Holy Rollers (31 page)

“I suppose that’s possible.” Merribaugh sounded thoroughly unconvinced that he could have done something that irresponsible.

They searched the room for a few more minutes without finding the wallet, which was not surprising since it was under the mattress…and Jared, sitting on top of the bed, was not about to move.

Finally, the older man raised his hands. “I must have forgotten it in my room. There’s really no other explanation.”

Jared offered Merribaugh his most open, wide-eyed, innocent expression, the one that always seemed to work when he wanted to look particularly angelic. “Nope. None at all.”

Merribaugh struggled to his feet. “Well, I’ll just pick up a new key from the front desk and check my room. It was probably right in front of me when I left.”

Jared opened his eyes just a bit wider. He could only imagine how innocent and angelic he looked. “It happens to me all the time. But while you’re gone I’ll keep looking. Just in case.”

“Good, good.” Merribaugh was almost out the door when Jared called him back.

“Don’t you want to know my size?”

“Your size?”

“For the shirt.”

“Ah, oh…” Merribaugh looked perplexed. “I thought it would be best to find my wallet now, and do the shopping later.”

A pout appeared on Jared’s face. “But what if they sell out? I’d…I’d have nothing to wear. Nothing except these homo clothes that remind me of the old days when I was gay. And promiscuous. Like yesterday.” He forced a single tear to one eye. It wasn’t his best performance, but he was sure it would work. “And then I couldn’t go to the conference. Because I’d still be gay.”

Merribaugh watched the tear roll slowly down the young man’s cheek, and knew he would do whatever it took to make Jerry Stanley happy. After all, he could always expense the cost of the shirt.

“I suppose I can get the shirt first, and find my wallet later.”

His words brought Jared’s smile back. “Oh, thank you! I promise to be the best ex-gay ever!”

Jared wrote down his size, as well as a description of the imaginary shirt, and Merribaugh left. Thirty seconds later he peeked out the door and watched the elevator doors close, and then dashed down the hall to Dan Rowell’s room.

“What’s going on?” Dan asked, when he answered the knock.

“I can’t really explain, so you’ll just have to trust me for now. I need you to follow Reverend Merribaugh.”

Dan furrowed his brow. “Follow him where?”

“Brooks Brothers.”

Dan stood in the doorway, carefully weighing the request and hoping for details. When none were forthcoming, he narrowed his eyes. “I get no explanation?”

Jared shrugged, as if telling a virtual stranger to tail someone to Brooks Brothers was an everyday occurrence. “Sorry. I’ll tell you everything later, but he’s already on the way to the store, so you have to get moving.”

“I don’t know…” He paused as a thought came to him. “Does this have anything to do with that visit from your father?”

“My father? Why would…? I mean,
yes
! Yes, it does.”

“Is Merribaugh on his way to meet him?”

Jared’s face registered Thoughtful Expression Number Two. It wasn’t perfected, but he seldom had the need to appear thoughtful.

“That’s what I want you to find out.”

Less than a minute later, Dan was fully dressed and in the hall. “This is really crazy, Jared—”

For a moment, Jared—jumpy as he was—was on his game. “Please call me
Jerry
!”

“And that’s another thing I don’t understand. How come you go by Jared with me, but,” Jared began pushing him toward the elevator, “Jerry with everyone else?”

“I’ll tell you
later
!” As he rushed Dan down the hall, he added, “Oh, and text me when Merribaugh’s on his way back to the hotel. That’s very important.”

Dan stopped. “You know I can’t do that, Jared.”

“Jerry.”

“
Jerry
. You know we’re not allowed to have cell phones, so how am I supposed to text you?”

Jared’s hand found a bulge in Dan’s pocket that was
not
happy to see him. “On your iPhone, of course.”

“How did you know…?”

“I can spot an iPhone bulge from twenty yards. That’s how. And,” he added, once again pulling Dan toward the elevator, “I have a phone, too. So I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine. Now get on the elevator. He’s got, like, five minutes on you!”

“Fair enough.” Dan was no less confused than he’d been when Jared had first pounded on his door. More, really. He was every bit as curious as Jared to find out what this conference was all about, but for Dan, that might have included smuggling in a cell phone but didn’t include tailing the Rev. Dennis Merribaugh. “Number?”

As they waited for the elevator, he programmed Jared’s number into his phone—entered only as “J”—and then the elevator doors opened. Jared gave him a shove, Dan stumbled inside, and the doors closed.

Back in his room twenty-four seconds later, Jared liberated Merribaugh’s wallet from under the mattress. The American Express card was tempting, but too dangerous. Maybe later. There was another plastic card tucked behind the AmEx bearing the name of the hotel. He left that, too.

He grabbed the keycard and set off for Merribaugh’s hotel room, congratulating himself on a cleverly executed plan.

$ $ $

When the doorbell rang at 455 Old Stone Fence Post Road, Chase told Lisa, “I’ll get it.” Then he glanced out the kitchen window and changed his mind.

“It’s the FBI.”

Lisa had been agitated. It wasn’t that she was worried; the rest of the gang could all take care of themselves. It was that she felt cut out of the action. At least
this
would be something.

“Then I’ll get it,” she said, and had the front door open before he could object.

The attractive man on the porch smiled, dimpling his cheek, and said, “Mrs. LaMarca?”

She smiled back, although without dimples. “No, Mrs. Hudson. Can I help you?”

He showed her his badge. “Special Agent Patrick Waverly, Federal Bureau of Investigation. May I come in?”

In the kitchen, he opened a manila folder. Constance’s defiant face looked back at her.

“Do you know this woman, Mrs. Hudson?”

Lisa stared at the photograph. “I, uh…”

“Yoo-hoo!”

Lisa looked up. “Oh, for Chrissakes!” She turned to Agent Waverly. “Would you excuse me for a minute?”

“Take all the time you need.”

Tish Fielding, of course, was at the front door. And Lisa was
not
in the mood.

“What is it, Fielding?”

She motioned to the black SUV blocking the driveway of 455. “It’s against HOA rules to park in front a driveway. That could present a very dangerous situation.”

“You want danger, Tish?” Lisa might have said more, or she might have just punched without saying more, but suddenly Agent Waverly was standing behind her.

“Are you one of the neighbors?” he asked over Lisa’s shoulder.

Tish nodded, and he held up the photo.

“Do you know this woman?”

“Of course,” she said. “That’s their housekeeper.”

“You mean she’s Mrs. Hudson’s housekeeper?”

“Yes, she works for Mrs. Hudson, and Mrs. Williams, and Mr. Hudson, and the other Mrs. Hudson. Oh, and Mr. Williams’s son.”

“But not Mr. LaMarca?”

Tish wrinkled her brow. Lisa hadn’t thought the Botox would allow her to do that.

“You mean Farraday?” she asked.

Waverly stared at her. “Who’s Farraday?”

“Their chauffeur.”

He looked at Lisa and smiled. “You have a housekeeper and a chauffeur? Living large, aren’t you?”

She sighed and said, “We try.”

“So who’s this LaMarca?” Tish asked, but Waverly merely thanked her and closed the door in her face.

Back in the kitchen he said, “Hudson?”

“Okay.” She sat. “My name is Lisa Cochrane, and I’m a real estate agent from New York City. Better?”

“So if you don’t mind me asking…what’s going on?”

“Am I under arrest?”

He smiled and shook his head. “No one’s under arrest, Ms. Cochrane. Not even Ms. Price. I’m just trying to figure out what you’re up to. If you tell me nothing, then it’s nothing.”

“Nothing’s going on. Nothing at all.”

When Waverly was gone, Chase came out of hiding.

“We are
so
screwed,” she said. “They know about you, they know about Constance, and now they know about me.”

Chase thought the circumstances over. They weren’t great, but they weren’t
that
bad. Not yet, at least.

“Unless they catch us with the Cathedral’s cash, then we’re just a bunch of eccentrics who use fake names. They can’t throw you in jail for that.”

Lisa’s eyes traveled to the cupboard under the sink, where a plastic Wegmans bag hid roughly ninety-five thousand dollars. “You’d better be right. Because I’m not going to jail for a few thousand dollars.”

$ $ $

Jared was groping deep beneath Merribaugh’s mattress when his phone buzzed. It was a text from Dan telling him the preacher was leaving Brooks Brothers.

Just as well, thought Jared. After twenty minutes of searching, it was clear there was no suitcase full of cash in the room. Hell, there wasn’t even a
suitcase
.

He took the elevator back to his room and texted Grant to report that he hadn’t found the suitcase. Moments later—before Grant had a chance to respond—came the anticipated knock. Jared was about to answer when, in the corner of his eye, he spied Merribaugh’s wallet on the nightstand. He tucked it back under the mattress.

Another knock sounded. This time before he answered he remembered his contraband cell phone on top of the comforter and hid it next to the wallet.

Another knock, this one more urgent. He hollered, “I’m coming,” but since items had been in plain sight that weren’t supposed to be, he made a final visual inspection of the room before opening the door.

Merribaugh greeted Jared with a hangdog expression. It was, Jared thought, sort of touching.

“I looked all over Brooks Brothers,” he explained. “But I couldn’t find the shirt. I even asked the sales associates, but…” He turned his palms up in defeat. “No luck. Are you sure it was Brooks Brothers?”

“Positive.” Jared folded his arms across his chest, trying to create the illusion of pectoral muscles but mostly creating the illusion of a twelve-year-old boy trying to create the illusion of pectoral muscles. “You probably could have looked harder for it.”

“You seem… Can I come in?” Merribaugh entered without permission. “You seem a bit put out. I understand you’re under a lot of stress, Jerry, but there’s really no reason to be upset.”

Jared could play the spoiled brat much better than the angelic innocent—it was more of a natural fit, after all—so he kept his arms crossed and defiantly stared down Merribaugh.

“I wanted that shirt.”

“But…but…”

“How am I supposed to be the star ex-gay if I look like a boring heterosexual?”

“But…I thought the problem was that your clothes were, uh…
gay
.”

“Oh yeah.” Jared thought for a moment. “But they’re still boring.”

Merribaugh finally found his footing. “But that’s what an ex-gay is
supposed
to look like! I don’t understand the problem here.”

Jared rolled his eyes. “The
problem
is that I’m the star, but I’m not getting treated any better than anyone else.”

After years of running Project Rectitude, Merribaugh was not unfamiliar with Gay Diva Syndrome. Jerry Stanley’s outburst was extreme even by that standard, but not uncontrollable.

Still, he was the star attraction. That much was true. Maybe there was some other way to accommodate him…

“Maybe I could upgrade you to a suite. Would that make you happy?”

Jared peered at him through half-closed lids. “Does anyone else at the conference have a suite?”

“Only Dr. Hurley.”

Jared mulled that over. “Maybe…”

“And Louis Lombardo.”

Jared sneered. “I
definitely
deserve a suite.”

“I’ll try to arrange it.” Merribaugh gazed into young Jerry’s eyes, which once again projected innocence. A demanding innocence, yes, but innocence not unlike that of a three-year-old child with tantrum issues.

“Okay.”

Merribaugh took a few steps toward him and smiled reassuringly. “But first…what can I do to help relieve the stress you’re feeling?”

“Uh…” Jared had seen enough bad porn to know what was coming next, and sure enough, Merribaugh didn’t disappoint him.

“I think you need a massage.”

Jared’s first impulse was to do something—
anything
—to get the old man out of his room. But that impulse was tempered by the knowledge he was on a job, and—since the suitcase wasn’t in Merribaugh’s hotel room—he’d have to play along until he could figure out where it was.