“I see. By all means, continue,” Daniel said, staring at Bronson.
Bronson took a deep breath. “What most people don’t know about Blake Ministries is it is funded in large part by Stone Energy. It has been since the end of World War Two. What’s not a secret, to anyone who watches our broadcasts, is my father is trying to groom me to take over the family business.”
“Trying?” prompted Tony.
“I’m not sure I want any part of it. Don’t get me wrong, I think Dad’s organization is on the up and up, but I just don’t think it’s what I want to do with my life.”
“You don’t feel the call,” Stephanie offered.
“Yeah, that’s the language we use,” Bronson said with a wry grin. “Anyway, Dad and his board have been bringing me up to speed on the business side of things, and recently I questioned an item called the General Operations Fund, which was 60% or more of our income. Tens of millions of dollars. There was a deposit for similar amounts every year going back to the beginning of the spreadsheet I was looking at. The money guys were cagey at first, but my dad told them to tell me.”
“Stone Energy?”
Bronson nodded.
Lianne looked up from her phone. “Preston Blake – known as the Boy Preacher – was famous for preaching at revival meetings in churches all across central Oklahoma. When churches stopped supporting him…”
“Because of jealousy,” Bronson said.
“…he spoke out in the open fields at farms in the area. But in spring of 1946, he got a tent and a truck. The rest is history. This article said he led the field that included A. A. Allen, Jack Coe, Oral Roberts, even Billy Graham.”
“That’s Great-Grandpa, all right.”
“So what’s the problem?” Daniel asked.
“The problem is why wouldn’t the Stones publicize their donations? My family seems to use the money as a positive force, but they kept it a secret as well. That day I wondered why, and now I can’t think of much else. I feel like it’s all tied up in the old house. Every time I’ve been there I have an overwhelming sense of dread. What’s the money for? Do I want to be a part of it? Or maybe I’m hoping to find something that will get me off the hook for becoming my father.”
“You might get more than off the hook,” Daniel said. “People who have poked around here have been getting killed.”
Tony sat up. “People? I know about Charlie, but who else?”
“Sheriff Harris. He was murdered.”
Stephanie put her hand over her mouth. “That’s terrible.”
“That’s why I came over,” Daniel said. “That and I think OSBI Agent Devose is behind a lot of what’s been going on.” He filled in the others.
Thunder crashed outside, and the sound of rain falling filled the room.
“That just doesn’t sound like the OSBI I know,” Tony said. “We’ve had our differences, but they’re always about doing the right thing. I think I’ll make some calls tomorrow.”
There was a loud grinding noise. The house shook, and the dishes on the table rattled. Bronson felt as if all stability was being yanked from under him.
“That’s more than the storm!” said Stephanie.
“It’s an earthquake,” said Tony.
Then it was over.
“That’s the biggest one I’ve felt,” said Daniel.
“We don’t have those in Tulsa,” said Lianne.
Bronson added, “Or in Oklahoma City.”
Daniel said, “They’re happening more often. They say it’s from the frakking for natural gas.”
The lights blinked out, then came back on. The sound of the storm intensified, then the power went off for good.
Cell phone flashlights illuminated the faces one by one. Bronson felt he could trust these people, but he had to admit it looked a little creepy.
Chapter 22
Daniel dashed through the rain to the cruiser. He got inside, closed the door, and inserted the key in the ignition. Before he turned it, the passenger door opened and Lianne jumped inside.
Tonight was one of the few times he’d seen her in civilian clothes, her hair loose around her shoulders instead of pulled back in a bun. At dinner, she’d looked pretty, but now she just looked soggy.
“Were you just going to leave?” she accused.
“I said goodbye,” he said.
“You said ‘goodbye, everybody.’ There’s more to it than that.”
He was irritated. “Oh, really? Like what?”
“Like what are you afraid of? A little competition?”
Daniel snorted. “From you?”
“Yeah, me. You keep shutting me out. I deserve more. I’m a good police officer.”
“If you’re so good, why were you sent to help us hicks out? I think you’ve been hidden away to keep from embarrassing someone.” He regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth. “Look, maybe it would be better if you got as far away from here as you can. I’m just trying to protect your career.”
She flinched like he’d struck her. She opened her mouth several times, but no words came out. Finally she said, in a low and even voice, “Don’t worry about my career. Look out for yourself. I can make a phone call to the Sheriff’s Association or the Tulsa County Attorney General and I’ll have the puny chief’s job you want so bad.”
Daniel reached for the most hurtful thing he could think of. “This is no place for a girl cop.”
He was successful. He could see it in her eyes.
She stepped out into the rain, leaving the car door open behind her.
He wasn’t sure where Sherry Threefeathers was. He had it on good intel she’d been in Oak Valley the previous day, stirring up trouble with a bunch of Native Americans.
She hadn’t gone back to the lady cop’s house. Maybe she’d worn out her welcome there, maybe she was scared off after losing the journal. She couldn’t go back to the motel; there were a lot fewer rooms available there. He’d seen to that.
And he was certain she hadn’t done the one thing she should do, which was go back to Norman and a quiet life of academia.
Following a tip from his informer, he drove 70 miles northeast of town to the reservation. The landscape was so flat he couldn’t get very close without being seen. He parked behind a sizeable hill of mining chaff and walked toward the cluster of buildings. He left his equipment in the car. He looked back to the south and saw a storm dumping rain on Oak Valley.
It took almost an hour of painstaking skulking to get close enough to see anything. It took another hour of careful observation before he saw her. She left a house and walked to a large meeting hall. She was escorted by a couple of older men. People from the other buildings joined them.
When the dirt street was fairly empty, he snuck closer. He slipped behind the meeting hall and crouched under an open window.
“We need to have a show of solidarity at the dedication ceremony Saturday,” he heard her say. “We need to be prepared to use force if necessary to keep the road crews from ruining the Mansion site. It’s the only way to show the world what happened there.”
He heard a man’s voice say, “We have reached out to many of our tribal brothers. They will join us.”
They were going to disrupt the ceremony and the road construction. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
He made his way to the home Threefeathers left to go to the meeting. The front door was unlocked. He stepped inside and pressed himself against the wall. In the kitchen an older Indian woman was standing at the stove, frying chicken. She hadn’t seen him.
He crossed the living room and saw an open door. When he got inside, he knew he was in her room. The bed’s covers were disturbed, but the closet was empty except for a couple of jackets and a robe. It was an extra bedroom, recently occupied. The opposite wall had a sliding glass door. He cracked it open for his escape later. Outside was parked an All-Terrain Vehicle. He looked closer and saw the key dangling from the ignition.
Didn’t these people distrus
t anyone?
He stepped into the closet to wait.
Two hours later, he heard people enter the house.
“Thank you for your leadership, Dr. Threefeathers. We’ve waited a long time to learn the truth,” said a man’s voice.
Another said, “I think the wait is almost over.”
He heard Sherry say, “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to rest before dinner. By the way, it smells delicious. After we eat, we’ll go to our brothers up north and try to be there by morning.”
He swore to himself. He had hoped she would sleep here. The plan was to dispatch her as she slept and be long gone before anyone discovered the body. With her gone, the plans to derail the dedication would collapse. That wouldn’t work now. He would have to wing it. He hated winging it.
He listened as she entered the room and he heard the bed creak as she laid or sat on it. She made some phone calls, then she fell silent.
He dared to peak out of the closet. She was laying on the bed, her back to him. Her phone was behind her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw she closed the door. It was now or never.
He reached back inside the closet and took the sash from the robe. He wrapped the ends around his hands. If he got it around her neck and turned her face down quickly enough, he could stifle any noises she might make.
He walked quietly to the bed, his arms in front of him. He made one last quick step and brought the sash down around her neck.
What he hadn’t seen, or heard, was the Pit Bull dog napping with her. He heard the growl just before he made contact with Sherry, then the full-throated bark as the dog attacked.
Sherry sat up in a panic. “What’s happening?”
He fell backward. “Help!” she yelled. Then she said, “You!”
He found his feet as the dog bit his leg. He opened the sliding door and staggered to the ATV. He heard the door open and people rush in, yelling and running toward him.
The ATV started on the first try. He headed out of town toward his car, hoping he had enough of a head start. When he reached his vehicle, he could hear the drone of motors headed his way.
The car engine roared to life, and he drove for the blacktop. He didn’t let up until he hit Highway 75, where he turned in the opposite direction of Oak Valley.
It was a close call, but he’d had close calls before. He was already working on Plan B.
Chapter 23
The next morning, Lianne got up at 5:30. She sat in her living room and read her Bible and even tried to pray. It’s what good girls are supposed to do, she thought to herself.
Giving up, she went for her morning run. The mornings were noticeably warmer now, but she still saw her breath as she jogged.
After 3 miles, she returned to the house and made black coffee, oatmeal, and toast. A sensible breakfast. She showered and dressed.
Then she drove to the police station, though she would have preferred to face a South American firing squad. Going to work was also what a good girl did.
Eileen was at her station, but Daniel wasn’t there. “Have you heard from Officer Minco?”
“He and Reverend Stratton are trying to find an…” she looked at a note on her desk, “Agent Devose.”
Great, she thought. Daniel would rather take the local preacher instead of her. “Anything else come in overnight?”
Eileen said, “Power came back on quickly after the quake last night for most of the town, but the elementary school is still down. They get a day off.”
“Lucky them. What else?”
“Just… oh, nothing.”
“What?”
“Officer Minco can handle it later.”
“Eileen, please tell me. For God’s sake, I’m desperate to be of some use somewhere!” Her tears surprised her. She looked away so the dispatcher wouldn’t see.
“Mrs. Baker called again. Complaining about Mr. Stevenson’s lights.”
Lianne sighed. “I’ll go out there.”
“Should I get the jail cell ready?”
The cruiser was available, so she drove it. She parked in front of Stevenson’s trailer. As she got out, she saw Mrs. Baker peeking out her window.
She went around back to the greenhouse and entered, surprising the grower.
“Mr. Stevenson, come with me.”
“Am I under arrest? Again?”
“No. Please just come with me.”
He followed her to Mrs. Baker’s porch. It took several knocks, but she finally opened the door.
Lianne said, “Mr. Stevenson, are you aware that growing marijuana without being a licensed dispensary is a misdemeanor, and I could fine you every time there is a complaint?”
“Yes, but…”
Lianne turned to the older lady. “And Mrs. Baker. Surely you know that this state has laws permitting the growth and sale of medicinal marijuana, and it probably won’t be long until the whole country does.”
“Yes, but it don’t make it right.”
“I’m not a judge or a lawmaker, just a cop. I don’t have the luxury of choosing which laws to enforce. It doesn’t matter whether I think they are right or wrong. But here, today, how are we going to fix this?”
The two looked everywhere but at each other. Finally, Mrs. Baker said, “The real problem is my grandson.”
“How is that?”
“Colin is only five, and he stays with me some weekends. Those cursed lights shine right in his window. He can’t sleep, and he asks me what they’re for, and I hate to tell him there’s a drug dealer next door!”
Stevenson couldn’t let it go. “I am NOT a…”
Lianne held up her hand, and he fell silent. “How often is Colin here?”
“Every other Saturday.”
Lianne looked at Stevenson and said, “You should be talking.”
He finally said, “I would be happy to turn the lights off every other Saturday. Would that help?”
Mrs. Baker looked like she hated to admit it, but said, “Yes. Yes, it would. Thank you.”
He held out his hand and she shook it.
“That was very nice,” Lianne said. “If you two need my help, please call me, but try to work it out yourselves first.” She walked back to her car. Next, the Middle East, she thought.
Her cell phone rang as she sat down. Sherry Threefeathers.
“Ortega speaking. Where are you?”
“I’m at the rez. I need you to come out here. I was attacked.”
“Are you OK?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know for how long.”
“Aren’t there reservation police that can help you? I don’t have any jurisdiction out there.”
“Yes, but I’m asking for you.”
“Are you sure you don’t want Daniel?”
Sherry laughed. “Not all Native Americans are the same, Li.”
Lianne felt her cheeks flush. “I’m sorry. Of course I’ll come. Text me the GPS coordinates.”
She hung up and thought about telling Daniel where she would be, but then decided not to. He wasn’t exactly keeping her in the loop.
Chapter 24
June 15, 1927. Summer is in full bloom, and my heart is as full as the wheat fields. Johnny is spending the summer here as foreman of a work crew that consists mainly of the boys he persuaded to return to school. He has proved himself to his tribe as well as my father with his honorable work. My father is returning home tomorrow and will be well pleased with the progress at Stone City. Will he be pleased enough to allow us to be betrothed?
June 16, 1927. No sooner had my father returned home when a delegation of elders presented themselves at the door. I made a pretense of serving the gentlemen, and they spoke freely in my presence, as women go unnoticed in polite company. Samuel Greengrass, the Indian’s leader, said that one of the girls in town was pregnant. Her name is Maria, and she is 15 years of age, and she claims she was raped by Lewis.
My father asked, “Isn’t it possible that this girl is blaming my son because of our family’s wealth?”
“People who are afraid are the ones that lie the most.”
The elders were getting angry. “Your son has spent much time with some of the undesirables in our city. His reputation is not good.”
My father is excellent at seizing opportunities in argument. “Perhaps it is one of these undesirables who has misled my son and is now putting the blame on him for their own crimes.”
I noticed the hand Samuel used to hold his walking stick was turning white from holding it so tight. “My people expect your son to be held accountable for his actions, and this blameless girl must have restitution.”
My father’s demeanor changed. “Of course, Mr. Greengrass. Rest assured that this young lady will lack for nothing, and my son will be made to pay for his actions.”
The elders appeared to be mollified. They rose to leave. “Thank you, Mr. Stone. My people are grateful you are taking this so seriously.”
After they left, my father picked up the phone and said, “Operator, get me Woodrow Wilson School in Oak Valley. Headmaster Jenkins, please. Yes, I’ll wait. Jenkins, this is Stone. Send Lewis home immediately.”
June 17, 1927. I am so furious with Lewis. He doesn’t even pretend to be remorseful. His attitude is so condescending it makes me sick, and my father is no better. After realizing Lewis was guilty, he – in his words – circled the wagons. He arranged for Lewis to leave and stay with my uncle in Oklahoma City. Lewis showed a twinge of humanity when he asked if Maria would be provided for, but my father swore he would not be coerced into paying “those Indians” another dime.
I am beginning to see what I thought was my father’s utopian dream is a scheme to ensure a labor force for his oilfields.
I long for Johnny to visit tomorrow. It will be Saturday, and his plan is to ask my father for my hand. Now I fear our whole world is collapsing. It may be up to Johnny and me to repair it, with or without my father’s permission.
June 18, 1927. I have never seen Johnny angry before today. He came through the front door without knocking. His first words to me were, “Where is your father?”
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