Laura Lippman - Baltimore Blues

"Then you showed up. I knew after I talked to you the second time that you weren't an IRS person, you were too clueless-"

"Thanks."

"But you did mention you had looked up the charter. And this was just two days later! It took me six weeks! Can you find the tax forms that fast? Our annual meeting is next month, and I want to see where the money went before we elect Pru to another year."

Tess could tell it had never occurred to Cecilia that she might not help her. For her, the only issue was how fast Tess could solve her problem. Free of charge, of course. She didn't understand the code of the full-time freelancer, who never traded time without receiving money. Still, it was an easy enough job, and one that wouldn't result in anyone getting killed.

"You were on the right track, but in the wrong office. The attorney general's office is for foundations , the folks who give away the money. If you want to see the files on charities, which raise money, you need the secretary of state's office in Annapolis."

"OK, let's go." Cecilia actually grabbed Tess's arm and started hustling her toward the door. She was not only quick but strong.

"Hold on a minute." Tess shook her arm loose with some effort. "I'm not exactly in a position to head off to Annapolis right now. I have an appointment later. But I may be able to help you out with a quick phone call."

Covering the United Way had finally paid off. Tess found an old friend at the secretary of state's office who agreed to fax VOMA's latest tax statement. Within minutes the 990 forms were peeling off Kitty's fax machine. Cecilia grabbed each one as it arrived, staring at them uncomprehendingly.

"Here, let me show you what to look for," Tess said, taking the facsimiles from her. "In its last tax year, 1992, VOMA received almost $35,000. Most of it, about $30,000, appears to be from a grant. The rest is presumably from your fund-raisers."

"But why are we having fund-raisers if we get $25,000 a year? Pru acts as if we're always broke. She didn't even want to have that party last week. Everyone had to kick in, and the chips came from Price Club."

"Got me." Tess flipped through the pages. "Strike that. Got Pru."

She held out the page on which all compensated officers had to be listed. Prudence Henderson, according to the form, was receiving $30,000 a year for her services as president-treasurer.

"Is that legal?"

"As long as the board agrees, and Pru is the board. Under state and federal law all VOMA has to do is file these papers. It's outrageous, paying most of a charity's proceeds to one person's salary, but VOMA is a one-woman show. Besides, anyone can look up what we just looked up. Pru is betting they won't. After all, the salary doesn't look exorbitant-unless you know she pulls down another full-time paycheck. She does, doesn't she?"

Cecilia nodded. "At an accounting firm."

"Which means she can do VOMA's tax disclosures herself, saving a few more dollars-for herself. It's sleazy as hell, but I think she stayed within the law. If you took it to the newspaper, someone might write about it. But if I were you I'd just tell the other members what you know. I'm sure, as a group, you can reach a consensus about what to do with Pru."

Cecilia didn't seem to be paying attention. She beat Kitty's desk with her tiny fists, making the fax machine and phone jump alarmingly. "Dammit. Goddammit to hell."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. This is arcane stuff. Not many people know how it works."

"You don't understand. I wish Abramowitz were still alive so I could ask him. He filed the charter, he may have known something. I went to see him-"

"You went to see Abramowitz? What did he say?"

"Not much. He was dead."

In her astonishment Tess unwittingly did a very good imitation of Joey Dumbarton. "But you weren't on the sheet. No one goes up without signing the sheet." Or bribing the guard .

"Look, when I want answers I want them now . I tracked Abramowitz down at his office, and he said I could come see him, although ‘client privilege' might keep him from telling me anything. The guard let me up in exchange for my phone number. Not a real one, of course. But when I got up there, Abramowitz was on the floor, with blood everywhere, so I left. When I got home I called 911, but they had already been notified. If the police hadn't caught the guy the next day, I might have told someone what I saw. But they had him, so I figured it wasn't important. And I didn't want to explain to anyone why I was there. I never want to testify in court again. And I wanted to keep VOMA out of it. Even if Pru is a crook, it's a private matter. I don't want to hurt the group."

Tess pinched the bridge of her nose. She had a feeling she was about to get a tension headache. "Do you remember the time you went up to his office? I mean, more or less."

"Ten-twenty, ten twenty-five."

Great, they had lost fifteen minutes. Rock said he had been outside by 10:10, according to the Bromo Seltzer tower. Frank Miles had called the guard at 10:35. That had given them twenty-five minutes. Cecilia's visit meant someone else had to enter the office, kill Abramowitz, and leave in less than fifteen minutes. Maybe ten.

"You know I work for the…suspect. He's a friend of mine."

"I figured that out. Give him my thanks."

She got up to leave, gathering the fax papers together.

"Are you going to confront Pru? Or tell the rest of the group what was going on?"

"I think I'll give Pru a chance to explain herself first. She was a good friend to me once. She did run the group; maybe she deserved a little money for it. Besides, being greedy's not the worst thing in the world. Not even close."

As Cecilia strode through the store, Tess saw Crow's eyes following her appreciatively. She sensed a new crush forming and immediately wished he were staring at her again. She hadn't expected much from Crow, but she had expected his adoration, from a comfortable distance, to warm her a little while longer.

The bookstore's door, as if bewitched by Cecilia's overabundance of energy, slammed shut behind her with a heavy thud. Tess jumped at the unexpected noise, then turned to Crow.

"The sound you just heard," she told him, "was the sound of Rock's case going straight to hell."

Tess had been to the state prison just once, under unusual circumstances. Were there usual circumstances for a fourteen-year-old girl to visit the Maryland Penitentiary for Men? In Tess's case, it all began when she decided to dance. Her determination was born of a desire not to be a dancer, merely to look like one: to be small, one of those tiny, curveless adolescents, all ribs, eyes, and pelvic bones. Tess realized most dancers began small and starved their bodies to keep them in perpetual preadolescence, but she thought she might be able to work backward.

After 12 weeks of classes, even though she still had a convex stomach, the teacher insisted Tess join her dance troupe, which performed throughout the community. Flattered, Tess jumped at the opportunity, assuming the instructor had glimpsed something not even Tess could see. She had-a pair of promising biceps. Tess was recruited to dance only one part, a Comet can in the instructor's own modern-day version of The Sorcerer's Apprentice . "It's a big part," the instructor promised. This was literally true. The Comet costume, more than six feet at full extension, was made of heavy painted canvas, strung on three Hula Hoops, so Tess could collapse and expand throughout the twelve-minute dance. For long stretches of time she had to hold her arms straight over her head, elbows locked, to give the Comet can its full shape. Only a strapping girl with a lot of upper body strength could have survived in that costume.