Mad Men, Bad Girls

by Maggie Groff

  While I ate, I watched SBS news, and Chairman Meow watched me. He wasn’t quite sure about the colour of my hair. Ignoring him, I concentrated on the meal, which tasted as wonderful as it looked.

  After dinner, I phoned Harper.

  ‘Is Barbara Stanwyck there, please?’ I said.

  ‘Speaking. Is that Miss Marple?’ Harper shot back.

  Phew!

  ‘Was it a good party?’

  ‘Brilliant. Ate too much, drank too much and danced too much. How about you?’

  We to- and fro-ed for a while, then I said, ‘Tell me about Robert Arnold.’

  ‘Scout, I can’t believe they suspended him. I heard about it on Saturday morning at Fergus’s footy match. I’ll find out more tomorrow, but apparently the school received a letter on Friday that contained serious allegations against Robert and accused him of impropriety towards a female student. I don’t know which student yet. And the rumours that he’s responsible for the undies vandalism have gained momentum.’

  ‘That definitely wasn’t him,’ I reassured my sister.

  ‘I realise that. I went over your explanation with Andrew and I . . . we . . . agree with your take on it. It has to be one of the girls.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Now we need to know who and why. You’ll probably find out who this Tuesday at the swim class, assuming they do it again. And don’t forget to include the four victims in your list of suspects.’

  ‘Why would they cut their own things?’ Harper said, her voice incredulous.

  ‘Who knows? To create a bit of drama, strengthen their identity as friends—it’s a screwball thing to do, and they’re screwballs.’

  ‘Andrew suggested the written complaint about Robert is some silly girl caught up in the hysteria of the knicker crime. Sort of jumping on the bandwagon.’

  ‘Let me know more tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Find out if the police have been contacted, which student made the claims, if the union is supporting Robert, what the allegations are and anything else you think of.’

  I filled Harper in on my trip to the department store, and Mrs Berkelow’s apparent demise. We discussed the possibility that the girls had pinched the expensive underwear from the store, and Brianna’s mother had taken the blame. I mentioned to Harper that I had the phone number of a teacher at Heathlands House Academy.

  ‘It might be worth giving them a call,’ Harper said dubiously, ‘although I doubt the teacher will tell you anything. Confidentiality, you know. I’m sure the real reason won’t be on her file at Tattings.’

  ‘I’ve coloured my hair,’ I suddenly announced.

  ‘About time,’ Harper said. ‘You need blonde highlights for winter.’

  ‘I called Mum and Dad. All’s well, and Max is changing the oil in Dad’s car,’ I said.

  ‘You changed the subject. You did your hair yourself, didn’t you, and it looks crap,’ Harper said.

  Right sentiment, wrong reason, I thought. Ha, ha!

  ‘No, Marcia did it for me,’ I said.

  ‘She of the cult thingy?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Oh no, it’s black isn’t it, and you’re going to join the cult!’

  I was momentarily stunned.

  ‘Okay, give me an idea, who do you look like?’ Harper said.

  ‘Edward Scissorhands.’

  Chapter 25

  Early on Monday morning, I was at my desk drinking tea, looking out the window while waiting on the phone to ask Brian Dunfey why he hadn’t yet emailed me a copy of the letter. Outside, small cauliflower clouds drifted lazily across an impossibly blue sky.

  I was smartly dressed in a black knee-length pencil skirt, a black and white polka-dot business shirt, a silver chain and a modest squirt of Mitsouko. There were just enough buttons undone on the shirt to advertise cleavage. Chairman Meow, on the Windsor chair, sported an aqua-blue collar with diamante studs and a dainty silver bell. I think it’s important to present a professional team when you’re about to blow someone’s balls off, don’t you?

  ‘Who may I say is calling?’ a female voice at Anzasia Media Group asked.

  ‘Fantasia Jonson,’ I said. ‘I’m calling to advise Mr Dunfey that his application to attend our postcoital rug-making course has been successful.’

  Six seconds of silence followed, then a voice ordered, ‘Hold the line, please.’

  While I waited, I watched dust motes dancing in the shaft of sunlight that fell across my desk. I sipped tea and heard a click as my call was transferred to Brian.

  ‘Thanks, Scout, that’ll be all round the office by lunchtime.’ I sensed amusement in his voice.

  ‘How did you know it was me?’

  ‘Postcoital rug-making course?’ Brain said. ‘The caller had to be from Byron Bay.’

  ‘Did you simply forget to send the letter, or were you withholding it on purpose?’ I asked, attempting to modulate my tone with just the right amount of high dudgeon.

  ‘Now don’t get in a tizzy. I’ve been working on things this end and found out who sent it.’

  ‘I could have done that if I’d had the letter, Brian. I’m an investigator, remember?’

  There was a strange buzzing noise on the other end of the line and I heard paper shuffling.

  ‘That had better be the scanner,’ I warned.

  Brian ignored my pique. Nothing new there.

  ‘The letter was anonymous, as I told you,’ Brian said. ‘However, it was sent in a business envelope that had a school district address printed in the corner. In the states, public schools are attached to a school district which is governed by a school board, usually made up of elected locals.’

  ‘I knew that,’ I said testily.

  ‘Anyway,’ Brian went on, ‘assuming the sender was older, as he referred to himself as a grandfather, I thought he might be a school district board member so I obtained a list of members from the net and made a few calls early this morning. I struck lucky. One chap knew of a previous board member, Harold Steinman, whose granddaughter had joined a cult. I called Steinman an hour ago, nice old chap, retired civil engineer, and he confirmed that he’d sent the letter. He’s looking forward to your call. I’ve also got his Skype address.’

  I made a note of Steinman’s contact details.

  ‘So, which is it? You forgot or you withheld it on purpose?’ I asked.

  Ignoring me, Brian said, ‘I’m also going to give you the name of an immigration officer in Brisbane. If you find the cult, it might be worth looking into how they managed to settle in Australia.’

  Brian spelled out the name Gerry Dunfey and rattled off a phone number.

  ‘Brother?’ I queried.

  ‘Cousin. So, tell me, how it’s going?’ Brian said.

  ‘Absolutely nothing so far,’ I lied. ‘It was hard to move without that letter. As I said, I’d have found Steinman myself if you’d sent the damn thing. And done it four days ago, too.’

  ‘I am suitably chastised. Far be it for me to pass the buck, but in this case I’m happy to. I instructed a temp to scan and email the letter and envelope to you last week. God knows where she sent it. There’s probably a scout group somewhere wondering what it is. We’ll never know. I didn’t realise you hadn’t received it until I came into the office yesterday afternoon to catch up on the backlog. That’s why I did a bit of research. I felt bad.’

  ‘In that case, it’s going well,’ I told him.

  Brian listened while I outlined imaginary results of fabricated investigations. There was no way I was going to impart precious facts at this stage. Brian interjected with words like ‘crikey’ and ‘blimey’ so I’d know he was impressed and contrite. I didn’t stop talking until the email with the scanned letter and envelope attachments arrived in my inbox. Then I told Brian I had to go.

  ‘See you at the course,’ he said.

  I forwarded the letter to Marcia and asked her to ring me to discuss the contents.

  I reread the letter.

  Twice.

  To w
hom it may concern,

  I write to warn of the existence of a dangerous quasi-religious hippie cult called the Luminous Renaissance of Illustrious Light. I believe, from information relayed to me by others, that the cult leader, Heavenly Brother Excalibur, has moved to a place called the Gold Coast in Australia. This man has taken with him several acolytes, one of whom I believe is my beautiful twenty-year-old granddaughter Casey.

  The cult lived on a remote property in the Adirondack Mountains. I think they have all gone. I do not know why the leader moved to Australia. There was talk that he took money, which I believe was considerable. Certainly there were rumors of stealing and the like.

  Casey was a bright, intelligent girl and a good student. I cannot understand how this happened. She was eighteen when she ran away from college and joined the cult. By the time we found her it was too late. She had already embarked on a life of crime and was caught as part of a shoplifting ring. They hid the goods in deep pockets sewn into dresses.

  My son, daughter-in-law and I confronted Casey at the courthouse steps. She was holding a baby. I don’t know if it was Casey’s baby. Casey looked at us with hate. She said we were not her family. Heavenly Brother Excalibur was her new family and she loved him and he loved her.

  Casey’s parents are broken people. They do not sleep. They argue. They no longer attend church. They are full of anger and grief.

  I do not wish another family to lose their precious child to this evil man. I do not wish another family this heartache and sadness.

  Please warn people.

  Godspeed.

  A very sad and concerned grandfather.

  Chapter 26

  At 9 am I drafted a list of questions to ask Mr Steinman, then checked the world clock online. It was Sunday evening in New York State. Briefly, I toyed with the idea of using Skype, but as this was dependent on Steinman being online when I called, I opted for certainty and the landline. I dialled the overseas phone company I use, keyed in my pin number and then Steinman’s number. A mechanical voice advised that I had a hundred and forty-six minutes’ credit to the USA. Plenty of time for a chat.

  ‘Steinman here,’ said a pleasant elderly voice.

  Introducing myself, I stated the reason for my call and that I hoped it wasn’t an imposition to call on a Sunday.

  ‘I’m pleased you phoned,’ he said. ‘I’ve been waiting since I hung up with Brian Dunfey.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ve read your letter and I’m sorry this happened to your family,’ I said.

  There was a long silence. When he finally spoke, Steinman’s voice trembled.

  ‘The cult destroyed my family and I don’t wish it to destroy others.’

  ‘I’ll do all I can to expose this cult’s activities, Mr Steinman,’ I reassured him. ‘Are you happy to answer questions?’

  ‘Brian advised me that you’re a regular Sherlock Holmes. I’ll answer whatever you ask,’ Steinman said, ‘and I insist that you call me Harold.’

  I almost responded, ‘And you can call me Sherlock,’ but stopped myself in time. Instead, I said, ‘Thank you, Harold. I’m certain the cult you knew as the Luminous Renaissance of Illustrious Light is operating in Australia under the name Bacchus Rising. I don’t know if Heavenly Brother Excalibur is the leader, or even if he is here. I know Bacchus Rising is on the Gold Coast, but not exactly where, though I have established that they are using a local post-office box for mail.’

  I gave Harold the Bacchus Rising website address and my contact details and waited while he noted the information.

  Harold cleared his throat and said, ‘My granddaughter’s name is Casey Steinman. If I email a photo of Casey, can you let me know if you see her? I’d like to know if she . . . if she . . . is alive and well.’

  ‘I’ll do my best. And if she wants help, I’ll give it.’

  ‘I appreciate that,’ Harold said, ‘although I’m not even sure Casey’s in Australia. We have no way of knowing if she has a passport, or the name she uses.’

  ‘What name was Casey using in the cult?’

  ‘Harmony Bliss,’ he said. ‘Pretty name, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Do you mind my asking why you didn’t sign the letter?’

  ‘No special reason. Put it down to an old man’s folly. If I’d known newspapers don’t publish anonymous letters, I’d have put my name to it. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘How did you learn that Casey was with the cult?’ I asked.

  ‘A private detective. Casey was nineteen and an adult when he found her, so there was nothing we could do. That day outside the courthouse was the end of our efforts to bring her home. She displayed such loathing for us. It devastated her mother, all of us. We knew we’d gone as far as we could and to pursue it further would only make Casey hate us more.’

  ‘What was Casey wearing at the courthouse?’

  ‘A long blue dress. All the cult women at the courthouse wore the same. And they all had high ponytails like Judy Jetson. I took a photo of Casey at the courthouse holding a baby. I’ll send it. Apparently the women were using the dresses to hide items they stole from shops. The dresses had big pockets sewn into the skirts.’

  ‘You referred to a shoplifting ring,’ I prompted.

  ‘That’s about the size of things. It was probably organised by Heavenly Brother Excalibur, though he was never charged. I didn’t see any men charged.’

  ‘What sort of things did they steal?’

  ‘You name it, they stole it. Anything from batteries to laptops.’

  ‘Did anyone serve jail time?’ I said.

  ‘No, just fines, which I imagine Heavenly Brother Excalibur paid, and some community service. First-time offences. Well, first time they’d been caught, anyways.’

  ‘In your letter you mention rumours that Heavenly Brother Excalibur took money. What did you mean by that?’

  ‘It was small-town gossip that he ran off with the cults’ money. Apparently he sold properties the cult owned near Saratoga, emptied bank accounts and took off to Australia with his favourite women. Properties are expensive around here so it would have been a substantial amount. No one knows what happened to the members left behind. They licked their wounds and went home would be my guess.’

  ‘Was there any police involvement over the missing money?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  ‘Did any newspapers follow the money angle?’

  ‘No. Once the bird had flown, they lost interest. To be honest, everyone was so relieved the cult had gone that they didn’t care to read about them any more. In the beginning, a couple of papers were excited about the free-love side of things, anything for sensational headlines. In my opinion they were a bunch of tabloid hacks looking to sell papers. No offence intended.’

  ‘None taken,’ I assured him.

  ‘No one seriously looked into the cult’s beliefs or what they were doing,’ Harold said. ‘There are a couple of newspaper articles on the internet, that’s all.’

  ‘I’ve seen them, not much to go on except for a mention that some of the children attended local schools. That seemed odd.’

  ‘It’s a fabrication. I was on the school board and can assure you that none of the cults’ children were students at district schools. I couldn’t imagine they’d risk students discussing their business,’ Harold added.

  ‘Me neither,’ I agreed.

  ‘Have you wondered how Heavenly Brother Excalibur was able to enter and live in Australia?’

  ‘Well, yes, I have. Do you know?’

  ‘Not really, but he had a strange accent. A mix of pseudo-American and something else that could be Australian.’

  ‘You spoke to him?’ I said.

  ‘Not directly. Small town again. I heard him talking in shops.’

  ‘What did you mean in your letter by the cult being quasi-religious?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s an assumption of mine based on the cult leader’s appearance. Without meaning to blaspheme, Heavenly Brother Excalibur sty
led his appearance on Jesus Christ.’

  Whoa! The same as the description of the man on the flyers at Surfers Paradise.

  ‘How old is he?’ I tried to remain calm but my pulse sped up.

  ‘Mid to late fifties,’ Harold said.

  ‘Could you give me a description? We may have different ideas of what Jesus looked like.’

  ‘I can do better than that,’ Harold said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Harold chuckled. ‘I’ve got photographs.’

  ‘That’s fantastic,’ I said. ‘How did you get them?’

  ‘After we found Casey with the cult, I became a stalker and took pictures. I always wondered if they’d be of use. I’ll send you some.’

  ‘You’ve been really helpful, Harold,’ I said. ‘May I call you again?’

  ‘Please do. I’d like to know how you get on. And if you see my Casey,’ he said, ‘tell her I love her.’

  Chapter 27

  There was no doubt about it, this story was gathering more twists and turns than a bag of pretzels.

  I was now looking for two missing women—Tildy Wilding and Casey Steinman. And therein lay the conundrum, for neither was missing in the true sense of the word. Whether complicit or coerced, both had entered a totalitarian cult and been psychologically manipulated into divorcing themselves from society and the unconditional love of their real families. I had no doubt that the current conditional love experienced by both women was based on their economic and sexual value.

  In short, Tildy and Casey were prey. And ‘missed’ rather than ‘missing’.

  Chairman Meow, who’d been watching me intently, suddenly stood up and hopped across onto my lap. He turned a couple of circles before settling down and together we sat and thought through my conversation with Harold Steinman.

  Admittedly, I was no clearer on the message or doctrine of the cult, but I was now pretty sure that Heavenly Brother Excalibur was running the show in Australia. And although Harold and I hadn’t discussed sex per se, it was obviously high on Excalibur’s agenda. There were shades of master and slave in this, and whilst an older man surrounded by nubile and compliant young women is not illegal or deviant, it’s not exactly Neighbours either. The shoplifting aspect was another matter.