The Burial Place

by Larry Enmon

  “I did. I said, ‘No, I’m not married.’ You never ask if I’d been married,” Frank answered.

  Rob took one last look at Frank’s picture and laid it on the nightstand. “Things didn’t work out, huh?”

  Frank gazed at the ceiling. His voice cracked when he whispered, “No, they didn’t.”

  “Hey, it happens. Takes a lot to hold a marriage together these days. Don’t beat yourself up over it. Have any kids? Still stay in touch?”

  Frank closed his eyes. “She was two months pregnant when she died.”

  Rob’s gut tightened. “She’s dead?”

  Frank talked to the ceiling. “We met in high school. Had to wait for her to graduate before getting married. When I got accepted to cooking school in New York, we found a studio apartment in Hyde Park. Best years of my life. She was funny, and sexy, and witty. We’d talk all night sometimes about all sorts of stuff. Never owned a TV, but had plenty of old Billie Holiday and Miles Davis records and rock and roll CDs. She worked; I got my degree in culinary arts and cooked dinner for us every night. She was my best friend and top food critic.” Frank chuckled. “Hated my gumbo.”

  Rob wasn’t sure what he should say. Frank had never spoken at length about his past. All people knew about him was that he came from Florida and used to be a chef. That was all Frank wanted them to know.

  “How did she die?” Rob asked.

  Frank opened his eyes and pulled in a deep breath. He kept his gaze on the ceiling. “We moved to Queens when I graduated. She disappeared from our apartment one night while I was at work. They found her a couple of days later. Been raped and murdered.”

  Frank’s hollowed-eyed look sent another uncomfortable tingle through Rob.

  Frank stood. “Excuse me.” He stumbled to the bathroom and closed the door.

  At that moment, it all fell into place for Rob. Frank’s life could have been just like his if things hadn’t gone wrong. They’d both married their high school sweethearts, both started with nothing, both wanted families. His wife’s death threw Frank into a different trajectory. No more serious commitments, only young beautiful girls who wanted to have fun. But Frank’s karma had been interrupted by this investigation. That day, as they were sitting in the car in front of Mrs. Mayor’s house, when Dora had come out and handed him the envelope with the key and a picture of Trina.

  “Holy crap,” Rob said to himself.

  Frank hadn’t been able to be there for his wife. She had died terrified and alone. And now he had no intention of letting the same thing happen to Trina.

  The sound of the shower drifted from the bathroom. Rob had no more taste for beer or conversation. He left, closing the door softly behind him.

  * * *

  Brother John rocked on the front porch. The night sounds filled the air, and he thanked God for his blessings. He might have remained a wandering soul if not for God’s grace and mercy. Growing up in the woods of Alabama, he and Luther had dreamed of getting out. The Christian rock band he’d formed had played at picnics, weddings, and other special occasions but never cleared enough to provide a living. Always trying to make ends meet, while still at home and listening to his father’s crap, had finally forced John out. The day he and Luther left to find construction jobs in Texas felt like breaking free from a small, dark box. John’s mom had told him that while Luther wasn’t the smartest, he still had much to offer. Listen to him. Listen to his prophecies. He had the gift—the blessing.

  John had listened and followed Luther’s teachings. Luther had told him to recruit men, whom he’d ordain and mark with the sign of Wormwood. These would be his disciples to carry out God’s word in Revelation. When the angel sounded its final trumpet, they were promised salvation. Then John would rise to the heavens and return as Wormwood. Mankind would take its last breath—except for their little congregation.

  They’d survive, and thrive, and the children that sprang from John’s loins would become the elders of the new earth—just like Adam and Eve’s children. John would be the transformed Messiah, dying for his congregation.

  And, just as Luther had said, three of the chosen had betrayed the faith and returned to their earthly ways of sin and degradation. When John became discouraged, Luther propped him up. Luther said God had shown him a beautiful cool garden and a great house where they’d live during the coming tribulation. A place they’d be safe and food would be plentiful.

  A light breeze brushed John’s face, and he stood, leaning against the tall porch column. They’d found their Garden of Eden. The only hitch to their plan had been Katrina. She still troubled John. It wasn’t what he’d hoped. He’d wanted her as a spiritual bride. A woman of Godly virtue who could raise his child to understand its life was ordained by God and prophesied by Luther. But this new revelation about her being the Dallas mayor’s daughter only complicated an already complicated issue. If she refused to submit, then getting rid of her was the next best thing.

  34

  Rob awoke Wednesday morning to some loud bird squawking. He staggered to the front door with malice in his heart, ready to lob an empty bottle at anything he saw. As he opened it, the first rays of the sun were creeping over the horizon. The bird was a pelican. It sat on the rail of their porch. A crumbled cookie also lay on the rail near the intruder.

  “Morning,” Frank said.

  Rob leaned out a little farther. Frank sat on the porch in his underwear with a cup of coffee.

  Frank held up his cup. “Have a full pot inside. Help yourself.”

  Rob grumbled a little and wiped his eyes, staggering to the kitchen. The pelican flew away and continued its protest as it soared out of sight. A few seconds later, Rob dropped into the chair beside Frank.

  “You’re up early,” Rob mumbled.

  “Sunrise and sunset are my favorite times of day.”

  Rob tasted his coffee. “Hey, I’ve been thinking about last night.”

  Frank didn’t face him, keeping his eyes on the sun.

  “Could I ask one more question, about that?”

  “If you must,” Frank said.

  “Did what happened to your wife cause you to stop being a chef?”

  “Yeah, guess so.”

  “So being a cop in Dallas was the opposite?”

  Frank grinned, but didn’t answer.

  “One last question,” Rob said.

  “I thought I just answered your last question.”

  Rob faced him. “Did what happened to your wife change your views on religion—on God?”

  Frank finished his coffee and stood. “I need a refill.” A minute later he sat down and again eyed the horizon. “My feelings about religion changed when I was a kid. Remember I told you about that day at the tent revival with my grandparents in Florida?”

  “Uh-huh,” Rob said.

  “During that same service, the evangelist said that the world was only six thousand years old. He said atheists had snuck into anthropological digs and seeded them with fake dinosaur bones to make people turn away from God. And believe it or not, he got half the tent to say amen. Thank God my grandparents didn’t. I would have walked out on ’em.”

  “So the guy’s a nutcase?” Rob said.

  Frank nodded. “Even an eight-year-old kid like me could figure that out. He wants us to completely suspend reality in favor of faith. Totally disregard radiometric dating, potassium-argon dating, and radioactive decay—throw science and reasoning out the window.”

  “I see what you mean.” Rob tried another swallow of coffee. “You should join me and become Catholic. We don’t discuss those types of things.”

  Frank rolled his head in Rob’s direction. “And that would solve all my doubts about Jesus being the son of God?” Frank asked.

  “Oh, no, but you wouldn’t think about them so much.”

  Frank chuckled.

  “Or, you could just get around the whole ‘son of God’ thing by accepting Judaism,” Rob said.

  Frank stood and downed the last of his coffe
e. “There are three reasons I could never do that.”

  “Oh, yeah. What?”

  Frank walked toward the door and smiled over his shoulder as if last night’s conversation had never happened. “Bacon, sausage, and ham.”

  * * *

  Katrina helped with breakfast, and everyone’s attitude toward her remained the same—cold. She cleared the table and had just started washing the dishes when Sister Ruth entered, smirking.

  “We’ll be bringing that gal up from the basement this evening. You best make sure your area’s ready for a roommate. Go ahead and wash the sheets, make sure there are clean towels in the bath, and straighten the place a little. I’ll finish cleaning up here.”

  Katrina had mixed emotions about Emilie’s release. She wanted the company, but Emilie wanted to get out too bad. She might try something stupid, before they were ready. Besides, they still had no weapons. Katrina had looked everywhere, but no luck. Listen to yourself. Katrina was making excuses about why they should stay in this joint another minute. But these were dangerous people, whether Emilie believed it or not. Katrina needed to think it through. If they were going to escape, they had to make it happen soon.

  A chill moved over Katrina’s skin. For some reason her situation had just started to feel a lot more dangerous.

  * * *

  As they pulled out of the cabin’s parking lot, Frank’s phone rang.

  “This is Pierce. Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker so my partner can hear.”

  “… Sergeant Snider—Beaumont PD. We found the Bible that belonged to the missing girl. It was just like you described. Wormwood highlighted in Revelation.”

  Frank cut a sideways look at Rob. “Thanks, Sergeant. Hold on to it for us. I’ll let you know.”

  “So, whatcha thinking?” Rob asked.

  Frank pondered the question. After a few seconds, he said, “Swing by the sheriff’s office. I have an idea.”

  They were dressed in their work clothes and driving the pickup when they parked in front.

  “Sheriff Lewis in?” Frank asked the deputy at the desk.

  It was the same redhead they’d seen the first day. She gave their attire a second glance before ringing the sheriff. “The Dallas detectives want to see you, sir.” She looked up at them. “Yes, sir.” Pointing over her shoulder, she said, “He’s in his office.”

  When they marched in, Sheriff Lewis stood. “Get you boys some coffee?”

  “No thanks, but you could do us a favor,” Frank said.

  “Oh, what’s that?”

  “Still got Evan in jail?” Frank asked.

  “Sure do.”

  “Wait a couple of hours, and then call Brother John. You’ve got his number?”

  “Yeah. And why am I calling him?” Sheriff Lewis asked.

  “Tell him Evan wants to talk to him—say he’s been going on and on about how it’s important—something about Wormwood.”

  “You mean have John talk to Evan on the phone, or in person?”

  “In person. Tell John that Evan is raving like a lunatic—he needs to come down,” Frank said.

  The sheriff smiled and eyed the pair. “You’re going to do something?”

  “We’re going to find out if she’s there, if that’s what you mean,” Frank said. “We’re not planning on identifying ourselves. Hope to get away with just a covert search. But if she’s there, against her will, we’re grabbing her and hightailing it to Dallas. We’ll let you know either way. It’s your county; do whatever you think best.”

  Lewis offered a sympathetic nod. “Fair enough, but don’t get yourselves into anything you can’t get out of.”

  “Okay,” Frank said. “Thanks.”

  Lewis pointed at the pair. “Don’t go thanking me. ’Cause this conversation never happened. Understand?”

  “Understood, sir,” Frank agreed.

  “Okay, get the hell out of my office.”

  They swung toward the door with Rob in the lead.

  “Hey, one more thing,” Lewis shouted, filling his jaw with tobacco.

  They turned and faced him.

  A grin crept across the sheriff’s lips. “Good luck.”

  Rob pulled into a bait and tackle shop on the way out of town. He went in and a couple of minutes later came out with a large paper bag.

  “What’s that?” Frank asked.

  Rob threw the bag in the back seat. “Anti-dog devices.”

  * * *

  “So how do you want to do this?” Luther whispered. He and John sat in the old Dodge pickup in the side yard.

  John looked at the house. He didn’t want to excite the brothers and sisters.

  “They’re keeping her busy this morning with chores, but we need to do it before we let the other one out,” John said. “We’ll take care of it ourselves—like the others. No use involving the rest.”

  “Don’t you figure they know?” Luther asked.

  “Of course they know,” John answered in a more scolding voice than he’d intended, “but we don’t have to shove it in their faces. You got any chores this morning?”

  “Just checking the trotline,” Luther said.

  John ran a hand across his face. “Okay, you finish that and we’ll do it while the others are cleaning the fish. Shovel still in the truck?”

  “Was last time I checked, but I’ll look. Who’s going to do it?” Luther asked.

  “This one’s your turn.”

  Luther stared out the window and his lips stretched tight. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. Could I just do the next one?”

  “What’s the matter?” John asked.

  Luther shrugged. “I don’t know. Guess I like her. I just don’t feel right about it.”

  Luther was a blessed prophet, but he had trouble with basic earthly decisions. John felt bad about raising his voice to him earlier. Luther couldn’t help the way he was any more than John could. John loved and respected his brother; putting him in distress seemed cruel.

  “Never mind; I’ll do it.” John opened the door and got out.

  He walked into the house and up the stairs. After unlocking the door to his bedroom, he slipped inside and opened the nightstand drawer. John removed the old .45 Long Colt and opened the cylinder, eyeing the shells before sliding the piece into the back of his waistband. John pulled his shirt over it. On his way downstairs, the phone in the kitchen rang. The sound of Karen’s voice echoed around the corner. When John walked up, she held the receiver toward him and mouthed the words “sheriff’s department.”

  “Hello,” John said. They had never called the house before.

  “John, Sheriff Lewis.”

  “How are you this morning?” John glanced at Karen.

  “Locked up a friend of yours the other day—says he wants to talk to you.” The sheriff’s voice sounded relaxed.

  “A friend of mine?” John asked.

  “Yeah, old Evan had a little too much to drink and got in a fight. Didn’t he used to live with y’all?”

  “For a while.”

  The sheriff paused before saying, “Well, says he wants to discuss something called Wormwood. Don’t really know what that is.”

  John pulled in a low, slow breath. He shifted his stance and moved the receiver to the other ear. “I see.”

  “If you plan on coming by, I’ll leave word with the jail.”

  John ran a hand across his mouth. “Sure, I can stop by for a minute.”

  “Fine. I’ll tell him you’ll be coming.”

  “Sheriff, why didn’t he call me personally?”

  “Don’t rightly know. He could have. We allow him use of a phone. But he asked me if I’d do it for him. Been feeling poorly lately.”

  John understood perfectly. “Thanks. See you in a bit.”

  John dropped the receiver into the cradle.

  “What’s wrong?” Karen asked, turning away from the counter where she was stirring something. Her hands were still covered with flour.

  “Not sure,” Joh
n mumbled. “Evan’s in jail. Asked to see me.”

  “You going?” She wiped her hands on her apron.

  John looked at her. “Not on your life. I haven’t been off this property in almost three years. Don’t plan to start now.”

  “What’ll you do?”

  John smelled a rat. A big, old, stinking police rat. “I’ll send the brothers. Has Luther left yet?” John glanced out the window.

  Karen motioned with her hand. “Saw him drive away on the four-wheeler just after you came in.”

  He kept his gaze out the window, and his mind on the cops, until Karen hugged him from behind, letting her hand slide down to his crotch.

  When he locked eyes with her, a smile had formed on her lips. She’d wanted to be a spiritual wife, but he had forbidden it. It wasn’t in God’s plan. But she allowed him to do things Judy and Ruth balked at. She enjoyed the games and toys. He took one last peek out the window. Luther wouldn’t be back for a spell. He’d send the brothers to talk to Evan and then satisfy Karen. Besides, with all that was going on, a good stress reliever couldn’t be a bad thing.

  35

  Frank and Rob coasted up to the compound’s open gate and turned right down the gravel road. They stopped at the same spot they’d parked yesterday. Frank had it worked out. They’d skulk through the woods and set up surveillance on the house somewhere between the garden and barn. They’d keep an eye on the back of the place and wait. After John left to see Sheriff Lewis, they’d make their way to the rear door and slip in. They intended to search the whole house.

  Rob led the way through the thick underbrush, weaving around briars and clumps of poison ivy. It had been a long time since Frank had spent time out in the woods like this. A low ground fog clung to his knees, making an already creepy experience even creepier.

  When they eased up to a large pine near the area where they’d been yesterday, Rob swung the binoculars toward the house. Frank scanned the ground for snakes.

  “Looks all clear,” Rob whispered.

  “Let’s go.” Frank turned right, staying in the tree line, working his way to the back of the property. The parklike setting and soft scents of pine and blooming shrubs kept his anxiety level steady.