Deep Six

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOURI arrived at the office the next morning and found a woman seated in the waiting area. I had no appointments, so I assumed she was there to see an accountant. However, when I entered, Sheila stopped typing, turned toward the visitor, and said, “This is Ms. McRae.”

The woman, who sported a wild mop of raven locks, a long paisley skirt, a loose-fitting black top, and a pair of Birkenstocks, looked ready for a community players’ production of “Hair.” She rose and approached me.

“Hi,” she said, in a voice flat as a tortilla. “I’m Ariel Lorenz.” She extended her hand while giving me the once-over. I shook it, and she gripped my hand hard enough to crack walnuts. I smiled back at her.

“Nice to meet you, Ariel,” I said. Asshole.

“I understand Linda is arranging for you to represent our group in a zoning appeal. I think we need to talk about this.”

I smiled wider. “Let’s go up to my office.”

She shook her head. “I don’t have much time. And I think we can square matters away without a lot of fuss. Why don’t we just clear this up now and be done with it?”

“I don’t do business in my landlord’s reception area. Besides, as I understand it, you aren’t the group’s spokesperson. So, I can’t agree to anything with just you.”

She crossed her arms. “I don’t like your attitude.”

“I wasn’t finished,” I said, my smile fixed firmly in place. “Even if we can’t, as you’ve said, ‘clear this up now and be done with it,’ I’m willing to hear you out. In my office, not in my landlord’s reception area. Okay?”

To her credit, Ariel’s arms uncrossed and fell to her sides. Her lips curled up into a slight grin. “Okay . . . fair enough. There are some things Linda may not have mentioned that you should know before you accept the case. And frankly, some of the CASD members are a bit leery of going forward and spending eight grand to do so, given the circumstances.”

I gave her the open-palmed gesture of tolerance and willingness to listen. “That’s fine. Shall we go up to my office and talk?”

She said nothing but again gave me the once-over.

“Fair enough,” she repeated.

I led the way to the stairs, wondering what awesome things Linda hadn’t bothered telling me.

I unlocked the door and waved toward one of the guest chairs. Ariel sat down.

“I hope you don’t mind if I take a few minutes to start some coffee,” I said. “I can’t really do anything before my first cup of the day. And you said you were in a rush.”

“Well,” she said, her mouth aslant. “Maybe not that much of a rush.”

It took me no time to run through my usual routine of brewing a pot of dark French roast coffee, booting my computer, and serving my guest a cup of coffee with sugar as per her request, while serving myself one black and settling in behind my desk.

“Now then, Ms. Lorenz . . .”

“Please. Call me Ariel.”

I nodded. “Ariel. Please call me Sam. What was it you wanted to tell me?”

She placed a leather shoulder bag with a patchwork pattern on her lap, opened it, and pulled out a business-size envelope. “Before I show you this, I think I should give you some background information. Our group—CASD—has objected to this rezoning and development from the very beginning. Everyone knows where we stand, and if you know anything about Prince George’s County, you know that it’s a small world. So, it’s not like I can prove anything. However, it seems pretty peculiar that right around the time we started talking about bringing the zoning appeal, some of our members had their cars vandalized.”

She paused.

I nodded. “Worrisome.” More than a little. It suggested a possible vendetta against the group. All over a zoning appeal, though? That was a little hard to believe.

She dipped her head once, as if to acknowledge my skepticism. “Now, read this and tell me what you think.”

She handed me the envelope, which had been neatly sliced open along the lengthwise edge. I pulled out the contents, a single sheet of white 8-1/2 by 11 inch paper, with the following printed message: Drop the appeal or someone will get hurt.

While I hadn’t been fully prepared for such a message, I had enough experience with bad surprises to keep my expression neutral.

I scanned the note for obvious clues as to its origin. The printing looked like standard Times Roman from a laser printer. The plain white paper bore no obvious watermark or other clear identifying feature. So much for obvious clues.

I nodded. “I can understand your concern. I’m just not sure exactly what you want me to do. As I understand it, the group voted to go forward with the appeal. Am I missing something?”

She heaved a sigh. “Here’s the thing, Sam. With so many members’ cars being vandalized, then this note showing up, plus all the political pressure in favor of bringing developments like Graybeck’s into the county, how would you feel about spending eight thousand dollars to bring an appeal you’d probably lose?”

I stopped short of rubbing my face with my hands. “That’s not a question I can answer. It sounds to me like your group has to meet and decide, once and for all, what it really wants.”

“I’m so glad you said that. It sounds like we’re in agreement on this. Linda’s acting as if this was all completely settled. Well, it is and it isn’t. I’ve tried to suggest that we talk about this again, especially given how close the vote was. Anyway, I had the day off and I wanted to talk to you in person. Get a chance to meet you. Thank you for hearing me out.”

“And thank you for coming by,” I said, not telling her why.

If she hadn’t been there, I probably would’ve picked up the phone, called Linda, screamed obscenities at her, and slammed the receiver down.