. “Have you been affected?”
“Don’t know yet.” Lena sucked her teeth. “The rumor mill is cranking. Unfortunately, the rumored layoff is probably true. Guess I’ll hear something official in a few days,” she said.
“You’ll be okay,” said Zoie in an attempt to encourage her.
“From your lips to God’s ears. And what about you? Did you locate our golden boy?”
Golden boy, also known as Jahi. “No!” Zoie replied in disgust. “Our ‘golden boy’ is still MIA. But a lot has happened since we talked this morning.”
“You mean Ray Gaddis’s death isn’t enough drama?”
“It’s too complicated for a phone conversation. I’m a wreck. I need your help.”
“Hmm,” said Lena. “Don’t know what it is or what I can do. As far as the Gaddis situation, I’m sure you’re way ahead of me. I’ve turned in my background research on Ray to the City Desk. It’s primary on this story.”
“Wait until you hear what I’ve got to tell you. It’s bad.”
“Hmm, sounds interesting,” chirped Lena. “You’re cheering me up. I hate to admit it, but when someone else is worse off, I get to count my blessings. Meet me back at my building in about thirty minutes so you can cheer me up some more.”
Again in Muwakkil’s cab, Zoie considered her options. How could Lena fit into what she was planning? She had to tell someone what was going on. She hadn’t thought it all out. Before going to Queen’s house, she toyed with the idea of going back to the Shelter to snoop around. Whoever was threatening her, whoever had stolen her laptop and briefcase, whoever had murdered Ray, and now whoever had set fire to her grandmother’s house had to be connected to the Shelter.
As for finding Jahi, she’d all but given up on that quest. Was he really out of town as his campaign manager had told her? Perhaps this out-of-town jaunt was cover for more sinister activities. She no longer knew who or what to believe.
Getting into the Shelter wouldn’t be easy. The powers that be, likely Tarik, would never let her in to look around. Being on Foundation business wouldn’t help either. No, this time the official route wouldn’t work. Something was telling her to checkout the women’s section, the area that she’d skipped during her tour. “Where men could not go” fit Simon’s latest prophecy.