by R. R. Irvine
Traveler wanted to comfort him but didn’t know how. All he could say was, “I’m here as a private investigator.”
Snarr leaned his head against the glass. “I’m not one to listen to gossip. I don’t believe for a minute that the company is responsible for what happened to my family. But someone is.”
“Do you think it was deliberate, then?”
“Let’s cut the crap. I know that Angel was named after you, but that doesn’t tell me your interest in her or my sister-in-law.”
Traveler gave him a business card.
“It says ‘Moroni Traveler and Son.’ ” Snarr said.
“My father’s named Moroni too.”
“And Angel?”
Traveler hesitated.
“I’m not about to tell Garth anything unless I have to.”
As briefly as possible, Traveler explained his relationship with Claire, and her arrangement with Hannah Tempest.
“If the girl’s not yours,” Snarr said finally, “why are you here?”
“My father wants a grandchild, even by proxy.”
“My mother used to say the same thing to me. ‘It’s time you got married and raised children of your own. It’s time you gave me grandchildren.’ Now, I’ll be raising Tommy instead. That’s a blood obligation, Mr. Traveler. Your motive I don’t understand.”
Traveler thought about his relationship with Martin, a father without blood obligation who was much closer to him because they lacked a genetic tie. He settled for saying, “I owe Claire.”
“How much?”
“That depends on what you tell me about the poison.”
Snarr took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll tell you what I told the sheriff. Aunt Hannah made the lemonade. Because of that, I personally searched her house from top to bottom, every drawer, every cupboard. There wasn’t anything lethal that could have gotten into the drink by mistake, at least nothing that wouldn’t have tasted so bad that no one would have drunk it.
“I talked to everybody who was sitting nearby at the picnic, too. From what I’ve been able to learn, the more lemonade my family drank, the worse their chances of surviving. Garth is only alive because he switched to beer. As to what actually killed them, I won’t know until I hear back from Salt Lake on the tissue, urine, and blood samples I sent for analysis. If it turns out to be poison, God help whoever did it.”
“Your responsibility is to Tommy,” Traveler said.
“You weren’t there when my parents and my brother died. You didn’t see their suffering. Diarrhea, chills, nosebleeds, vomiting, and I couldn’t do a thing. I was helpless.”
“What kind of poison causes symptoms like that?”
“Whatever it was, it attacked the liver, I know that much. Which means Garth could still have trouble sometime down the road. He’ll have to monitor himself carefully from now on, and there’s always the possibility he may need a transplant one day.”
Snarr stared at Traveler so hard the skin quivered around his eyes. “Now that I think about it, you were sitting with my parents at the picnic.”
“I stuck to the beer.”
“Christ!” Snarr said. “My mother didn’t believe a woman should drink beer in public.”
Shaking his head, Snarr returned to the sofa, where he sat leaning forward, his arms resting on his thighs. “Lyman Snarr adopted me as his own when my real father died. Every spare nickel went to get me through those first four years of college, until I got a scholarship for medical school. I didn’t know it until later, but he had to take a part-time job as bartender down at the White Elephant Saloon to do it. He was going to keep it up, too, taking extra jobs to get Tommy and Marty through college.
“We’ll be drinking to Lyman’s memory tomorrow at a farewell party down at the White Elephant, which will be open one last time with me behind the bar. I’ve invited all our friends. You’re welcome to come too, Traveler.”
Snarr clenched his fists so hard his arms trembled. “Don’t worry. I’ll check the seals on the bottles myself, to make sure no one else dies.”
33
TRAVELER USED the pay phone in the hospital lobby to call his father. Once assured that Angel was still in good hands, Martin calmed down enough to listen to the rest of Traveler’s report.
“What do your instincts tell you?” Martin asked when Traveler finished.
“To keep looking.”
Martin sighed. “I’ve been doing some looking of my own. Remember that lot someone put in your name? Well, you have the church to thank for it.”
“Have you been smoking Charlie’s tobacco?”
“Your mother was right,” Martin said. “Naming you for an angel was a revelation from God. ‘God takes care of his Moronis,’ she said. ‘My angel, my Moroni, will have someone to watch over him. Someone with power and money.’ ”
“You said she named me after you. Her way of keeping you around after she’d been unfaithful.”
Martin snorted. “I traced the deeds and bills of sale on parcels in the Chester Building’s block. Your parcel was purchased by the Etinad Investment Group, then transferred over to you.”
“I thought you said it was the church.”
“Do you have a pen?” Martin said.
“I don’t have any paper to write on.”
“Use your hand.”
Traveler decided to use the wall, which was already covered with phone numbers and graffiti.
“Mark down Etinad,” Martin said. “E-T-I-N-A-D. Have you got it?”
“Yes.”
“Spell it to me backward.”
“D-A-N-I-T-E.”
“That’s right. The Danites, the Sons of Dan, the church’s avenging angels. And guess who’s CEO.”
“Josiah Ellsworth,” Traveler said.
“It makes you think, doesn’t it?”
“Are you saying my mother knew him?”
“Like I said before, Kary always claimed to have friends in high places.”
“Did she know Ellsworth or not?”
“It could be a setup,” Martin said. “A way of giving you a financial reason to keep your mouth shut about the Chester Building. Of course, since the property’s already in your name, I can’t see what leverage they’d have.”
“So we’re back to friends in high places,” Traveler said.
“Someone loves you, that’s for sure. Someone’s trying to make you rich.”
Traveler tried to visualize Josiah Ellsworth as he’d seen him on the temple grounds. A tall man certainly, Traveler’s height, though much lighter in build. Then again, Ellsworth had never had occasion to bulk up to play football.
“I’d guess Ellsworth to be your age,” Traveler said.
Martin chuckled. “He’s more your size, too, if that’s what you’re thinking”
“Does he have children?”
“If a man wants to leave a legacy for his children, property’s always good.”
Traveler held his breath, wondering if Martin was on the verge of revelation.
After a few seconds of silence, Martin said, “Charlie’s here in the office. He’s on the other line and wants to speak with you.”
“Bill’s coming has been announced,” Charlie said immediately.
Martin interpreted. “Bill will leave the desert and reach the Chester Building at sunset. They’d both like you here for the ceremony.”
Charlie grunted.
“So would I,” Martin said. “In any case, there’s not much more you can do there until the medical report verifies the cause of death. Just make sure someone watches what Angel eats.”
“I’ll stop by the Odegaards on my way out of town,” Traveler said.
“Give her Bill’s blessing,” Charlie said. “Mine too.”
34
THE LAST of the storm clouds were passing to the east over the Wasatch Mountains by the time Traveler reached the Chester Building. With sunset only minutes away, Charlie, Nephi Bates, and Barney Chester were already gathered on the sid
ewalk. Charlie, who’d forsaken jeans and checkered shirt for ceremonial buckskins, had Bill’s trumpet slung around his neck. Bates had his cassette player cranked wide open, spilling “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” from its earphones, while Chester paced up and down and puffed on his cigar.
Two suspiciously nondescript sedans, both containing pairs of men in suits, were parked in front of the temple across the street. One of the men appeared to be speaking into a phone.
As soon as Traveler got out of the Jeep, Charlie hurried to the curb to clasp his hand. “Miracles require as many witnesses as possible.”
Car doors opened across the street. At the same time, the Chester Building’s revolving door swung into action, expelling Martin, who was carrying one of Bill’s spare robes folded over his arm.
“Eleven witnesses testified to the truth of The Book of Mormon” Charlie said. “I count only five of us here for our testament.”
“Has anyone heard from Bill?” Traveler asked.
“God will deliver him,” Charlie answered.
Up the block, where Main ran into South Temple Street, a long black limousine circled Brigham Young’s statue and headed their way.
“That looks like a church car to me,” Martin said.
As the limousine U-turned to double-park in front of the Chester Building, Charlie began nodding as if that was exactly what he’d been expecting. But when the car door opened and Willis Tanner emerged, Charlie’s nod twitched to a halt.
“This had better be good, Mo,” Tanner said. “I cut short my honeymoon to be here.”
“I didn’t send for you,” Traveler said, watching as two of the four security men crossed the road to take up positions on either side of the Chester Building’s right of way. Both carried handheld radios.
“Don’t look at me,” Martin added.
Tanner ignored the comment to stare up at the Chester Building. “Is this place really worth all the trouble?”
“Is that why you’re here?” Traveler said.
“I understand that you are a landowner on this block,” Tanner said without taking his eyes from the building. “A fine temple-view lot.”
“I’ll deed it over to Barney if that will save his building.”
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with, Mo.”
Martin grabbed Tanner’s arm. “Why don’t you tell us, then? Why is Moroni’s name on that deed?”
“Technically speaking, I’m not here. I’m still on my own time, honeymooning.”
“That was the prophet’s car you got out of.”
“Do I speak for the prophet, is that what you’re asking?”
“Don’t you always?” Martin said. “Handling public relations is your job.”
“Maybe I came here to witness Bill’s return?”
“Six witnesses are better than five,” Charlie said.
Martin shook his head. “Tell us about the Etinad Investment Group. Why are the Danites involved?”
“I wouldn’t listen to old wives’ tales if I were you,” Tanner said.
“Not so fast. Do you deny that Josiah Ellsworth is more than CEO of Etinad?”
Tanner smiled.
“Do you deny that he’s also the White Prophet?”
“God has only one prophet here on earth.”
“Does he head the Danites or not?” Martin asked.
“The apostle Ellsworth is one of the twelve who advise the prophet.”
Traveler said, “I can’t help asking myself if the city would condemn land owned by an apostle without the sanction of the church.”
“Success is a sign of God’s love, Mo. How could we prosper if God didn’t love us?”
Before Traveler could respond, Charlie raised the trumpet to his lips and sounded Bill’s Cavalry Charge. Only then did Traveler see the second limousine, a silver one, turning toward them from West Temple Street. Its license plate read ETINAD.
As soon as the car stopped in front of the Chester Building, a uniformed chauffeur got out, trotted around to the rear door, and opened it. Bill emerged from the backseat carrying a seven-foot staff and one crutch. His robe, a blinding white, was unlike any Traveler had seen his friend wear before.
Bill stepped onto the sidewalk and said, “God has spoken to me. ‘Seek a home, a temple for the Church of the True Prophet.’ His will be done.” He brought down the staff, thumping the sidewalk. “Here we will build God’s temple.”
Traveler glanced at Tanner to see how he was responding to the paraphrasing of Brigham Young’s temple declaration spoken back in 1847. Tanner looked remarkably calm.
Bill struck the sidewalk a second time before pointing the staff at the Chester Building. “Our work is done. God’s temple stands before us, ready-made. This is our tabernacle, our sanctuary. In his name, I declare it safe from secular persecution. The wrecker’s ball dare not touch it.”
“Bless you,” Chester said.
“When Brigham’s temple was completed after forty years of struggle,” Bill went on, “fifty thousand people set aside their work and gathered in the streets to praise God and give the Hosanna Shout. Can we do any less?”
Nephi Bates, wide-eyed, looked from Bill to Tanner as if seeking guidance.
In unison, Bill and Charlie shouted, “Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna! To God and the Lamb! Amen! Amen! Amen!”
Martin said, “Good try, Bill, but I’m afraid it’s too late. A church apostle has bought up most of the block.”
Bill shook his head. “God has shown me the way. ‘Look to the clouds,’ he told me.”
Traveler craned his head. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, not even over the Wasatch.
“The clouds are in his temple.” Bill carefully angled his staff into the revolving door before leading the way inside the Chester Building. There, standing in the center of the lobby surrounded by partially erected scaffolding, he thrust his staff into the air, pointing at the ceiling mural where Brigham Young was leading his people to their promised land. The painted sky above his wagon train was filled with billowing thunderheads, yellowed by generations of cigar smoke.
“In times past,” Bill said, “I saw the face of God up there, though lately he has turned his face away from us.”
“He’s right,” Chester said. “There used to be a face, or at least a cloud that looked like one, but I don’t think it was God’s.”
“Whose, then?” Martin asked.
Chester shrugged. “It was already faint when I took over the building years ago.”
“We must have the ceiling cleaned immediately,” Bill said.
“Me and Nephi are doing the best we can,” Chester said.
“Professionals are needed here.”
“I can’t afford to spend a fortune on a building that’s going to be torn down.”
Bill laid a hand on Chester’s shoulder. “God will show us the way.”
Traveler looked at Martin; they both knew the building’s high vacancy rate had been eating away at Chester’s savings for years.
Traveler said, “Go ahead and hire some help. My father and I will find the money.”
“I can’t do that. I—”
“It’s not charity,” Martin said. “We can deduct it from future rent.”
“Only if there’s a building.” Chester blinked wetly, then waved a hand in front of his face as if to clear smoke from his eyes, despite the fact that his cigar had gone out.
Traveler turned away to test the steadiness of the scaffolding. Satisfied, he was about to climb up for a closer look at the mural when Nephi Bates announced, “The police are here.”
Lieutenant Horne was leading the way through the revolving door, followed closely by his partner, Earl Belnap.
“Sanctuary!” Bill shouted as he stepped forward to bar their progress. “This is holy ground, not to be violated.”
Belnap’s arm snapped forward, his open palm slamming into Bill’s breastbone. The Sandwich Prophet fell straight back, arms flailing, crutch and staff flying, landing flat on t
he granite floor hard enough to knock the wind out of him.
With a war cry, Charlie charged by Traveler, who reached for him too late. Bone cracked as the Indian’s nose ran into Belnap’s fist. The Indian’s legs wobbled and gave out; he went down hard enough to break an elbow.
Martin lunged forward but Traveler stepped in front of him and threw a right-hand lead. In that split second before the punch landed, Belnap smiled. Then the impact hurled him onto the granite floor next to Bill.
“Hallelujah,” Horne shouted. “Assault on a police officer.”
Tanner shook his head at Traveler. “You ought to know better, Mo.”
“I’ve been waiting for this a long time,” Horne said, poking a finger against Traveler’s chest.
“Let’s not make any mistakes,” Tanner said as Martin went to Charlie’s aid.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Horne said.
“The way I see it, Lieutenant, a good lawyer could make a case for provocation. You know what that means. Hung juries and big fees.”
Horne started to say something, snapped his teeth together instead, and helped his partner to his feet.
Once standing, Belnap grinned through a fast-swelling split lip. “I’m going to nail somebody here.”
“You’re damn right.” Horne straightened Bill out of his fetal curl and stood him up. “This one’s easy. He’s already got charges pending against him.”
“I’m afraid not,” Tanner said.
Horne glared.
“Did you see the silver limousine outside, Lieutenant?”
Horne nodded.
“It carried Bill out of the desert,” Tanner said.
Horne’s face turned red; veins bulged in his neck.
Belnap grabbed Bill’s wrist. “Let’s cuff this bastard and be done with it.”
“It’s a lost cause, Earl,” Horne said and escorted his sergeant outside.
Martin squinted at Tanner. “How much is this going to cost us?”
“You already owe me, Mo, for helping find your namesake.”
“Tell me something, Willis,” Traveler said. “Did you know all along that Moroni Traveler the Third was a girl?”