"What kind of help do you need from me, Cecilia?"
"Documents." She shoved her armful of papers at Tess. "It took me six weeks to figure out how to find the charter for VOMA. You told me you went and looked it up after our meeting. So you know how these things work, and I don't. I want you to help me. I'm tired of wasting time on wild goose chases."
Tess took a step back. Cecilia's energy, concentrated as it was in such a small person, was a little frightening, uncontrollable. She wanted to be safely out of arm's-or foot's-reach.
"Who do you think I am, Cecilia?"
"Well, at first I thought you worked for the Internal Revenue Service."
Everyone laughed at that, but no one harder than Tess. She laughed so hard her legs became weak and she had to sit on the floor, still laughing. She laughed until she remembered how long it had been since she had laughed-not since Saturday night.
"Cecilia, I've been called a lot of things, but no one ever thought I was the tax man. What put such an idea in your head?"
"You know how when something's on your mind, you forget it's not on everyone else's mind?" All too well, Tess thought. "Well, when you tried to sneak into our meeting, it never occurred to me you were interested in Abramowitz's death. I mean, he got killed, they arrested the guy who did it, end of story. To me, there's no mystery, no reason anyone should care. Even after I realized that's what you were after, it didn't bother me. I knew no one in our group did it."
"But what would an IRS agent want with you, Cecilia? Did you forget to report a scholarship? Claim a few extra dependents on your tax form?"
Cecilia shook her head impatiently. She was speeding along and wanted Tess to catch up. She was almost vibrating with tension. Too many coffee bars for this young woman, Tess thought.
"Not me. VOMA."
"What about VOMA? I assume it's a nonprofit."
"A nonprofit that asks its members to kick in a lot of money. We pay fifty dollars a year in dues and we're always holding fund-raisers. Bake sales, silent auctions, walkathons. Pru is always dreaming up another one. Then we turn in our money and we never see it again, and we never get anything for it. No one else seemed to care, but when I asked Pru, she got hinky about it. Said we were funneling a lot of money to NARAL and NOW, and we had to pay rent for the room."
"So you got suspicious and went to find the charter."
Cecilia nodded her head in the affirmative this time, shaking it so hard she looked like a toy dog in the back of someone's old Chevy. "Yes, after six weeks of calling virtually everybody in state government, in between school, studying, and working at my pop's bar. They don't make it easy for regular citizens, let me tell you. I got to the right person about once out of every ten calls, and then that person was usually on break. But I finally found the charter. When I asked for tax forms, the incorporations office sent me to the attorney general's office. But they didn't have any record of VOMA under either name. Dead end."
"More like a wrong turn," Tess said, but Cecilia was too caught up in her breakneck recitation to hear her.
"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."