Into the Light (The Light #1)

by Aleatha Romig

  Two things were for sure. One, I was excited about my homemade jam. I hadn’t had good strawberry jam since I was a little girl. Thinking about my grandmother’s jam had my mouth watering. Two, I was going back to Highland Heights. I wanted to find out what was going on in that school building across the street from The Light. If it was only a jam factory, then I’d be able to tell Bernard that the lead hadn’t panned out.

  That wasn’t a conversation I’d relish. This investigation was taking longer than either of us had expected, and coming up with dead ends seemed to be my new specialty. Thank God, Foster was keeping Bernard busy with some new stories. Nevertheless my boss was definitely getting anxious. It wasn’t until I’d gotten him, maybe not on board, but at least entertaining the compilation theory that he’d agreed to let me keep working this angle. In order to do that, I’d had to share some of the information I’d learned from Dr. Howell. I didn’t tell him my source, but I gave him a taste of the incidence of women dying from suspicious causes over the last ten years in the Detroit area. When I did I watched his wheels turn. Even the slightest possibility of a connection between the dead and missing women and the drug smuggling made his brow and upper lip glisten with perspiration. Bernard foamed at the mouth like a rabid dog with the need to uncover this story.

  When my phone rang, I glanced at the date on the screen and my heart clenched. It’d been six weeks to the day since I’d last spoken to Mindy. I tried to suppress the lump in my throat as I answered the phone.

  “Hello, Stella Montgomery.”

  “It’s Foster.”

  “Hi, I obviously didn’t look at the number. What can I do for you? You’re saving my ass keeping Bernard busy. Otherwise he’d be chewing it every chance he had.”

  Eddie Foster’s laugh filled my ear. “Not a problem. We all have some stories that fall into place better than others. Have you found anything lately?”

  “Jelly.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” I said, waving my free hand. “What do you need?”

  “It’s not so much what I need. I have a couple questions for you.”

  “OK, shoot.”

  Foster cleared his throat. “You know we keep an eye on our own, right?”

  “You’re making me nervous. What are your questions?” I bit my lip.

  “What do you know about real estate in Bloomfield Hills?”

  “I know that some of the partners at Preston and Butler live there, and it costs more than I’ll ever have.”

  “OK, have you ever heard of Motorists of America?”

  I shook my head toward the phone, as if he could see me. “No, Foster. Is this for a story?”

  “No, not really. Like I said, we keep an eye on our own.”

  “Hey, I love you, but jump ahead. My mind’s so rattled with this case, I’m missing the point.”

  “Motorists of America, MOA, was a retirement endeavor set up in the late sixties for employees of the big auto companies. It was a private option for members of UAW and Teamsters. It didn’t replace their union dues or retirement; it was billed to supplement it.” I had no idea where he was going. “That was fifty years ago. I’ll spare you the history. Let’s just say it was one of the many ventures that didn’t deliver. The funny thing is that I remembered it was something Mindy had mentioned, and recently I was doing a search and it came up.”

  “Foster?” We’d already canvassed all of Mindy’s research. MOA hadn’t been there, so it must have been a while ago that she’d mentioned it.

  “Give me a minute.”

  Securing my lip once more to stop from telling him I didn’t care, I nodded.

  “I can give you more detail, but obviously you want the CliffsNotes. MOA declared bankruptcy in the eighties. Operations stopped, but it wasn’t dissolved.”

  My patience was wearing thin.

  “After bankruptcy a company is unable to . . .”

  “Foster, I really want to care. Are you saying this isn’t a story and somehow has something to do with me?”

  “Jesus, Stella, listen a minute. MOA has a list of assets a mile long, valued in the millions, hell, billions. I don’t know. I just got started into all of this. The part that jumped out at me, the reason I even stumbled upon this, was because of a six-bedroom home in Bloomfield Hills.”

  “Are you and Kim house shopping?”

  “Like we could afford to live there. No, I may have been running some searches on Dylan Richards and his name popped up on a utility bill, gas, for that six-bedroom. His name was only there one month, and then it was changed, but you know how slow utility companies are? Their records last forever.”

  What the hell?

  I shook my head. “Let me save you any further trouble. It’s not my Dylan Richards; you’ve got the wrong one. Next, explain to me why in the hell you’re running a search on my boyfriend.”

  “I suppose that’s possible, that it’s not him. What’s his father’s name?”

  I bit my lower lip. “Um, Mr. Richards? We haven’t really made it to the parent part of this relationship. He doesn’t talk about them. Now answer my other question.”

  “Bernard asked me to check him out.”

  “Holy shit!” I covered my mouth and looked around the office. Apparently my outburst had gone unheard, or people were used to them. Not drawing attention, I lowered my voice. “Don’t. He’s a cop. We’ve only just started discussing allowing Fred to visit. Seriously, he’s a detective. I promise we’re good. He’s good.” I ran my hands down the length of my ponytail and twisted the end.

  “Fred?” Foster asked.

  “Never mind. Actually, this pisses me off.”

  “Cool your jets. Bernard comes across all corncob-up-the-ass-ish, but listen, I’ve worked for him for a long time. He’s got good instincts and, well, he said he’d feel better if everything checked out.”

  I straightened my neck and shook my shoulders. After pursing my lips, I asked, “And what else did you find?”

  “Stuff I’m sure you know, criminal justice at Wayne State, straight to DPD where he spent five years as a patrolman before making detective and moving straight to narcotics and homicide. That’s a bit unusual, but the flags aren’t red, only amber. I mean, usually people start with less prestigious assignments. Your man went to the top. Personally, he’s been dating this hot investigative journalist . . .”

  If Eddie weren’t happily married with two kids I might have been offended, but since he was I just laughed.

  “Seriously,” he went on, “commendations, few complaints. The only thing that struck me as odd was the one-point-four-million-dollar home owned by MOA with his name on the gas bill. I’m diving deeper into MOA. I just wanted to ask if he had that kind of money lying around. Did a rich uncle die?”

  “Foster, you’ve got the wrong Dylan Richards. I’ve been to his house. It’s a nice renovated two-story in Brush Park: backyard, fence, and plenty of shelf room for Fred.” I giggled. “He’s my fish. I hate leaving him. He gets depressed.”

  Foster scoffed. “Well, Fred should be glad he doesn’t live at my house. I don’t know what my kids do to their goldfish, but I bet we buy a new one at least once a week. Kim said that when she enters the pet shop, all the goldfish try to hide behind the little castle.”

  “OK, remind me not to let your kids babysit Fred.”

  “Listen, Stella, I’ll look into this. You’re probably right, and don’t say anything to Bernard. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s a nice guy. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Hey, wait.” I had an idea. “Did Bernard ever have you check on anyone for Mindy?”

  “Stella . . .”

  “Come on. Did he?”

  “You know she wasn’t dating anyone when she disappeared.”

  I nodded. “I know, but before that. I mean we were tight, but I was super busy when I worked for Preston and Butler. I didn’t know if . . . ? Or did he ever have you investigate her?”

  “I wish I could tell you
yes. If I had, I would have already given it to the police. Stella, we all want her back. I wouldn’t hold anything like that without sharing it.”

  I shrugged. “It was worth a try. Thanks, Foster. Go find Bernard some more stories and stop worrying about Dylan.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Bye.” The line went dead.

  I took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure Mindy’s disappearance would ever get easier, not as long as I didn’t know. The thought of identifying her came back. I scrolled through my contacts until I found Tracy Howell, and I hit “Call.”

  “Charlotte, so nice of you to call.”

  I snickered. “I only do it because I love my new name. It’s like I have this whole dual personality thing happening.” After the first time she’d called me that, I’d learned that Charlotte was her sister. She’d recently spoken to her and it was the first name that had popped into her head.

  “I was going to call you.”

  “You were? Is it about Min—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “No, this was about something else. Could I call you back tonight? Will you be free?”

  “I can be. Give me a time.”

  “How about six?”

  “Sounds good, bye.” It was funny how even a glimmer of hope could make my body tingle with anticipation. I couldn’t wait to find out what she had to say. I looked at the corner of my screen. Damn, it was after one and I’d forgotten all about lunch. Grabbing my purse and phone, I logged off my computer and walked toward Bernard’s office, but before I reached the door I made myself stop and take a deep breath. I didn’t care if he was being nice. Having Dylan investigated was definitely a violation of my privacy. Another deep breath. I walked to his door.

  “Bernard, I’m heading . . .” His office was empty. So I grabbed a Post-it from his desk and wrote him a note:

  Bernard, Grabbing lunch and going to stake out a church for a couple hours. If you need me, call. Stella.

  On the corner diagonally across from The Light was a burned-out house, its driveway blocked by an overgrown tree with saplings all around. I pulled my car behind the foliage and sat. In another few weeks this wouldn’t work, the leaves would be gone. As it was they were various shades of orange and red and doing a great job of hiding my gray car. Unfortunately, they also blocked my vision, seriously limiting my view of the church and totally blocking my view of the old school building. Before I’d parked, I’d driven around the old school twice. While there still wasn’t any indication that it was being used, I did see an alcove that I hadn’t noticed before. It faced toward Glendale Avenue, but what lay beyond was hidden inside. No matter how slow I drove, I couldn’t see if there was an actual door. My curiosity was building. Since this wasn’t the door I’d noticed with the chain and lock, and based on where I’d seen the women cross, it would be the only place they could have entered.

  I looked for a worn path in the overgrown grass, but I didn’t find one. There was a cracked sidewalk that would hide footprints. I was sure Bernard wouldn’t appreciate my postponing this research until I could see tracks in the snow.

  The streets weren’t as empty as they’d been the last time I was here. I watched the occasional man or woman walk across the intersection, but no one went into or out of The Light. I knew Dylan would be mad if he knew I was there, but that didn’t stop me. I’d driven to my apartment from WCJB and grabbed a bite to eat. There I’d developed a plan. I’d run. It didn’t matter that I’d gone five miles this morning; a woman jogging along the streets would be less conspicuous than one walking, especially one with a thousand-dollar camera.

  After one more look around, I eased myself from my car into the autumn air. The afternoon sun had raised the temperature considerably since my morning run, yet again I wore long tight running pants and a long-sleeved T. Putting my purse in the trunk of my car with my camera, I grabbed my keys and phone. With my phone in hand, I hit my camera app and stretched, all the while watching for anyone.

  Taking a deep breath, I headed east.

  While driving I’d noticed a small park about a half a block past The Light. I started running toward it. The dilapidated surface of the road required my attention as I evened my strides. The last thing I wanted was a twisted ankle during my reconnaissance mission. I slowed as I neared the gate that I presumed the women had entered. There was a rust-free chain holding it closed. I snapped a picture. I’d need to compare it to the pictures I’d taken last time, but I didn’t remember the lock being there. Without getting through the fence, there was no way I could be sure there was a door in the alcove.

  As I snapped the picture, I noticed the same SUV I’d seen before turn onto Second Avenue and head toward me. I moved to the side of the street, placed the phone to my ear, and continued to run. Keeping my head down, I watched as the SUV eased into the same parking lot as before. When I turned into the park, I stopped and watched through the colorful bushes. This time four men got out of the SUV. Damn, I want my Nikon.

  Using my phone, I snapped pictures as they made their way out of the vehicle and around to a back entrance. Three of them were wearing blue jeans as before, but one was in a suit. I gasped. That was the man I’d seen earlier today on the website, Gabriel Clark.

  What do they call him? Father Gabriel?

  I was about to stop photographing when the men opened the door and a stream of women came out. Each one appeared to bow her head as she passed the men. They were headed toward the school.

  Shit! Fuck!

  I wanted to run back in that direction, but could I? The men had seen me running, and they were still in the parking lot. I watched from a distance as one of the women opened the gate and the rest entered. Then, after the gate was secure, they all disappeared into the alcove.

  I knew it!!!

  CHAPTER 21

  Sara

  Father Gabriel’s strong recorded voice echoed throughout the living quarters. I walked the length of the room and tried to concentrate on his lesson. While his teachings were instructional and some of his stories made me smile, listening while sitting on the sofa wasn’t working for me. Despite my best efforts, my eyes kept closing, and I was pretty sure I’d even fallen asleep more than once. It wasn’t that Father Gabriel’s lessons were boring or that I wasn’t curious to learn more about what we believed, it was that Jacob had needed to wake earlier than normal this morning, which meant I had too. Though Jacob still didn’t think I was healed enough for all my wifely duties, despite my current lack of vision I was able to make him coffee and breakfast each morning.

  He and Brother Micah left before five o’clock this morning to retrieve Father Gabriel from the Eastern Light. Jacob had taken him to the Western Light less than a week ago. I didn’t know how Father Gabriel got from the Western to the Eastern Light, where those places were, or even how far apart they were from one another. Though I was curious, I didn’t ask. I knew that if I talked about these things to Elizabeth or Raquel they’d tell me that if I needed to know, Jacob would tell me. They’d also tell me that I should be happy with whatever information my husband gave, and I was. After all, if he hadn’t told me where he was going and when he’d be back, I wouldn’t have known when to be ready to greet him.

  During this first week of banishment, he’d done other things to help me. One was finding me a clock without a covering over the hands. With it I could tell time by myself, which was especially helpful while he was away. Every step toward more independence helped me feel stronger and more like the person I believed I had been before I lost my memories.

  Although Jacob told me when to expect him, his arrival was contingent on Father Gabriel. Wherever the Eastern Light was, I figured it was far away, because even though he and Brother Micah left early, they weren’t scheduled to return until after six in the evening. I suspected that their goal was to have Father Gabriel back to the Northern Light in time for tonight’s service.

  Even if Father Gabriel made it back in time, Jacob and I still weren’t allowed to attend. Not only had we
missed last Sunday’s, we’d be missing one more week. We’d almost completed our first week of banishment.

  During our time away I’d learned more about asking and questioning. When I asked how The Light had service with Father Gabriel gone, Jacob explained that Father Gabriel could conduct service from anywhere. His image was projected on a big screen in the temple, and with the technology he could even see all the followers. Since I couldn’t remember any of what he described, I was becoming increasingly anxious to see it with my own eyes. I’d had contact only with Jacob since we’d arrived at the pole barn. Though Brother Micah worked in the hangar, he never entered the living quarters. I hadn’t even heard his voice; most of the time I knew he was there only because of the noises coming from the other end of the building. However, noises didn’t necessarily indicate his presence; according to Jacob, other men came to load and unload supplies as well as help maintain the planes. He mentioned them as a reminder that I wasn’t allowed to leave the living quarters. With our banishment, I was allowed to speak only to Jacob and the Commissioners or their wives.

  I didn’t care about the Commission; mostly I missed Raquel and Elizabeth. Since I’d woken from the accident, my world had seemed very small. The longer we were separated, the more I realized the important role my friends played.

  The other day, after everyone left the hangar, Jacob took me out and gave me a tour. I couldn’t see the planes, but I could experience them. First he took me inside the smaller plane. It had two seats for pilots, a large open area for cargo, and even multiple jump seats for extra or unexpected passengers. Because we were so far away from everything, with so many people, I understood why he needed to transport a lot of supplies; what I didn’t understand was how or why he had unexpected passengers, but I didn’t ask. Even though there were two pilots’ seats, apparently the smaller plane could be flown solo. I figured it was the one Brother Micah used while Jacob was with me.