A Woman's Revenge

by Sherri L. Lewis

  “Lies, deceit, murder, betrayal,” the announcer on the television said. I stopped crying. It was time for the next episode of Snapped. “A woman’s baby is kidnapped by her ex-husband.” This was going to be a trip. I settled in and watched with new enthusiasm, because this woman had done something that none of the other folks on Snapped had done. She’d hired a private detective. I sat up in my seat at the same time the oven was dinging to tell me my cookies were ready.

  Why hadn’t I thought of that? I went into the kitchen, pulled the tray from the oven, and placed it on top of the stove. A private detective. They find people. Maybe one could find Leon.

  I found my telephone book. I opened it to the yellow pages listings for private investigators. Empowered to take control over this mess, I placed a few calls.

  I got answering machine after answering machine. When I didn’t get a machine I reached a receptionist who, I imagined, was filing her nails and chewing bubblegum. Were these guys legit? I let out a long sigh, went into my office with the phone book, and plopped down into the chair. There were lots of them and I was in for the long haul on finding one. I was also nervous about what a service might cost.

  I had not turned on my computer in days, which was not like me. Big sign of depression. I needed to know how much money I had to the penny, so I booted up and signed on to my bank account and then my credit card account. I had about $200 in cash. No surprise there, but I didn’t realize how much I’d paid down my credit card. I had $1,800 in available credit. I twisted my lips. “What are the chances I can find him with two thousand dollars?” I said, but then I shook off doubt. I knew Leon could be anywhere in the entire world, especially with nearly $200,000, but I had to try. I had to do something.

  I picked up the phone and called the next private investigator listed in the book: Powers Investigations. The voice on the other end of the phone was not a bubblegum-chewing airhead. It was male and it definitely sounded powerful. It was strong, and sexy. He sounded black. Are brothers PIs? I was about to find out.

  “I need a consultation for a . . . I need to have someone . . . found,” I choked out the words.

  “That’s what I do,” the voice said. “But I don’t do phone meetings.”

  “I know. None of you do,” I replied, thinking about the response I’d gotten from the other detectives. “You’re local, so I’ll be there in twenty minutes if you can see me.”

  “Sure, I’m making my way through paperwork. I’d love to push it aside. Come right in.” The voice was so welcoming.

  I looked down at my ice cream–stained T-shirt, and thought about the three days’ worth of butt funk I needed to wash off and the matted mess on top of my head. “Make that an hour.”

  Chapter Six

  Powers Investigations was located in a small, two-room space over a lawyer’s office on a less-than-attractive street in downtown Chandler. I pushed the button for an elevator that looked like it had been installed by slaves. They were sorely in need of an upgrade. The building did not get me excited about Powers Investigations. I hoped he was in the habit of passing some of the money he saved on office space to his customers, because I’d been quoted some hefty prices on the other calls.

  The elevator creaked and croaked, and I finally made it to the second floor. I was relieved when the door opened. I was even more relieved when I found Hill Harper or, rather, his taller, even more handsome brother standing there. My voice left me.

  “Ms. Watson.” He reached his hand out, and took mine. “Be careful. The step isn’t even.”

  I looked down and saw that the elevator floor was not quite in line with the carpeted hallway I was exiting on to. I looked back up and time seemed to stop. He was staring. His soft, chestnut eyes had tiny flecks of green in the irises. They looked like topaz gemstones. The earlier apprehension left my body. It went back down to the first floor with the closing elevator.

  “I’m Kemuel Powers. Most people call me Powers.” He released my hand, which I needed him to do. A sista was feeling really vulnerable, and the last thing I needed was to think Mr. Powers had magical powers, or I’d be handing over my credit card hoping he’d rescue me. A good-looking man had already beat me out of my money this month.

  “Let’s step into my office.”

  We moved about ten feet to a set of doors, and passed through a small reception area that was meagerly furnished with a desk, chair, and a pitiful, floor-sized plant that was in need of pruning and water. We then entered a huge office. I gathered it took up the entire top floor of the building because it had a panoramic shape, with windows that provided views from two angles. It was dark. Not because there weren’t opportunities for light, but because the blinds, like hooded eyes, were barely open, and the wood was that dark, knotty pine that could be found in the older buildings and houses in this part of Phoenix. Although large, the room was divided by a glass-beaded curtain that made it appear much smaller than it was. Hanging beads? I didn’t even know they still made those.

  “Please have a seat.” He motioned to one of two club chairs on the side opposite from the chair he slipped into behind the desk.

  I took in the massive wooden bookshelves that ran from the floor to the ceiling in almost every corner of the room. It looked more like a library than an office. Nearly every nook and cranny of the space was filled with books. There were hundreds of them. I wondered if he’d read them all.

  Powers’s desk was completely clean, except for two five-by-seven framed pictures that I could see held pictures of women; one with two boys and the other in a graduation cap and gown. The only other things on the desk were a telephone, laptop computer, a pen, and a legal pad. “Your family?” I asked, pointing at the picture of the woman with the children.

  He picked up the frame. “Yes, my baby sister and my nephews. They live in Nashville. Moved about two years ago when her husband was relocated with his company. I miss them terribly.” He put the picture down, chuckled, and reached for the other frame. “And this is my older sister. She’s an attorney with lots of unsolicited, big-sisterly advice. I don’t miss her as much.”

  “Local?” I asked, nervously twisting the strap of my handbag around my fingers.

  Powers noticed my fidgeting and sat back in his seat. “Los Angeles.”

  I nodded and attempted to smile. When I couldn’t manage one, I slid my eyes away from his and surveyed the rest of the office space, the side beyond the beaded curtain. A sofa, television, and small kitchenette were in residence. I wondered if Powers lived behind the glass veil.

  “So tell me, Ms. Watson.” His voice was deep and strong, but still gentle. It was time to get down to business. “What can I do to help you today?”

  I couldn’t avoid this part anymore. It was the reason I was here, so I took a deep breath and forced myself to meet his gaze. “My husband is missing.” I cleared my throat. “And so is a hundred and eighty thousand dollars of money that belonged to our nonprofit organization.”

  Powers didn’t blink. He merely nodded his head, picked up a pen, and began to take notes. “Tell me more.”

  “What exactly do you need to know?” I clutched my purse to my abdomen. I was about to embarrass myself with my ridiculous tale. I didn’t want to tell any of it that I didn’t have to.

  “Everything,” Powers said. “Tell me how you met him and move forward. Don’t leave anything out.” He smiled, and even though I hated to share my story, I couldn’t help but relax as I recounted my first meeting with Leon.

  “Miss Taylor, what a pleasure to finally put a face to the voice.” Leon Watson of Temple Realty stuck out one hand for a quick shake and put the other on my shoulder. He escorted me into his office. “Please have a seat.”

  He was a tall, well-made piece of eye candy: white teeth, nice haircut, and good diction. I was in instant like. He offered me a beverage and then immediately went into telling me how excited he was to list my property. I was thrilled, because no one else had been that enthusiastic about the neighborho
od my grandmother’s house was in.

  “I’d like to sell it as is,” I said. “The house is paid for. It was willed to me.”

  I had mentally gone to another place when I recounted my first meeting with Leon. The clearing of Power’s throat brought me back to the present. He was taking a lot of notes. It seemed he was transcribing every word I said, so I continued.

  “I wanted to sell the house as is, but Leon convinced me that if I invested seven or eight thousand dollars in it, I could easily recoup that and another ten. He convinced me to take out a small mortgage on my house to pay for the renovations,” I said. “He even helped me find inexpensive labor and personally assisted me with painting the rooms. Of course by then we were no longer ‘Miss Taylor’ and ‘Mr. Watson.’ We were dating.” Hot and heavy, I thought. It was me who cleared a throat this time. “Anyway, we connected from that first meeting, because he seemed to be so excited about my plans. He told me it had always been his desire to work with the disadvantaged youth on Phoenix’s south side. The Micah Center was his dream too.”

  “So, he told you he had a small amount of money saved, continued to date you until the house sold, and then asked you to marry him.” Powers’s matter-of-fact tone pulled me from my memory.

  I took a deep breath, looked down at my hands, and then back up at him. “That easy to figure out?”

  Powers shook his head. “For me, but I’m a professional. This is what I do all day. Every day,” he replied. “Except on Sundays.” He smiled again and I wondered what he did on Sundays. I wondered if he was a Christian. I’d noticed he had a large plaque on the wall behind him with a scripture embossed on it. Scriptures didn’t always mean people loved Jesus, but it was a sign that maybe I was dealing with someone with integrity. I wasn’t trying to get robbed again.

  “This happens all the time. It’s very common.” Powers’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “I had a similar case just a few months ago.” I knew he was trying to make me feel better about my foolishness, but it wasn’t working. I should have thought through things more carefully. Leon really was too good to be true.

  “If my instincts are correct, you may be the victim of a sweetheart swindle.” Powers put his pen down and sat back in his chair. “Most of us aren’t aware of the vast amounts of information we give to others when we’re chatting with them. In the workplace, at the gym, on a plane, but especially in a new business relationship such as one where you’re listing a home. If, in fact, you’ve been a victim of a con artist, men like your husband absorb every tidbit of information that you tell them. They observe things that other people don’t notice. How we dress, our choice of hairstyles, the type of car we drive, what part of town we live in, and a host of other clues are given away without us ever uttering a word. After a con artist gets his prey to start talking, the game begins. They’ll do and say whatever they believe the victim wants to see and hear to get close to their money.”

  “But I don’t get it; con artists prey on people with money. I barely had two dimes to rub together when Leon and I met.” Kind of like now, I wanted to add.

  “You had property and a dream. A dream that was going to require you to turn that property into cash. You shared your plans with him in your first meeting, so he knew you weren’t going to close on one house and immediately buy another. He knew the money would be sitting around in an account until you spent it down.”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t believe that I was some type of mark from the moment Leon met me. “Isn’t it possible that he met a woman and ran off with her? I almost think that would make me feel better than being completely set up.”

  “It’s possible.” Powers picked up his pen. “But not likely. I mean, you’ve only been married four and a half months, Mrs. Watson. You’re a very attractive woman. You could easily hold his attention for longer than that. I can’t imagine that he would be looking for a girlfriend so early in your marriage.”

  Very attractive. Those words were a shot of espresso. Boy did I need that hit, especially since I’d been thinking that in addition to his being an obvious thief, Leon’s leaving had something to do with me, my inadequacies, the ones that crept to the forefront every time I met a man and every time one left me.

  “Let me have his social security number and I’ll do a background check.” Powers picked up his pen again. “Hopefully, the one you have is his real one. We’ll see what I find.”

  “So, you’ll take my case?” My head bobbed like it was on springs. I didn’t want to go through the humiliation of telling this story to another PI. Besides, he was a brother. I felt comfortable with him.

  “I can,” Powers said. “I have time and I think it’ll be fairly easy to help you, especially if you have the right social, but even if you don’t, we’ll nail down who he is.”

  I nodded. “We need to talk about money.” I gripped my purse tighter. “My husband has most of it. All I have is a credit card and there’s not a whole lot of money on it.”

  “We can start with a retainer. I’ll try to work quickly,” he said as if it didn’t matter how much money I had. “Just so you know the steps, I’ll begin with a background check and put together a profile. I’ll see if he’s using any credit cards anywhere, using his ID for flights or trains, see if he’s purchased a car. If I can’t find him actively moving, I’ll try to locate him based on something from his past.”

  I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t believe I was sitting here talking about background checks and profiles. I was supposed to be at work, groaning about my accounts and my boss. Dreaming about the day I could sit in an office, side by side with my husband running our center, not sitting in a private investigator’s office. My eyes began to get wet. I fought letting the tears fall. “That sounds expensive.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” he replied. “Trust me, I’m fast.”

  I nodded. Instinctively, I trusted Powers, which wasn’t really saying much, because I’d instinctively trusted Leon. But I was here and I had to try something. I reached into my purse for my credit card. “Let’s get started.”

  Chapter Seven

  My days were starting to run into each other. I hadn’t left the house since I’d met with Powers. I had even let myself run out of ice cream. Erin would not stop harassing me. She was my best friend, but I was starting to wonder if she had a multiple personality disorder. Her messages were getting on my last nerve. “Girl, I told you he was no good,” and “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” and “We should pray.” She was making me crazier than I was making myself.

  Then there was Kym, my virtual administrative assistant for the Micah Foundation. We hadn’t talked since Friday morning. She’d been calling and texting and sending e-mails nonstop. “Tamera.” Kym barked my name and pulled me out of the fog. “Are you listening to me? I need to get the invitations out to the corporate donors. You have to approve the verbiage.”

  I should tell her, I thought. She was invested in this project too. Even though she was being paid, Kym had always gone above and beyond the dollars she invoiced me for, because she believed in what Leon and I were doing. I should tell her. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t say it today. I washed my hands over my face and bit my lip.

  “Tam, is something wrong?”

  I forgot we were on a video conference call. I looked at my computer monitor and found Kym staring back at me. “I just need coffee,” I said. “It’s six A.M.”

  “And that’s not new. We always meet at six A.M.” Kym’s irritation was rising. “Tamera, you’ve been acting strange for days. Not showing up for our meetings, and I haven’t even seen Leon. What’s going on? Is there something I need to know?”

  I grimaced. “I just need a little more time. Some things are happening with the 501(c).” I felt guilty about lying to her. I was lying to everyone these days.

  “What things?” Kym asked. “You don’t even need that to open. It’s not a priority item right now.”

  I didn’t want Kym to see my face, so I reached
down into a drawer like I was looking for something as I spoke. “I should have it resolved in a day or so. The lawyer is helping. Really it’s minor.” I sat back up to face her.

  Kym held up a legal pad that was filled with items. “Then we need to get through this list.”

  I nodded and Kym proceeded to tell me the fifty things I needed to do in the next week to keep us on schedule for the opening. I pretended to be listening, said, “Okay, all right, sure and uh-hum.” I nodded as appropriate. I even faked taking notes.

  “I’ll e-mail it all to you again.” There was a little less irritation in her voice. “I really need you to at least approve the invitation, and the artwork today. Oh and the furniture. If you want chairs for people to sit in you have to pick them today. The supplier has a three-week delivery window.”

  “I hear you, Kym. I’ll do all those things today.”

  “Make sure you do.” Kym wagged a finger at me. “We’ll reconvene this time tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I have to get dressed for work.” She nodded and I pushed the mouse to end the call.

  Maybe I could send her an e-mail. People broke up by text message these days. An e-mail wouldn’t be too bad. I needed to get her off the payroll after all. I didn’t have money to pay her to keep working for a center that wasn’t going to happen. I sighed and turned off the computer. After I left the office, I slowly marched up the stairs to my bedroom and climbed back under the covers on my side. Leon’s side continued to be undisturbed. I dared not stretch my body across the expanse of mattress. Doing so would be a reminder of the awful place I was in right now. A reminder like that closet, I thought, looking at the now closed door where Leon’s possessions remained. The closet full of his clothes and shoes he apparently didn’t need anymore now that he was living it up with my money.