“Hey, Claire!” Kelly’s unmistakable voice climbed above the boisterous chatter of the room as she skillfully negotiated her way through the crowd, champagne glass hoisted high above her head. “Glad you made it, kiddo!”
“Me too,” Claire replied. “But are you sure it’s okay for me to be here? I feel a little out of place not being in the publishing industry.”
Kelly gave her friend a big hug and took her by the hand. “Don’t be silly. You’re here as my guest. And let’s not forget, I represent half the people in this room.” In a snooty, aristocratic voice she said, “Truth be told, I’m quite the little powerhouse in this biz.” She handed Claire her guest pass. “Listen, hon. I’ve got to do a little schmoozing, say hello to a few friends, press the flesh, that sort of thing. Just show your pass at the door. We’re seated near the stage. Old man Janus wants to make a few formal presentations before dinner. You know, the usual corporate stuff. After that we par-tay! In the meantime, relax. Have a drink or three. Mingle. Meet a few normal people for a change. They won’t bite. At least not most of them. I’ll meet you inside in, say, twenty minutes?”
“Sounds good.” Claire said. She glanced around the room. “Is Martin here yet?”
“Uh-huh,” Kelly replied, sipping her champagne. “His limo dropped him off ten minutes ago. I’ll introduce you to him the first chance I get. But for now, shoo! Have fun! I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Kelly… oh Kel-ly!” Kelly turned around to the singsong call of her name. A beautiful, buxom blonde in her mid-fifties was walking toward them from across the room, a white miniature poodle cradled under her arm sporting a diamond-studded collar. Kelly smiled and waved. She turned back to Claire.
“That’s Penelope Nash and her dog, Ladybug. Nasty little thing’ll bite your hand off. The dog, I mean. She wrote a diet and exercise book called ‘Fifty and STILL Fabulous!’ I represented her for the deal. Good thing I did. Turned out to be a national best seller. Made her gazillions.”
Penelope Nash sauntered through the crowd, turning heads in her skin-tight white latex bodysuit and red stiletto heels.
“Damn!” Kelly said. “Looks like someone bought new toys for the pool boy. Look at the size of those hooters!” She winked. “Probably should have called the book, ‘Thanks for the Mammories!’”
Claire laughed as Kelly turned away and called out to Penelope Nash. “Penelope, darling! Ladybug! So nice to see you!”
Claire accepted a glass of champagne from a passing hostess, wandered back to the reception area, and read the biographies posted beneath the pictures of the authors and guests of honor. Finally, she came to Martin Belgrade’s photo. Unlike the glamour shots which many of the celebrities had opted for, Martin’s picture was not retouched. It was a simple shot. Sitting on the grass, wearing a blue denim shirt, beige cable-knit sweater and blue jeans. Beside him lay a beautiful golden retriever. Claire read the bio below the photograph: “Martin Belgrade is the author of several award-winning novels including The Devil’s Wrath, Soul Takers, and An Unholy Path. His latest novel, Heaven on Earth, is a New York Times bestseller. Mr. Belgrade lives in Santa Clara, California, with his best friend Maggy (pictured).”
The photograph brought a smile to her face. Martin Belgrade did not seem the least bit influenced by the trappings of his celebrity. In fact, there appeared to be nothing pretentious about him. He was handsome. His most interesting feature was his eyes: striking, ice-blue eyes that seemed not to look at her but through her. His face was strong, modelesque, his hair wavy, sandy blond. He was young, athletic looking, in his mid-thirties, and exuded a calm demeanor which transcended the lens. With his arm draped over the dog and his warm smile, he and Maggy appeared to be perfect company for each other. There was obviously much more to Martin Belgrade than she could gather from a mere photograph, yet there was something about him that intrigued her, made her want to know more. She would meet him later, as Kelly had said. Then she would know for certain if he was anything like the man that she had spent the last few minutes analyzing.
“Not exactly centerfold material, is he?” a voice said. “But the dog has all kinds of potential. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Claire turned. Standing several feet behind her was a distinguished-looking gentleman in a black tuxedo, his hands neatly folded in front of him.
“Perhaps,” Claire replied after catching her breath. “But that’s a purely subjective opinion, isn’t it?”
“Meaning?”
“That beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
“Just my luck,” the man said. “You are referring to the dog.” He smiled, extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Martin Belgrade. The photogenic one in the picture is Maggy.”
“Claire Prescott. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Belgrade.”
“Please, call me Martin.”
Claire smiled. Kelly was right, she thought. He’s even better looking in person.
“So, Ms. Prescott,” Martin asked. “What brings you here?”
“A friend of mine,” Claire replied. “And by association, a friend of yours. Kelly Patterson. Your agent, my roommate.”
“How did you know Kelly was my agent?” Martin asked.
“She talks about you all the time. She thinks highly of your work.”
“Of my work?” Martin joked. “You sure we’re talking about the same Kelly Patterson?” He raised his hand shoulder high. “Five-foot nothing? Ballistic personality? Reddish-blonde hair? That Kelly Patterson?”
Claire laughed. “The one and only.”
“I must thank her for the compliment when I see her later.” Martin said. He smiled. “I suppose I should apologize for sneaking up on you like that. I’m sorry if I startled you.”
“That’s all right,” Claire replied. “I was reading your bio and daydreaming. I guess you caught me off guard.”
“Daydreaming while reading my bio?” Martin said. “So, I’m that interesting, huh? Kind of explains why the main girl in my life is a dog.”
Claire laughed. “I didn’t mean it that way. Actually, I found it rather intriguing.”
“Really? How so?”
“The titles of your books, for example. The Devil’s Wrath, Soul Takers, An Unholy Path, Heaven on Earth. They all sound similar. What exactly do you write about?”
“Cults, mostly. Or more specifically, the nature of them.”
“As in demonic cults? Satan worshippers? That sort of thing?”
“Sometimes, yes,” Martin replied. “But mostly I research and write about doomsday cults and the hold their leaders have on their followers, which most times is powerful enough to make them kill for the cult or be killed defending it.”
“Sounds frightening.”
“It can be. But enough about me. Do you plan to stay for the evening?”
“Truthfully,” Claire confessed, “I wasn’t sure if I should. I feel a little out of place. I don’t know anyone here except Kelly.”
“Well then,” Martin said, “I guess we’ve solved that problem.”
“How so?”
“Now you know me! Truthfully, I was going to bring Maggy, but she looks terrible in a dress. Exceptionally hairy legs. And her table manners are atrocious.”
Claire laughed. “Is that so?”
Martin raised his hand and crossed his heart. “Swear to God. So, if you’re not here with anyone, would you consider doing me the honor of joining me at my table?”
Say yes, you idiot! This guy is gorgeous and obviously wants to get to know you better. Take your foot out of your mouth and speak already!
“Thank you, Martin,” Claire replied. “I think I’d like that very much.”
“Wonderful!” Martin said. He took her arm in his. “What do you say we get this party started?”
16
THE AMBASSADOR ROOM was truly stunning. It had been themed after one of Janus’s most successful romance novels. Claire was awestruck. Massive ice sculptures, some eight feet tall, sat upon crystal pedestals placed thro
ughout the room. A horse-drawn carriage on one, a prancing unicorn on another, a beautiful fairy-tale princess on a third. A gentle rolling fog generated by dry ice misters swirled at their feet as they crossed the room. The subdued lighting lent a mysterious glow to the mist, complimenting the total effect. In the center of the room, an immense tree appeared to be growing out of the floor and up through the ceiling, its trunk, limbs and branches painted metallic silver, each leaf brushed in gold. Blue and white silk sashes hung from the ceiling to create the effect of a brilliant sky. The costumed serving staff depicted characters from the book.
“Wow,” Claire said. “This is absolutely the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.”
“Same here,” Martin said. “Looks like old man Janus really outdid himself this time.”
“Are all your company parties as elaborate as this?”
“Truthfully, yes. But I have to say this one really takes the cake.”
A knight walked past, a rack of bells in his arms. He chimed them slowly. Ding! Dang! Dong! “Hear ye, hear ye, lords and ladies,” the knight announced. “Dinner is served.” The guests slowly made their way to their tables.
As they walked across the room, Martin said, “Claire, would you mind if I paid you a compliment?”
“No, Martin,” Claire replied. “Of course not.”
“If you will allow me to say so, you are definitely the most beautiful woman in the room tonight.”
Claire blushed. “What a sweet thing to say. I’m flattered.”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” Martin replied as he pulled back her chair.
As the evening progressed, they enjoyed a wonderful meal and even better conversation. Martin received a standing ovation and accepted an award for the success of Heaven on Earth, his fourth consecutive bestseller. After the speeches, Kelly stopped by to congratulate Martin personally, though Claire knew her real underlying motive was to find out how the two of them were getting along.
“Well, Martin, I see you’ve met the good doctor. Guess that saves me the trouble of making the introductions.”
“Actually, I didn’t know Claire was a doctor,” Martin replied. “She hadn’t told me.”
“Second generation,” Kelly bragged.
“Then I’d say you’ve been holding out on me.”
“How’s that?”
“You never told me your roommate was a doctor, and a beautiful one at that.”
“What?” Kelly sighed. “And have your attention swayed away from me? Why would I do a foolish thing like that? Besides, I know you lie awake at night dreaming up steamy fantasies about me. Come on, admit it.”
Claire laughed. “Should I leave you two alone?”
“God, no!” Martin said. “I wouldn’t be safe for a second.” He winked. “Besides, I suspect she just wants me for my body.”
“Who wouldn’t!” Kelly teased. “Anytime, anywhere. Right now’s good for me. Your room or mine?”
“Very funny,” Claire said.
“Okay, okay,” Kelly quipped. “I can tell when it’s my cue to split. I’ll leave you two alone to get better acquainted.” She leaned between them and stage-whispered in Martin’s ear, loud enough for Claire to hear. “Suite 1422. I’ll leave the key card under the mat. See you around 11:00?”
“Goodnight, Kelly!” Claire teased.
Kelly laughed. “Goodnight kiddo. See you later.”
Martin turned to Claire. “I have an idea,” he said. “It’s a beautiful night. What would you say to a stroll along the boardwalk after dinner?”
“Sounds marvelous,” Claire replied. “But I have to run out to the lobby first. Be right back!”
“Okay,” Martin said, puzzled.
Claire returned shortly. In her hand, she held a copy of Martin’s book.
“Mr. Belgrade, sir,” she said. “Would you be kind enough to autograph my book for me?”
Martin laughed. “Sure, but it’ll cost you.”
“Oh, yeah?” Claire said. “How much?”
“Once along the boardwalk and twice around the block.”
As the serving staff offered coffee, Martin signed Claire’s book. She read the inscription and laughed.
To Claire, whose table manners are much better than Maggy’s.
Martin Belgrade
Below his name, he had written his phone number.
17
AWAY FROM THE harsh lights of the hotel, the evening sky teemed with a canopy of bright stars. Claire walked with Martin along the boardwalk to the symphony of the surf. A fishing pier jutted out over the water, bathed in the soft glow of a single overhead lamp. They strolled to the end of the wooden dock and stared out over the moon-dappled bay.
“Martin,” Claire said.
“Yes?”
“When we first met, I asked you about your books. You mentioned you write about cults.”
“Yes, I do. Why?”
“Of all the things to write about, why such a fascination with cults? Especially, how did you put it… destructive cults?”
“It’s a long story,” Martin replied. “Cults are an obsession of mine, for all the wrong reasons, I’m afraid. Five years ago, I lost my wife and daughter to a cult.”
“Oh my God,” Claire said. “I’m so sorry. Lost how?”
“Before I became a writer, I was a university professor. So was my wife, Anne. I taught English literature. Anne’s area of expertise was religious studies. We were doing well. We had stable jobs, a decent income, and a big house in the country. You could say we were living the American dream. After a couple of years, we had a daughter, Melanie. My wife had been teaching longer than me, so we decided she would take a sabbatical. I would continue to work, and she would stay home with Melanie. Money wasn’t a problem for us. We could afford it. Anne’s father died several years before Melanie came along and left her a sizable inheritance, which we had invested well. But after Melanie was born Anne began to change, gradually at first. She wasn’t the sweet Anne that I had fallen in love with anymore. She had become distant, non-communicative.”
“What did you do?”
“I tried to get her to open up and tell me what was wrong, but she wouldn’t. She said it was none of my business and that I probably wouldn’t understand, anyway. She began spending more and more time away from the house with people from the university she said were her friends. I thought I knew all her friends because they were my friends too, but I’d never seen these people before. I got worried. A few of them gave me the creeps. They’d speak to Anne, but never to me. One day I came home early from work. A van I hadn’t seen before was parked in the lane near the back of our house. Melanie was two at the time. When I walked inside, I found her sitting alone on the kitchen floor. I was shocked. Anne never let Melanie out of her sight, not for a second. I looked upstairs and down, but she was nowhere to be found. The kitchen window was open. That’s when I heard voices coming from the barn where we kept a couple of trail horses. It sounded like singing, only softer. I picked Mellie up in my arms and we went outside. The closer I got to the barn, I realized it wasn’t singing that I was hearing at all. It was chanting. I slid open the barn door. There was Anne and her friends, sitting in a circle. Four men, five women. They were wearing black robes, and the women wore veils. They were praying or reciting a mantra… something like that. When I walked in, they immediately stopped what they were doing, stood up, and left. They didn’t even acknowledge my presence. Nor did Anne. She walked past me like I was a ghost, like I wasn’t even there. I remember her eyes, so distant and vacant. I ran after her, but she just kept walking. I grabbed her arm and turned her around to face me. The next thing I knew, it was lights out. Someone struck me from behind and I went down for the count. When I finally came around, they were gone. And they had taken Melanie with them.”
“I assume you called the police?”
“Yeah, for what good it did me. They said there was nothing they could do. Technically, Melanie was with her mother. Becau
se I didn’t see who hit me, there was no one to press charges against. The cops said I should give it some time, that they’d probably turn up in a few hours. They never did. I was on my own. I had no choice but to find them myself.”
“Where did you go?” Claire asked. “What did you do?”
“At first I didn’t know where to look for them. Then I thought of the university. I figured if that’s where Anne met these people, there was a chance that’s where she might be. I looked everywhere. I scoured the campus. I talked to her fellow professors, but they claimed they hadn’t seen her since she took her leave.” Martin took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “That was the last time I saw my wife and daughter.”
“So, you believe Anne and the people she was with were part of a cult?”
“I found out two months later that she was. She turned up in Uganda, of all places.”
“Uganda? What was she doing there?”
“Maybe I should re-phrase that. Her dental records showed up in Uganda.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It seems she fled the country, probably the same day I last saw her. It turns out that the people she was with were part of a Christian doomsday cult known as ‘The Movement For The Restoration Of The Ten Commandments Of God.’ Over one thousand people died in a fire that gutted their church in Kanungu, a small town about two hundred and twenty miles southwest of Kampala. Anne was one of them. The local police found over three hundred skulls, including the remains of seventy children. There was no way to tell how many died. The Ugandan government estimated the count at closer to fourteen hundred. They had burned almost all beyond recognition. Most of the bodies had been reduced to ash because of the intensity of the heat and the duration of the blaze. They entered dental impressions from the remains into a database. One of their hits turned out to be a match for Anne.”
The Vanishing Page 5