Mother Before Wife (The Compound #2)

by Melissa Brown

  “Did he threaten you?”

  “Not exactly, just more questions. Every time I see him, he’s questioning me. He knows I’m up to no good.”

  “He’s the one who’s up to no good; you’re just trying to save your kid. Was there anything else?”

  I searched my brain and remembered one last detail. “I saw him lock his office door, the one at the current temple. I know that must not sound like much, but he never used to do that. So, you know, it gave me pause.”

  My voice trailed off and I stared at my feet. We sat in silence for an excruciating moment. In the pit of my stomach, I knew I hadn’t brought him enough information. I had barely scratched the surface.

  “It’s not enough, is it?” I asked. “I have to get in those rooms.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “But I can’t. They’re locked.”

  He sighed, looking up at the closed door of his office. “I might be able to help with that.”

  “With locks? How?”

  “I can pick a lock with the best of ’em. But I can’t go there without a warrant.”

  “Can we get one?”

  The detective’s face fell, and I knew the answer before he opened his mouth.

  “No. There just isn’t enough evidence. I mean, this,” he lifted the condom, “could’ve fallen out of the other guy’s pocket. There’s no way to know if it has anything to do with the Prophet.”

  My stomach tied itself in knots. “I see.”

  “I can teach you, though, to pick a lock. I can show you, and you can try to do it yourself.”

  “You would do that?”

  “Of course.” He nodded. “We have to get you inside those rooms. My gut tells me they hold the answer.”

  “Well, I’m willing to learn whatever you can teach me.”

  “Can you remember anything else?”

  “The other guy had a gun, and they argued a lot. He threatened to take his business elsewhere.”

  “Ooh, I’ll bet that didn’t go over so well.”

  “I remember the Prophet saying no one could deliver like he could.”

  “It’s gotta be drugs.”

  “But what about the condom? I found it up on the third floor.”

  “At this point, the condom is just a coincidence. I hardly believe the Prophet’s running a brothel.” He laughed again. “That’d be absurd. The Prophet Pimp—I can see the headlines now.”

  “A what?”

  “A pimp. You know, for prostitutes.”

  Again, I shook my head.

  “Women who sell their bodies for sex. A pimp is . . .” He paused, seeming uncomfortable as he scratched his head. “He’s like a manager for the women. He arranges for the . . . encounters.”

  My mind couldn’t wrap around that. Sex was for procreation. There was no way the Prophet would be helping Gentile women sell their bodies. “That’s disgusting. People actually do that?”

  “World’s oldest profession, I’m afraid.” He waved a hand in the air. “Enough about that. I’ll make a note of the condom, of course, but I really think it’s something else. Drugs, more than likely. My guess is he’s storing ’em up there where no one can see them.”

  “Right.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s highly illegal. And if you get me proof, I can get a warrant and hopefully lock him up, at least temporarily.”

  “Okay.”

  Detective Cooke clapped his hands together. “But first things first. Let’s show you how to pick a lock. You have some pins in your hair, right?”

  Sheepishly, I touched my braid, knowing I had several on the top of my head, keeping everything in place.

  “Good. Now, more than likely these are pin-and-tumbler locks. They’re the most common, and they’re actually really easy to pick, especially with hairpins, which you just happen to have. Perfect scenario, really.” He raised an eyebrow and grinned.

  Without meaning to, I giggled behind my hand. There was something about the detective’s sense of humor that appealed to me.

  “C’mere,” he said, hopping off the desk and gesturing for me to leave my seat. We walked to the door and he removed a set of keys from his pocket. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that the grooves in the keys are a unique match to each lock.”

  I nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  “Okay, so all we’re going to do is manipulate the pins to emulate those grooves. I need two of your hairpins, please.”

  He watched as I removed two pins from the top of my head, pulling them from my auburn hair, hoping it wouldn’t destroy my braid. I placed them in his hand.

  “Thanks.” He then focused on the hairpins, bending one of them open. “You want the ends of this to be about ninety degrees apart.”

  Math was not my strong suit. I knew nothing of degrees, but I watched the metal bend. I studied the exact formation that he was creating with my pin. I might not have been talented with arithmetic, but I could follow directions with the best of them.

  “This rubber part has to go.” He bit down on the pin and removed the small rubber ball with his teeth, turning his head to spit it into the air. Normally, such an action would disgust me, but I was too invested in what he was demonstrating to care about his manners. “Now we bend the other end into a bit of a handle, which will make this a hell of a lot easier to control.”

  He held up the other hairpin. “Now, we have to make this into a lever, by bending it like so.” He bent the top portion over and pressed it into the lock of the office door. I watched as he eased the metal in. “The first step is to put tension on the lever with one hand so that the barrel of the lock is under pressure to turn. Here, give it a try.”

  I stepped in front of the detective, and he placed one pin into my hand while I took hold of the lever with the other. My heart pounded with discomfort at our proximity, and my throat ran dry.

  I have to do this. I have to.

  I followed his directions, but was disappointed when nothing happened. “It won’t turn.”

  “It’s not supposed to. Not yet.”

  “Oh, thank goodness. I thought I was doing something wrong.”

  “No, you’re fine. Now, keep constant pressure on that lever, but push up with the other pin.”

  I did as I was told and at first, the pin moved easily, until I seemed to hit a difficult spot. “It won’t move any more.”

  “Good, that’s what we want. This is the seized pin we need to focus on. Very carefully, force it upward.”

  “Like this?” Slowly, I moved the pin to push up.

  “Yes, good job. Once it aligns with the barrel, we should hear an audible click.”

  Slowly, I kept pushing upward, but nothing clicked. I turned back to look at the detective, panicked that I was messing this up.

  “You’re fine, just keep going.”

  Click.

  “Oh my word, it worked! I did it!”

  Detective Cooke laughed under his breath. “Yes, you did. Good job. That click was the sound of the barrel being allowed to rotate forward slightly before hitting and seizing on one of the other pins. Now, keep going. Push the next pin, just like I showed you.”

  Again and again I maneuvered the two hairpins in my hand, trying to stay calm when the lock refused to budge again and again.

  “Keep at it. It’s not supposed to be easy.”

  Taking a deep breath, I tried again. And again. Until finally, it happened.

  The lock’s open!

  “There ya go!”

  “That took forever,” I said, wiping my brow. At least fifteen minutes had passed since I first attempted to pick the lock. “The Prophet will find me if it takes that long.”

  “Keep practicing. Do you have locks at home you can try?”

  “Yes. My bedroom door has a lock, but only on the outside. But won’t my sister wives know what I’m doing? I can’t stand in our hallway for hours.”

  “True.” He placed his hands on his hips and looked out into the bustli
ng police station. “Gimme a minute, will ya?”

  He opened the door and left me standing there with two hairpins in my hands.

  How did I get here? I’m standing in a detective’s office, learning to pick a lock with the pins I use to hold my hair in place. Months ago, I was just Aspen, a wife of the brother of the Prophet. Today, I’m a lock picker who consorts with Gentiles. How in the world did I get here?

  I waited.

  And waited.

  And waited some more.

  While I waited, I wandered. It was rude of me to snoop but I was bored, and part of me wondered if the detective had focused his energies on another case. And so I walked over to his desk, attempting to understand this man who was willing to help me. I searched the desk for photographs, but there was only one—the detective and two older people who I assumed were his parents.

  I picked up the frame, holding it while I studied the faces looking back at me. Detective Cooke had such a broad smile on his face, as did the others in the photograph.

  These are not the smiles of evil.

  When I heard him approach, I swallowed hard. Quickly, I returned the photograph to the desk and clasped my hands behind my back. He returned with a satisfied smile on his face, and didn’t even seem to notice where I was standing, that I was invading his privacy. Apparently it wasn’t high on his priority list.

  “Look, this should work.” He held out his hand, and a lock that had clearly removed from a door was resting in his broad palm.

  “Did you . . . ?”

  He waved off my concern. “We don’t need it; no one locks the utility closet anyway. But you can practice. And when you’re feeling confident, you’ll go back to the temple.”

  I was moved by his kindness, by his genuine desire to help me. Without thinking, I said, “I wish you could come with me.”

  The detective said nothing, just pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows. We both knew that was impossible.

  He placed the lock in my hands. “You’ve got this, Little House. You do.”

  I nodded, wanting to believe him, and hoped that belief would quell all the fears rising inside me—the fear of being caught, of discovering nothing, of being tossed aside by the Prophet, of losing everything in my life I held so dear.

  The detective studied me, a crease forming just above his nose. “I can’t even imagine the pressure you’re feeling, but listen to me. I said this the last time you were here, but I believe it even more now after watching your determination with that lock. You’re different, Aspen. Special. I know you can do this.”

  “Thank you.” I clutched the lock in my hand, raising it up to my chest. “Thank you.”

  “Keep me posted, all right? You know how to reach me.”

  “I do.”

  I tucked the lock inside my bag and made my way from the busy police station, away from the only place that had made me feel safe since all this lunacy began. I knew it was foolish to feel that way, to feel safer with a Gentile than inside my own home, but it was true. And sometimes the truth was hard to face.

  Allowing a small amount of confidence to shine through, I walked back to the compound, but was shocked when I entered a quiet home. There was nothing but silence.

  “JoAnna? Ruthie?” I called out. My voice echoed through the empty hallway.

  Where is everyone?

  After searching the kitchen, common areas, Paul’s study, and my children’s bedrooms, I knew it was no use. No one was here. Was it possible the Prophet was having another end-of-the-world gathering in the field? The only way to find out was to leave my home and find my family.

  Then I remembered that JoAnna was taking the boys to the park, which was only a few minutes from our home. I set out to find JoAnna and discover where the rest of the family had gone.

  When I turned a corner and the park was in sight, my stomach dropped to my feet.

  My entire family was with other members of the community, pacing the park, looking under bushes, talking to one another with concerned looks.

  My pace quickened and I ran to them, terrified of what might have happened.

  “Oh, Aspen! Thank goodness you’re here,” Pennie said, her face ashen.

  “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

  “Jeremiah. He’s gone.”

  Chapter 21

  “The Prophet knows all things, hears all things, sees all things.”

  —The Prophet, Clarence Black

  Aspen

  “Tell me what happened,” I demanded. “Why didn’t anyone call me?”

  My heart was racing and my stomach rolled. My baby was missing, and by the looks on everyone’s faces, there was no answer to be found. I retrieved my phone from my bag, double-checking that no one had called or texted me that Jeremiah was gone.

  No messages. No voice mails.

  “I wasn’t here,” Pennie said, placing her hand on my arm and turning to call over her shoulder. “Where is JoAnna? Aspen needs answers.”

  JoAnna stepped away from the gathered crowd, her pasty-white cheeks streaked with tears. Her eyes were bloodshot and her voice cracked as she spoke.

  “I was pushing them on the merry-go-round, and Ronan needed to be changed. So I left Jeremiah for just a minute to change Ro’s diaper. I swear to you, Aspen, I was only gone for—”

  “Gone?” I shrieked. “You left him? For goodness’ sake, JoAnna, he’s only two! You can’t leave him alone!”

  “I was at the picnic table, just there.” She pointed to the run-down table approximately twenty feet from the playground. “I only looked away to clean Ronan up. No one else was around, and I thought—” She burst into tears. “I’m so, so sorry, Aspen. So very sorry.”

  “How long has he been gone?” I asked, attempting to remain calm but knowing that was impossible.

  “An hour,” JoAnna answered.

  “The children and I were walking by,” Pennie offered, “and JoAnna was calling his name. I ran back to the house to find you, but you weren’t there.”

  Ignoring her last statement, I said, “Where’s Paul? Where is he?”

  “He’s searching the grounds.”

  “Why didn’t he call me? Why didn’t any of you call me?”

  “I’m so sorry, I meant to. I wanted to, but I was ashamed.” JoAnna hung her head, more tears streaming down her cheeks. “I lost your baby. I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t say the words.”

  Flora approached. “Keep sweet, JoAnna. We’ll find him.”

  “Keep sweet?” I whirled on Flora, snarling at her through clenched teeth. I wanted to claw her eyes out with my bare hands. “My baby is missing and you have the nerve to tell her to keep sweet?”

  “He’s here,” Flora said matter-of-factly. “He must have wandered off. There’s no reason to panic.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I sneered. “None!”

  “Now, you listen—”

  “Somebody get her away from me!” I screamed. “Now!”

  Pennie wrapped an arm around my shoulder and walked me away from Flora, who pursed her lips in an unapologetic way. I’d struggled to care for her for years, but this was the last straw. Flora was my enemy now. There was no going back.

  “Please, just . . . I need a moment,” I said, pushing away from Pennie. “I, um . . . I need to call Paul.”

  It was a lie. I wasn’t calling him.

  “Of course.” Pennie stepped back and held her hands up in the air. “I’ll be right over here if you need me.”

  I nodded, retrieving my cell phone with shaking hands as I walked away from the others for privacy. Quickly, I dialed Detective Cooke’s number, but he didn’t answer. My call went straight to voice mail, and my eyes welled with tears. I needed him.

  “Jonathan,” I said, no longer caring about formalities. “I need your help. My baby, my Jeremiah is gone. Someone’s taken him, and I don’t know what to do. He’s been gone for an hour. Please, I need your help. I can’t trust anyone here. I need you.�
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  Placing the phone back into my bag, I stormed back to my sister wives. “Where are my girls?”

  “Mama,” Ruthie called from the base of the jungle gym, rising to her feet and before running to me. Susan and Beatrice were right behind. “We’re here, Mama.”

  I wrapped my arms around my girls, holding them tightly as we sobbed together.

  “Where’s Jer-bear, Mama? Where is he?” Susan asked in a tight voice as she peered up at me with red-rimmed eyes.

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. But we’ll find him. I promise you, we’ll find him.” But I wasn’t so confident.

  I held my girls for another moment before pulling away. “I have to go, darlings. You stay with Mother Pennie, all right? Stay with her while I look for your brother.”

  “No!” Beatrice yelled, throwing her arms around my waist. “Don’t leave us!”

  I crouched down to look her in the eye. “I have to, B. I have to find him before it gets dark. You understand that, right?”

  She nodded, but fresh tears escaped her eyes.

  “Keep sweet, darling,” Flora said from behind me, and I turned to glare at her.

  “Don’t you dare,” I snapped. “You stay away from my girls. Their brother is missing; they have every right to cry! Pennie, please take them.”

  “Yes, Aspen.” Pennie approached and lifted Beatrice into her arms, and then placed a hand on Susan’s shoulder. “I’ll take them back to the house for some tea and cookies.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Ruthie said, placing her hands on her hips. “I want to find my brother.”

  Stroking her hair, I said, “Go with Mother Pennie and help mind your sisters. I’ll be back at the house as soon as I can, I promise.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  I watched as Pennie and my girls disappeared toward the house. I had no idea where to start my search, but knew I had to find Paul. Quickly, I dialed his phone number.

  “Oh, Aspen, thank goodness. Where have you been?”

  My voice cracked with emotion. I was falling apart at the seams. “I was running errands and thought he was safe with JoAnna. Where are you?”

  “A few of us are combing the outskirts of the compound.”