Into the Light (28 page)

Not wanting to intrude, Raquel and I stepped back. Elizabeth reached for Sister Mary’s hand and spoke softly as Sister Mary nodded. I watched as Elizabeth’s red hair fell in soft curls near her shoulders, veiling her lips and keeping their conversation private.

“She’s so good at what she does,” Raquel whispered.

I nodded. “Have you ever seen her before—Sister Mary?”

“Yes, in the clinic.”

My eyes widened. “In the clinic? Was she sick?”

“No, it was just . . . when she first arrived. You know . . . to make sure she’s healthy and didn’t have any illnesses from the dark.”

“Oh, yes, that makes sense.” I watched as Mary bit her lower lip and smiled. “I don’t know why, but she looks familiar.”

Raquel laughed. “I know why.”

“You do?”

“Yes, don’t you see it?”

I scanned Mary one last time as she wiped a tear and nodded to Elizabeth. “Not really, but I must admit, I admire her hair.”

Raquel tapped my arm. “She looks like you, even her hair.”

I pouted. “Was it really that long?”

“It was, and it will be again. I’ve enjoyed the shorter cut. It was a fun change.”

Before I could respond, Elizabeth was back, and we made our way toward the Assembly room.

All the Assemblymen lived in the same building in similar apartments. The only differences were the color and placement of the furniture, not that there were many options. Space within the community was limited, but we had what we needed. No one questioned. After all, even Father Gabriel lived as we did. According to Elizabeth our apartments were bigger than those of the regular followers. Her and Brother Luke’s jobs meant they often visited followers in their homes. As an Assemblyman’s wife, I too was supposed to help with the wives of followers under Jacob’s direction. So far I’d met with them only in the temple. But going to them and helping them understand Father Gabriel’s word was a responsibility I was honored to perform again, and one of the reasons I’d studied so diligently.

When we arrived back at the apartment building, Brother Benjamin asked Brother Luke and Jacob to come to his apartment. The way they looked at one another, I assumed they wanted to discuss something from their meeting. Whatever it was, we wouldn’t be told the details, especially if it was something they believed needed to be discussed in private. Before they left, Jacob said to the others, “With your permission, the ladies may wait together in our apartment.”

I bit my lip and waited: there was something I wanted to discuss too. As part of the chosen, we had to be careful what we did or said in public.

Brothers Luke and Benjamin agreed.

“Come on in,” I said, as my two best friends entered my apartment. “Would you like something to drink?”

Raquel chatted about something as I made coffee and contemplated bringing up the question of Deborah. If it had been only Raquel, I wouldn’t have hesitated, but sometimes Elizabeth was more rigid with the rules.

“Elizabeth?”

She looked up from the sofa as I handed her a cup. “Thanks.”

“What’s up? You look far away.” I looked to Raquel, who shrugged.

“Nothing,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll talk to Luke about it.”

“Do you always tell him everything the women tell you? Like whatever you were talking to Sister Mary about?”

She nodded. “I have to.” Her striking green eyes scanned from Raquel to me. “I mean, we work together. For example, if Sister Mary were to tell me something that her husband needs to know, then Luke would be the one to do that.” She shrugged. “It’s up to Luke, really.”

“But if she talks to you in confidence?” I asked.

Elizabeth’s head moved back and forth. “Sara, you know that there can’t be any secrets or confidence or whatever you choose to call it between a wife and husband.”

I nodded. “What if all marriages weren’t like ours?”

“What do you mean?” Raquel asked.

I sat on the other end of the sofa from Elizabeth, pulled my knees to my chest, and tucked my skirt around my legs. “I mean, what if some husbands take the whole discipline thing too far?” I exhaled. “OK, I’m just going to say it. I’m worried about Deborah.”

Raquel nodded while Elizabeth’s lips formed a straight line of disapproval.

“Why,” I pointedly asked my friend, “Elizabeth, is it bad for me to be concerned?”

“Concern is your right, but you need to give it to Brother Jacob and pray about it. Not gossip about it.”

I blew on my coffee, helping it cool. “First, I’m not gossiping. If I were, I’d be telling you something you didn’t know. You know what I’m saying. And, second, I have given it to Jacob.”

“You have?” she asked, surprised.

“Yes, and it’s still happening.”

Raquel became uncharacteristically quiet.

“Raquel?” I asked. “Deborah works with you. Do you think my concerns are unfounded?”

She shook her head, and then, looking to Elizabeth, she said, “I’ve done the same as Sara.”

“And what did Brother Benjamin say?”

“He said to pray and support Deborah.”

I placed my cup on the table and flung my body back to the sofa. “I don’t think she’s happy, not like us. I mean, I get that Jacob is the head of our household. I even accept his correction, but I also know he loves me, and I love him.”

Elizabeth and Raquel shared some strange secret smile.

“What?” I asked.

Raquel patted my knee. “Nothing. We’re just happy to hear you say that.”

I scrunched my nose. “Isn’t it obvious? I mean it is with you and Brother Benjamin and you and Brother Luke.” I smiled at Raquel. “Even when Brother Benjamin mentions you at the lab, his eyes go all adoring.”

Raquel’s cheeks blushed as she looked down.

“It is obvious,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “It’s also nice to hear.”

“But that’s just it,” I pursued. “It isn’t obvious between Deborah and Brother Abraham. I mean, have you watched them together? I think she’s afraid of him, and I don’t see the adoration or love, from either of them.”

“Sara!” Elizabeth said, “You can worry and talk about Deborah, but you can’t presume to talk about Brother Abraham.”

I exhaled, unable or unwilling to hold my tongue, even if it meant my own correction. “We’re wives of Assemblymen. Are we just going to sit back and wait until Deborah isn’t at the clinic as a nurse, but as a patient?”

Raquel sighed. “It’s already happened.”

“What?!” I asked, while simultaneously Elizabeth exclaimed, “Raquel!”

“Elizabeth, you heard Sara. She’s here, fully. She needs to know.”

I tilted my head. “What do you mean, I’m here . . . fully?”

“I mean, you’re back, like a hundred and ten percent. As you were recovering from your accident, we didn’t want to burden you.”

“I don’t understand. Why can’t we help her before it’s too late?”

“Because,” Elizabeth began, “Brother Abraham is also an Assemblyman. If he were a follower, like Brother Adam, it would be different.”

“Who’s Brother Adam?” Raquel and I asked in unison.

Elizabeth shook her head. “Forget I said that.”

My mind spun. “Is Brother Adam the husband of the woman who spoke to you, Mary?”

“It’s not something I can discuss.” Her green eyes shot toward me. “Forget I mentioned it.”

“Wait, so let’s say hypothetically”—I paused. When she didn’t respond, I went on—“a female follower comes up to you and tells you in confidence that she has a problem with her husband. I’m just going to say it. He’s abusive. Then do you tell Brother Luke and let it go from there?”

“Hypothetically,” Elizabeth said, “yes.”

“So with Deborah, if she said something to her overseer’s wife, could that Commissioner’s wife tell her husband, and then could he talk to Brother Abraham?”

“Theoretically,” Raquel said, “but guess who’s Brother Abraham’s overseer.”

I had four choices: Brothers Raphael, Daniel, Noah, or Timothy. I knew Brother Daniel wouldn’t turn a blind eye, and I worked with Brother Raphael. He’d always been kind to me. I didn’t know much about Brother Noah, other than Jacob said he worked with the finances of The Light. When new followers came to The Light they sold all their possessions from the dark and donated the money to help buy supplies. That left me one option: Brother Timothy. “Either Brother Noah or Timothy. I’m going to guess . . .”

Raquel nodded. “Without Brother Timothy’s consent, the concerns, even if they’re voiced by Deborah and Sister Lilith took them to her husband, can’t be taken to Father Gabriel. Nothing can be done.” She looked at Elizabeth and then back to me. “It’s better if you don’t say any more. It was brought up about a year ago, and you probably don’t remember . . .”

I shook my head.

“After that was when she was a patient. It didn’t do her any good. It made it worse.”

Horrified, I turned toward Elizabeth. “Is that what happens to people like Mary if you tell Luke?”

“Hypothetically?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Sometimes, but usually not. Followers respect the opinion and advice of Assemblymen. Luke carries a lot of weight. He can usually help the situation.”

“But just like Jacob helps Brother Daniel with the followers he oversees, doesn’t Brother Abraham help Brother Timothy?”

They both nodded.

“So if a follower is unfortunate enough to be assigned to that chain of command . . . ?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Then they still have Luke and me. We just have to be sure to follow the rules, but we still can do our best to help.”

I took a drink of my coffee. “Wow, Elizabeth, I didn’t realize how difficult your job was. I’m never complaining about the lab again.”

Raquel laughed. “Hey, you complained about working with my husband?”

“No,” I said, smiling. “I actually like working with him and Brother Raphael. They’ve been very patient, and so has Dinah. She’s been great.”

They both nodded. “She’s one of us. We stick together.”

I sighed. “I wish we could help Deborah. I still worry.”

CHAPTER 28

Stella

I handed Foster the list of properties Jenn, from Preston and Butler, had e-mailed to my personal address last night. “I’ve only glanced through it, but it seems like a lot of property. I always assumed that realty firms arranged the sale of property from the owner to the new buyer. I wasn’t aware that the firm would own so much itself.”

Foster shrugged. “They do both. It really depends on the size of the company. While Entermann’s began as a broker, looking at this list, now I’d call them an investment company.”

“Did you know that Entermann’s falls under a list of subsidiaries of Wilkens Industries?”

“I thought you were talking the other day about Uriel Harris and his connection with Wilkens Industries?”

“I was. Here, let me see this list.” I took the list and circled the property on Glendale, the old school. “This property is currently owned by Entermann’s, but before that it was owned by Harris, and before that Wilkens Industries. Since Wilkens owns Entermann’s, well, I’m seeing a circle, but why?”

“It’s only a complete circle if Harris is connected.”

“That’s what I want to know. I’ve been trying to find current information on Uriel Harris. In the day, he was all over, buying property, but then all his holdings were sold. He took a big loss and disappeared.” I shook my head. “I don’t mean literally. There’s no record of his death. What I mean is that I can’t find him. His last known address was 12560 Kingsway Trace, Bloomfield Hills.” As soon as I said the address, my heart clenched, and I looked up at Foster. “Tell me that isn’t same address as the MOA house you told me about.”

“Shit, it isn’t, but it’s damn close.”

I shook my head, my braid skimming across my back. “See, this is what I mean. Circles, that’s all I’m getting is circles.”

“Have you accessed Harris’s taxes?”

“I did up until he sold everything. For the last two years there’s nothing. No personal or corporate. Nothing.”

“Stella?” Foster asked, looking at the list of properties. “Did you just say 12560 Kingsway Trace?”

I nodded, looking down at where Foster’s finger was on the list. “Entermann’s owns that too?” I asked in disbelief.

“According to this list.”

Remembering a recent conversation with Dina Rosemont, I asked, “What do you know about a private airstrip off of Woodward Avenue and Eastways Road?”

“Not much, but that’s up in Bloomfield Hills. There are lots of wealthy people, so a private airstrip wouldn’t surprise me. Why?”

“I promised a friend I’d go check it out. I think while I’m up there I might check out this house on Kingsway Trace.”

“Well,” Foster said, “be smart and take I-75. Woodward would get you there, but I recommend you avoid Highland Heights.”

Why hadn’t I thought of that? Woodward goes straight from Highland Heights to Bloomfield Hills.

I rolled my eyes. “Have you been talking to Dylan?”

“Me? No. Why?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. I’ll call after I have a look around. While I’m up there, do you want me to check out the MOA house?”

“No. You have enough things going on with this story. You don’t need another. Besides, there’s no reason to think it’s connected.”

“You’re right. I’m overly suspicious of everything. It’s the whole compilation theory.”

“Compilation?” he asked.

“Like everything is a piece of something bigger. I think I’m trying to fit everything together when they don’t fit.”

Foster’s voice softened. “I just picked up a story about a teacher at East Grove. A mother claims she saw inappropriate pictures on her daughter’s phone. If you’d like to take that, I’ll take this over. I can tell it’s wearing on you.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to give it up. I feel like I’m so close. I just need one break.”

“OK, the offer stands.”

I smiled at my friend as I gathered my things.

Driving on I-75 to Bloomfield Hills, I remembered my conversation with Dina Rosemont and how impressed I’d been with her strength and determination. She had said she would never give up her search, and from the sound of her voice I believed her. We both knew the statistics weren’t in Mindy’s favor and got worse the longer she stayed missing. I shook my head, thinking how it had been over two months. I didn’t know if the story I was researching would help her or help us learn about her, but my gut told me it would. That was why I couldn’t hand it over to Foster. Even so, Bernard had given me only until the end of October. That was less than three weeks. I needed to learn something, soon.

Dina told me that she’d received a phone call from a woman who had seen one of the flyers she’d hung. The woman wouldn’t give her name, but said that as a mother she needed to call. Apparently the caller lived near Woodward Avenue and Eastways Road, and there was a wooded area near her home where her children liked to play. A private airstrip was located there too.

The caller admitted that a twelve- and thirteen-year-old weren’t the most reliable witnesses, and though she didn’t want them personally involved, she felt compelled to share what they had told her. Even before the caller heard about Mindy on the news, her children had told her a story about a man carrying a woman from a truck to a plane. The woman calling admitted that because her children had been known to be imaginative, she hadn’t paid much attention to their story. She’d figured there could be any number of good reasons why they thought they’d seen what they described. However, once Mindy’s picture appeared on TV, her children brought up the story again. Even then, they only told the story; they didn’t mention the connection. It wasn’t until they were out one day and saw one of the flyers that her thirteen-year-old daughter pointed at Mindy’s picture and specifically said, “Mom, that’s the lady who couldn’t walk, so they carried her on the plane.”

My heart stopped as I asked what they’d meant by
couldn’t walk
. Dina said she’d asked too. The woman hadn’t known. After they hung up, the woman had asked her children and called Dina back. Her children told her the woman had been sleeping.

Dina said she’d called the detective in charge of the investigation, and he’d said he’d look into it, but she wanted me to know. I’d looked up private airstrips, but the ones I’d found weren’t in the area the woman had indicated. That was the main reason I was driving north on I-75.

Exiting the interstate, I made my way into Bloomfield Hills. As I drove around the beautiful area, I thought about Foster’s suggestion that Dylan could afford a home here. Honestly, it was too bad that he and I together couldn’t afford one. Though I wasn’t ready for full-time cohabitation, as I drove the curvy roads around the majestic homes I found myself imagining the interiors with a very nice shelf for Fred’s bowl.

The last known address of Uriel Harris wasn’t one of the big homes lining the hilly streets. The address took me instead to a large solid gate. Shrugging, I parked my car, walked up to a box beside the gate, and pushed the button.

A man’s voice came from the box. “May I help you?”

“I’m looking for Uriel Harris.”

“You have the wrong address.”

I knew I didn’t. “Maybe I have his old address. Can you tell me how long you’ve lived here?”

“This is private property. I suggest you leave.”

Well, that was rude.

“Thank you for your time,” I said as I released the button.

Going back to my car, I grabbed my Nikon and walked the perimeter along the front wrought-iron fence. It didn’t seem to matter where I tried—I couldn’t see the house, or even get past the trees to take a picture. Though most leaves were gone, this property was lined with rows of pine trees, creating a living wall beyond the fence. Not only couldn’t I see the house, I couldn’t even get a feel for the size of the property. Still I snapped a few pictures here and there.

I hoped that once I downloaded the photographs, I would be able to enlarge them and make out more than I could see in person. When I reached the end of the front fence, I saw that the angle of the side fence indicated that the property was wider in the back. As I took a few more pictures, I decided I should get the schematic of the property from the assessor, but first I’d try Google Earth.

It wasn’t until I got back into my car that I noticed the security cameras at the gate. Sighing, I fought the urge to wave. Well, I couldn’t see them, but apparently they could see me.

Next I spent an hour driving in circles. If there was an airstrip off Woodward Avenue and Eastways Road, I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t even find the access road. Maybe I did, but instead of an accessible street it was another one of the gated private driveways like the address on Kingsway Trace. The more I drove the more frustrated I became.

Dead ends, I was so damn sick of dead ends!

While I was on my way back to WCJB, lamenting my progress, my phone rang. Dylan’s name appeared on the screen in my car. I hit the green image and said, “Hello.”

“Stella?”

His voice sounded different. Maybe something had happened at work. “Hey, is everything all right? You don’t usually call during the day.”

“Where are you?”

Shit!

I’d been so frustrated with the dead ends I’d forgotten to take the interstate and was on Woodward Avenue, approaching Highland Heights. “Why? I’m on my way back from checking out a lead.”

Wanting to be able to honestly answer that I wasn’t in Highland Heights, I turned east toward the interstate, just north of the city limits.

“I just had . . . never mind.”

I wasn’t used to hearing Dylan anything less than confident.

“Did something happen?” I asked.

“No, I was just wondering if you could do dinner tonight?” His tone lightened. “Or do you have drinks with that hot fireman again?”

I laughed. “Dinner would be great, but I need to be home tonight. I have things to do on my computer.”

“You work too much.”

“It doesn’t have to be all work. You could stay?”

“Only if you let me take you out to eat.”

“Sounds good. I’ll go home after work and you can come over. We can go out after that.”

“See you tonight.”

After dinner, while I downloaded my pictures, Dylan sat on my sofa. His legs were up on the ottoman as he watched TV. Looking at him, I wondered if this was what it was like when two people were together long enough to be comfortable. I’d never really dated anyone long enough to move into that stage. Maybe it was finding out about his parents, but since that morning a few days ago, I’d found myself thinking about him a lot more.

Once I had my pictures from the day on my computer, I entered the address of the house I’d visited. Google Earth wouldn’t show me the exact dimensions of the property, but I was curious what was beyond that gate. The house was huge—no wonder it was valued at more than $7 million. There were a pool and tennis courts. Beyond the tennis courts were multiple smaller buildings, and then behind that, away from the road, closer to Eastways, was what I’d been searching for. There was an airstrip.

“Holy shit!” I gasped.

“What?” Dylan asked, coming up behind me.

I shook my head. “I really don’t know.” I pointed at the screen. “See this?”

His hands tightened their grasp on my shoulders as his face came up beside mine. When I turned toward him, I saw the muscle in his jaw flex.

“It’s an airstrip,” I explained when he didn’t speak.

“Are you looking to do some flying?” he asked, from behind clenched teeth.

“No. See, Dina Rosemont called me about a phone call she received from someone who saw her flyer. She said that the caller told her a story about seeing a woman matching Mindy’s description being carried onto a plane.”

Dylan spun my chair around until our noses touched. “She needs to tell that to DPD, not you. You have too much going on. I’m worried about you.”

I kissed him. “I’m worried about you too. Did you ask about getting time at Christmas? And don’t worry, she did call DPD. Have you heard about it?”

“No, I’m not directly involved with her case.” He shrugged. “You don’t want me to be.”

“You’re right. You’re homicide. I’d rather her case not make it to you.”

“So was that where you were today, following that lead?”

I nodded, though I had been there for my story too. Our agreement was to discuss only Mindy-related work information. Turning back to the screen, I answered, “Yes, I couldn’t find it.”

“Well, I guess that’s why it’s
private
. Did some lady really say she thought she saw Mindy getting on a plane?”

I shook my head. “She said her children saw a woman, not getting on a plane—being carried onto it. It’s the first news that gives me hope. I mean it scares me, but at least maybe there’s a chance that she’s still alive. Now I want to learn who owns this property.” I shrugged. “I know who owns it. I want to know who’s living there. I guess I didn’t realize the airstrip was on it.”

“What do you mean you know who owns it?”

I put my finger on his lips. “We’re getting into non-Mindy stuff.”

“Stella, please stop. You’re too smart for your own good.”

I brushed his lips to mine. “I love your support, but if I’m so smart, why is none of this making sense? Foster offered to take the story and put a fresh set of eyes on it.” I sighed.