Divine Trilogy

by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

  "We haven't yet confirmed this was a simple accident," she said. "After all, a woman was beheaded."

  "Trust me, none of my family here would harm another intentionally. I suspect someone planted that body to implicate us. Not everyone supports our vision. We aim for a peaceful life, without the conflicts and inundation of modern society."

  "Yet you have a headless corpse in your incinerator."

  "You're very abrupt, Agent McLellan. Feel free to search my home. Please knock on any closed door. And do be respectful. My wives are nervous about your presence."

  "Wives?"

  "Yes, I have four wives. We believe no man should be limited in love. It's not in our nature for humans to be monogamous. So here at Sanctuary we have many unions, which I personally conduct. And before you ask, I am licensed to perform marriages. Of course, our government won't recognize my multiple marriages as legal."

  "How many people have you married?"

  "Other than my own, I have married eight other couples. All consenting adults. All legal."

  She made a mental note to check into his credentials.

  "Polygamy is still illegal in Canada," she said. "You're breaking the law."

  Christiansen raised his chin in defiance. "No law has the right to judge our unions of the heart. We are the navigators of our own destinies."

  "We'd like to navigate the rooms in your house now." She shot him a saccharine smile. "We'll be gentle with your wives."

  "I would expect nothing less."

  Christiansen took a step toward the hall, but she grabbed his arm. "Stay here. We may have questions for you after."

  With an annoyed huff, he settled into a plush armchair. "Fine."

  When Jasi and Brandon were nearly out of earshot, Christiansen called out, "Search away. I guarantee you'll find nothing out of the ordinary here."

  4

  Sanctuary, outside Mission, BC

  As they searched the ground floor, Brandon couldn't help but admire the handiwork of the building's construction. Each log that made up the exterior was hand-hewn, bolted and mudded between to insulate the house. Much of the artwork was artisan created and handmade, from fabric wall hangings to oil paintings to carvings in wood, copper and stone. Rich ambers, bronze and gold adorned every wall, and when the sun streamed through a window, it created a lavish atmosphere, which conflicted with such humble ornamentations.

  "Expensive décor," Jasi commented.

  "Most likely financed by his investors."

  "Father Jeremiah has investors?"

  "Some very wealthy ones. A couple of CEOs, a few politicians."

  He had spent some time the night before investigating Sanctuary's financials. Giles Christiansen had managed to acquire some hefty contributions from some of Canada's wealthiest CEOs, including Marco Bernardi, owner of Bernardi Cable. Bernardi was somewhat of a recluse, though paparazzi had recently hunted him on his travels through France.

  "I guess supporting a cult posing as a rehabilitation center like Sanctuary looks good on a resume or portfolio," Jasi said.

  They inspected every room on the lower level, but found nothing out of place.

  Jasi shot him a look of disappointment. "This kitchen is spotless. You could eat off the floors, it's so clean."

  He flashed a grin. "Something to be said for having four wives." She elbowed him and he grunted. "Lucky for me, I only have my eye on one."

  The look in Jasi's emerald eyes was priceless. Part shock, part horror.

  "We're talking about you moving in with me," she said. "Living in sin and all that. Who said anything about marriage?"

  He shrugged, knowing he'd hit a nerve. "Relax. It was a joke."

  But it wasn't. Not really. The more he was with Jasi, the more he realized he never wanted to be without her. He loved her beyond all logical reason, even when she sometimes exasperated him.

  "Let's go meet the wives," she said, charging up the stairs.

  "Maybe I should ask the questions."

  Pausing, Jasi swiveled on one heel. "What, you don't think I can handle questioning a bunch of women?"

  "I think you're pissed off about Christiansen and his way of life, and that might color your questions. If his wives feel you disagree or are judging them, they may not open up."

  She lifted her chin. "So you're the wife whisperer now."

  "Jasi, for once, please let me do the talking."

  She murmured something indecipherable, and he took that as agreement. He should've known better.

  At the top the stairs, the hallway veered off to the left and right, wrapping along both sides of the stairs and framed by cedar posts and handrails. Four doors on the left and four on the right, with a set of French doors adjacent to the top of the stairs.

  "Master bedroom," Brandon guessed, indicating the French doors.

  "Let's do that room last."

  "Okay. Shall we start on the left then? Last door and work our way back?"

  "Sounds good to me."

  The first room they entered was empty except for sparse furnishings—a bed, chair, nightstand and dresser. The bed was unmade. There were no clothes in the closet, not one thing to indicate anyone was staying in that bedroom.

  "Must be waiting for his next victim," Jasi said. "I mean, wife."

  "The drawers are empty. Nothing here."

  The next two rooms were also unoccupied. Both had the same standard furniture, as well as handmade oak cribs.

  "Christiansen has a fixation on having more children," Jasi said.

  "Most men in his position do. Children mean more followers. More followers mean more power. Especially over the women."

  "It's just sick."

  "I'm pretty sure Christiansen wouldn't have brought Sheral Downham into his home. She was new, and we know she was assigned a cabin with two other women."

  "Unless he had his sights on her being his new baby mama."

  "We won't find her here, Jasi."

  "I know. I was hoping this would be easy, but I understand it won't be. If he has her here, if she's still alive, he'll have hidden her from us. Just keep your eyes open. Sheral could have been in the house at some point."

  He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. "We'll find her one way or the other."

  "Unless the RCMP previously did and those are her remains."

  The final room on that side of the house was a massive bathroom with five stalls, a wall of showers and two vintage porcelain clawfoot bathtubs. They did a quick check but found no sign of Sheral Downham. Like the kitchen, the bathroom was spotless.

  "Not even hair in the shower drain," Jasi said. "And the RCMP already dusted the entire place for fingerprints."

  "Someone must have cleaned up afterward."

  They veered down the opposite hallway. A sign on the door at the end of the hall read: Rachel.

  Brandon knocked. "Rachel Christiansen?"

  "Yes?" a soft voice answered.

  "We're with the CFBI. We need to talk to you."

  "You may come in."

  Brandon opened the door and blinked. The room was decorated in pink tones, some bright and some muted. Stuffed animals lined a white bookshelf. Drawings of horses and butterflies were tacked to the walls. A kid's room?

  "How may I help you?" the blonde woman in the rocking chair asked without getting up. She was petite, fragile looking with pale skin and big brown eyes. And she was very pregnant.

  "You're Jeremiah's wife?" Jasi asked.

  "I know I look like I'm not even sixteen, but I can assure you I am twenty." Rachel rose carefully, as though she were afraid her bones would break. "Would you like to see my birth certificate?"

  "No, ma'am," Brandon said. "That won't be necessary."

  Rachel sat back down slowly, her dress draping in layers over her rounded stomach. "I understand you're asking our family members about the bones found in the incinerator."

  "Do you have any idea who they could belong to?" Brandon asked.

  "No."
>
  "Where do these doors lead?" Jasi indicated the double doors on one side of the room.

  "My children's room. Jacob and Oliver are in the field working with the men, and my youngest, Samuel, is napping."

  "May I?" Jasi asked.

  Rachel hitched in a breath. "Please don't wake him. He's had colic."

  "We'll be very quiet," Brandon promised.

  He followed Jasi into the adjoining room, taking in the crib with sheer lace draped over it and the bunk beds in the opposite corner. The room was the exact opposite of Rachel's room, all blue tones.

  "The favored child bride?" Jasi said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "She's given Christiansen three sons and she's only twenty. If two are helping in the field, they must be at least five or six. Do the math."

  "Nothing we can do about it now that she's of legal age."

  "Something should have been done earlier. These women are being exploited."

  They peeked inside the closet and found only toys and bedding.

  "There's zilch here, Jasi. Let's move on."

  As they moved toward the door, he saw Jasi take a step toward the crib and part the netting. She leaned down, her hand drifting inside the crib, caressing the child nestled within. It was a simple maternal gesture that twisted his insides. For all of Jasi's tough exterior, she had a soft heart.

  Back in Rachel's room, he said, "We appreciate your cooperation, ma'am."

  "We have nothing to hide here." The woman stood again, this time placing both hands on her stomach. "Excuse me, please. This one is more active than the others so I can't sit for long spells."

  "When are you due?" Jasi asked.

  For the first time, Rachel smiled. "Any day now. God has looked upon me favorably and blessed me. I am a fortunate woman."

  Jasi opened her mouth to say something, but Brandon nudged her. With an awkward nod, he steered her from the room, praying she'd stay quiet.

  "Why did you do that?" she demanded in the hall.

  "I didn't want you to say anything to upset her. She doesn't know anything."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Rachel isn't a healthy woman. Didn't you notice?"

  "I was too busy taking in all that blinding pink. I was half expecting Barbie and her friends to join us."

  "Rachel Christiansen is ill, Jasi."

  "That makes it a high risk pregnancy."

  "And that means…" He waited.

  "She's restricted to her room for the duration of her pregnancy. And if she's been there for any length of time, she probably doesn't know much."

  He knocked on the next door labeled Hannah. The dark-haired, slightly plump woman who opened the door appeared to be in her late-thirties. With one hand, she pushed black-framed eyeglasses along the ridge of her nose and held the side of the door with the other.

  "Hannah," he began, "we're with the CFBI—"

  "I know who you are," the woman snapped. "It's bad enough that those RCMP officers were here since dawn, traipsing through our homes and fields, scaring our kids, and now they have to bring in you hotshots." Hannah swiveled on one heel and stomped to the window that overlooked the front of the house. "Do whatever you gotta do and be done with it. We're not hiding anything."

  While Jasi poked around the woman's blandly decorated room and peered inside the closet, Brandon pointed to a beige armchair by the window. "Mind if I sit?"

  Without looking at him, Hannah shrugged. "You're gonna do what you wanna do."

  "Have you been here a while?"

  "Since I was twenty-one. Seven years."

  Brandon did a quick recalculation. Hannah was only twenty-eight, but her haggard face showed far more years on it. Before she had crossed her arms, he'd noticed the faint pinpoint scars. Hannah Christiansen was a drug addict.

  Her gaze clashed with his, and her lips stretched into either a grimace or a smile. He couldn't tell which.

  "Jeremiah rescued me from a life of crack houses and whoring."

  The way she said it, he figured she was trying to shock him, but he kept his face blank.

  "Brought me to Sanctuary and gave me back my life. Made me whole again."

  "Sounds like a real hero," Jasi said.

  "He is." The woman gave Jasi the once-over and sneered. "Honey, you could use a man like him in your life. He'd make you see the error of your ways, rid you of your attitude."

  "What do you know about the woman found in the incinerator?" Brandon said, changing the subject.

  Hannah tipped her head to one side, her eyes narrowing. "How do you know it was a woman?"

  "Forensics. The coroner has already examined the remains and sent us her initial report."

  "I only know what my husband told me. Someone got stuck in the 'cinerator and they got burned. Grace, one of my sister wives, found the body. She's still shook up about it, but I told her what's done is done. You can't bring back the dead."

  "Yeah, shit happens," Jasi mumbled.

  "Don't I know it," Hannah said. "Fas as I know, all our family is here 'cept those who left on their own."

  "How does that work exactly?" he asked.

  "What, leaving? They pick up their feet and walk through the gate. Just like everyone who doesn't belong does…eventually."

  Brandon took the hint, stood and made for the door. "Thank you for your cooperation."

  "We just want y'all gone so we can get back to our lives." Hannah reached into a drawer near her bed and retrieved a joint. She lit up and inhaled deeply. "Medical marijuana. I've got a prescription."

  Pausing in the doorway, he indicated the single bed on the other side of the room. "Who sleeps there?"

  "My daughter, Amanda."

  "How old is she?"

  "Thirteen next week. And in case you're gonna ask, she ain't Jeremiah's. But he accepted her like she was his. Just like he accepts us all."

  "Where is Amanda now?"

  "She's doing laundry, down by the creek. You wanna talk to her too? She's just a kid. She doesn't know nothing. But you go right ahead and talk to her if you have to."

  "You have no children with Jeremiah?" he asked.

  Hannah clenched her jaw, her eyes locking on his. "I had four miscarriages. But my husband is forgiving and says we're gonna try again. I'm a very fortunate woman."

  "Thank you for your time," Jasi cut in.

  The door closed firmly behind them and Brandon let out a sigh. "We're not getting anywhere with the wives."

  "Two more to go."

  The third wife, Beth, was just a girl. She let them into her room without hesitation. Her smile was broad, as though it had been a long time since she'd seen anyone outside of the complex.

  "Sit," she said, pointing to three chairs by the window. "Can I get you some ice tea? I have a fresh pitcher. I was just teaching Jebediah his ABCs."

  Beth's toddler sat in one corner of the room, a bunch of flashcards set out before him on the floor.

  "Thank you," Jasi said, accepting a glass of tea.

  Brandon passed on the refreshment and focused on the girl. Though seemingly cheerful, her hands were shaking. Blonde, blue-eyed and quite pretty, Beth chewed on her bottom lip.

  His eyes narrowed. Why is she so damned nervous?

  "When did you come to Sanctuary?" he asked.

  "Just over three years ago."

  "How old were you?"

  "Sixteen," came the quick reply.

  Brandon did the math. She certainly didn't look nineteen. Then again, his age meter had proved defective with the first two wives because he hadn't been right about their ages either.

  "And Jebediah?"

  Beth beamed. "Jeremiah's son."

  The boy played quietly in the corner, occasionally glancing up at them. His jet-black hair and green eyes seemed out of place against his mother's pale beauty and his father's brown hair and amber eyes. Beth might be passing Jebediah off as Jeremiah's son but Brandon had his doubts.

  "Jeb and I sit here with Jeremiah almost ev
ery evening," Beth said, her smile fading. "Isn't it amazing how God has blessed us on this land?"

  Brandon stared out the window for a moment. The view of the fields and forest was spectacular, with rocky hills in the distance. "Beth, did you see anything suspicious last night. Anything at all out of place?"

  "No." She glanced at her son. "I went to bed early last night. Jeb was a handful yesterday. He wore me right out."

  "So you saw and heard nothing strange?"

  "That's correct."

  "Do you have any idea who died in the incinerator?"

  Beth shook her head. "I don't."

  "Did you see all the women this morning at breakfast?"

  "I didn't go down this morning. I…wasn't feeling well." She placed a hand over her flat stomach.

  "Stomach flu?"

  "She's pregnant," Jasi whispered in his ear.

  "Shh!" Beth said. "I haven't told my husband yet."

  Brandon felt a twinge of irritation. Christiansen was repopulating the earth at an alarming rate. And this poor girl had been suckered in yet again.

  "There's zip here," Jasi said quietly.

  "I'm sorry I couldn't help you," the girl said.

  "Thank you for answering our questions," he replied. "And congrats on the new baby."

  "Thank you. I am a very fortunate woman."

  Out in the hallway, Brandon said, "I know you're pissed at this Christiansen character and everything he stands for, but you need to tone it down, Jasi. We need these people to trust us."

  "I know. But something about this place has my skin crawling. And I can't figure out why exactly."

  "See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil."

  "Exactly. And they all seem to be living up to that motto quite well."

  The last door on that side of the house led to the bedroom of Grace. She looked even younger than Beth. The girl had luxurious black hair swept up into a high ponytail. She was petite but healthy looking, with traces of native heritage in her brown eyes and high cheekbones. The dress she wore was a shimmering mauve concoction, and the high empire waistband accentuated her pregnant belly.

  "My husband is thrilled to be a father again," Grace said, stroking her stomach as she rocked in a chair by the window.