Into the Light (The Light #1)

by Aleatha Romig

  “I want to ask about the scarf again, but I won’t.”

  “Good.”

  “I just thought that our banishment didn’t end until tomorrow. Today isn’t two weeks. Tomorrow will be.”

  His brows lowered and his more familiar eyes narrowed. “You’ve done so well. I don’t want to correct you before service or make that a Wednesday-night habit, but if you question even one more time, I will.”

  I shook my head. “Thank you for your reminder. I won’t.”

  “After service we won’t be coming back here. We’ll be going back to our apartment. So today while I’m working, you’ll need to pack our things. I’ll bring the suitcases in from the garage.”

  “Yes, Jacob.”

  “Also, dinner will need to be done and cleaned up before we leave. We want to leave the living quarters as we found them.”

  Nodding, I slowly turned, taking in the living quarters, and sighed. I’d studied Father Gabriel’s word on the comfortable sofa in the living room, gazed out the large windows at the wall of trees, and relearned how to cook in the small kitchen. I turned toward the stairs and mentally traveled upward to the room where I’d rediscovered my husband.

  “Do you have any questions?”

  I grinned toward my husband. “No, I was just thinking that this place will be my past.”

  Jacob’s lips curled upward and his brown eyes sparkled. “Yes, it will.”

  That evening, with my hand tightly encased in Jacob’s, we entered the temple. Though I saw all the people in the foyer, Jacob led me down a hallway and up a staircase. I didn’t know where we were going, though I was relatively sure we hadn’t gone this way two weeks before. My palms moistened with each step as we approached double wooden doors.

  I bit my lip to keep from asking about our destination; however, as we neared, I had a good idea. When Jacob knocked on the large door, he whispered, “Remember what I said. Do not embarrass me. This is almost over.”

  I didn’t have the chance to verbally answer, so I nodded. The lecture I’d received for most of the truck ride into the community suddenly made sense. Taking a deep breath, I worked to keep my chin even.

  “Enter, Brother,” came from the other side of the door.

  When Jacob opened the door, I inhaled and began my own monologue. Instead of telling myself to keep my head up and wear my short hair proudly, as Jacob had done, my internal lecture was much simpler.

  Don’t faint!

  The table we stood before held five men. Though I didn’t remember having seen him, I was confident the man in the middle with slicked-back blond hair and a very nice gray suit was Father Gabriel. I recognized only one of the other men, Brother Daniel. When our eyes met, he smiled and nodded. Based on expressions, I deciphered that the man on my far left was Brother Timothy.

  “Father Gabriel, thank you for your correction. Sister Sara and I are ready to reenter The Light, with your blessing.”

  I bowed my head as Jacob spoke. Once he was done, I looked up.

  “Yes, Brother Jacob and Sister Sara.” I was right. I’d know his voice anywhere. “I’m pleased to have you back where you belong. Sister Sara, is there anything you’d like to say to me or the Commission?”

  Oh, my!

  Apparently, I didn’t swear even internally in his presence.

  Straightening my shoulders, I concentrated on Jacob’s hand over mine, as it’d been the day I awakened. “Father Gabriel, Brothers of the Commission, I deeply apologize for my behavior, thank you for your correction, and I look forward to being back in The Light.”

  Father Gabriel smiled and stood. Looking from side to side, he asked, “If any on the Commission has issue with our brother or sister’s return to the Assembly, speak now.”

  As silence fell, I held my breath, summoning all the self-control I could muster to keep my eyes on Father Gabriel and away from Brother Timothy. Just as we all grew confident in the silence, it ended.

  “Father,” Brother Timothy said.

  Jacob tightened his grip.

  “Yes, Brother.”

  “I don’t have an issue; however, before reintroductions, I’d like to hear Sister Sara’s answer to one question.”

  Father Gabriel sat. “Go ahead, Brother.”

  Brother Timothy stood. “Sister, what is the purpose of your new hairstyle?”

  I tilted my head down, ever so slightly, gathered my poise, and spoke clearly. “Father Gabriel and Brothers of the Commission, my hair was cut as a reminder of my correction. As I wait for it to grow, I’ll continue to remember my transgression. Thank you for my correction and my reminder.”

  Jacob’s grip relaxed and I took a breath. He approved.

  “Brother and Sister,” Father Gabriel said, seemingly also content with my answer. “Please go to the vestibule. I’ll be down after prayer. You’ll enter the stage after the Commission. Once I reintroduce you, you may go to your usual seats.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Jacob replied.

  “Thank you,” I added.

  After we’d left the room, I walked silently, wondering why Jacob hadn’t told me where we were going. It wasn’t until we were in a small area that must have been the vestibule that Jacob brushed my cheek and whispered, “I couldn’t tell you. Remember me saying that I also had requirements? You were perfect.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered. “Although I’m still embarrassed about my hair, I promise I won’t show it.”

  “You’re the wife of an Assemblyman. Never forget that.”

  Moments later, following Father Gabriel and the Commissioners, we stepped onto the stage. While we waited to be reintroduced, I scanned the crowd, looking for Raquel and Sister Ruth. I found Sister Ruth first; her smile shone toward us. As my gaze went behind her, I gasped.

  Though Jacob’s stare silenced me, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The two rows behind the Commission wives held eleven women and one empty chair. I immediately recognized Raquel on one side of the seat I knew was mine and on the other side was a beautiful redhead who I surmised was Elizabeth.

  The reason I’d gasped was the Assembly wives’ hair. Every one of them had a cut similar to mine.

  I had indeed started a trend.

  CHAPTER 26

  Stella

  I spotted Bernard as soon as I entered the coffee shop. This wasn’t Starbucks or anything that tried to duplicate the modern-day successful chain. This restaurant had been sitting on this corner in Midtown for over fifty years, and if I were to guess, the Formica tables and plastic-covered seats had been here on opening day. That didn’t stop the patrons. The place was always busy. The bar with the swivel seats bolted to the floor was filled to capacity as I made my way toward the back and eased myself into the red vinyl booth. The overpowering aroma of grease hung in the air like a cloud, and grew stronger as I neared Bernard’s partially eaten plate of eggs, bacon, and potatoes. I didn’t know how he could eat that every morning and stay fit.

  His dark eyes lifted to me as he paused between bites, wiped his mouth on a napkin, and said, “I ordered you a coffee. Do you want food?”

  “No, I’ve eaten.”

  “Do those cardboard bars count as eating?”

  My stomach was in knots. “Is this my last meal?”

  “I sure as hell hope not, but I need more answers than I’ve gotten in the last”—he dropped his fork to the plate, the clank echoing above the din of patrons—“since Mindy went missing. I think that’s the problem.”

  I steeled my shoulders and lowered my voice. “You think it’s a problem that my best friend is missing? Or you think that because my best friend has dropped off the face of the earth, I’m no longer able to do my job?”

  The waitress placed a cup of coffee in front of me, but hearing my tone, backed away before asking if I wanted anything to eat. Bernard’s beady eyes watched me over his coffee mug. When he didn’t respond I sighed and fell back against the seat, forcing the air from the vinyl with a whoosh.

  Finally he spoke. “St
ella, give me something. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

  I pressed my lips together at his sexist comment. Did he ask Foster what was going on in that handsome head of his?

  Instead of divulging all, I replied, “I’ve been following leads. It’s just that they’ve been coming up empty.”

  “You told me about the women, no pattern, just women in this area turning up dead. I’ve done some research, and you may be onto something.”

  My eyes widened. “What have you learned?”

  “The incidence of female homicides, as well as the potential for women to end up missing, is statistically higher per capita here, not only in Detroit, but in this general region, than in any other place in the country. Yet with all the stats that people spout, this one is rarely mentioned.” He leaned forward. “My gut tells me that it’s because of what you called the nonpattern. If the women were all tied together by one race or any common factor, it would send up red flags.”

  I nodded. “Why isn’t it enough that they’re all women?”

  “We need more.”

  “I followed your informant’s lead in Highland Heights. I don’t know what the building is used for, the one that holds the address of the registrations for the cars that cross the border. It looks abandoned to me; however, I don’t think it is.”

  “Why?”

  “While I was watching, an SUV pulled up and some men got out. They walked between the buildings.” I shook my head. “They didn’t stay long. So when they pulled away, I followed them to another part of Highland Heights. They all got out at a church and went in. I’ve been back and I’ve seen the same SUV there again.”

  “Why haven’t you told me any of this?”

  “Because I don’t have a connection from the church to drugs crossing the border. As a matter of fact, I think the reason they’re going in and out of Canada is because of preserves.” I nodded toward the little rectangular packets stacked in a silver bin at the edge of the table.

  “You think they’re transporting jams and jellies?”

  I shrugged. “I found the church on the Internet. It doesn’t have much information, but what little it does have says that they sell homemade preserves to support their ministry.”

  “In Highland Heights? Why would a church in that part of town be selling preserves? I wouldn’t think there’d be a big market for anything homemade, other than meth.”

  I released my lip. “I know. I’ve told myself the same thing. It’s kind of weird. I’ve been back a few times. I’ve seen men in cars and women walking from the church to what seems like an abandoned school. I think that they make the preserves in the school. And maybe there isn’t a market here; that’s why they’re going to Canada.”

  “Who owns the old school? Does the church?”

  Shit!

  “I don’t know. That’s one way I didn’t take this.”

  “Look that direction. Find the money trail.”

  I nodded. “So you’re not taking me off of this?”

  “Not yet, but you need to keep me informed.”

  “I know you believe my thinking is off because of Mindy, but I recently learned that HHPD has been trying to keep tabs—in a good way—on their transient populations, primarily females. This has been going on for a while, yet no one talks about it, maybe because they lose them. What I mean is runaways and prostitutes go missing.”

  “I’m not sure that’s newsworthy.”

  I scrunched my nose. “Who knows, I could be trying to pull too many things together? I’m trying to connect all of it, and most likely none of it is connected.”

  “I’ve found that money talks,” he said between bites. “I’m talking following the money trail, not paying someone off. See if you can come up with any connections under the surface since on the surface things aren’t materializing.”

  “I will. May I ask you something?”

  Bernard took a long drink of coffee. “Of course, but if it’s classified, well, I may have to kill you.”

  I grinned. “I’ll take my chances. This isn’t specific, but what do you think about cults?”

  “Cults?” His brows disappeared beneath his dark salt-and-pepper hair. I didn’t know why he didn’t wear it like this on the air. The way he greased it back for television made him look more like a used car salesman. This style was actually becoming. “I think,” he said, “it’s a derogatory term associated with deviant or unusual beliefs.”

  “What if it isn’t, or they aren’t? I mean, what if they aren’t all like Waco or Jim Jones? What if they exist right in front of us?”

  “Are we talking brainwashing, kidnapping, sexual abuse, and mass suicide?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I don’t have any proof of anything. Probably too many nights with wine and my computer.”

  Bernard grinned. “You’d better be careful. My wife killed her motherboard that way.”

  “That’s why my glasses are stemless.”

  “I’m glad to know you’re being cautious.”

  I shrugged. “They’re bigger too.”

  “I don’t know if you’re barking up the wrong tree or not. It seems like you’re trying to pull too many things together. Concentrate on the money trail and get back to me.”

  I looked at my coffee. I hadn’t even touched it. “Thanks for not firing me.”

  “Stop worrying. I’m not firing you, but I am setting a deadline. If you don’t have a story for me in by the end of the month, you’re moving on to something else.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  Instead of going straight to WCJB, I did what I’d led Dylan to believe I wouldn’t. I drove back to Highland Heights. I didn’t plan to get out of my car. I just wanted to drive around and get a feel for the property I’d be researching. In front of the old school was a large FOR SALE sign. I recognized the realty company immediately: Entermann’s Realty, a client of Preston and Butler. I’d done some work on a case in which a woman sued Entermann’s because she’d tripped and fallen on property owned by the company. My job was to discredit the claimant. It wasn’t difficult; she was one of those litigious people with multiple cases pending. Apparently she’d been successful in more than a few of her endeavors, because without record of employment she was financially solvent. Following her from her meeting with the attorneys, I found her walking around the deck of her twenty-five-foot boat docked at the river. It was a beautiful Hydra-Sports with two motors and a lower cabin. It wasn’t the boat that interested Preston and Butler—it was the lack of the walking stick or neck brace she’d sported merely an hour earlier.

  As I drove back to the building I’d watched weeks before, I longed for an open-and-shut case like that one. Externally the building hadn’t changed. It still appeared abandoned and the one beside it that looked like an old firehouse did too; nevertheless I wondered what the men did between the buildings. Though I drove slowly, the way the passage between the buildings was shaded meant I couldn’t see anything but light at the other end. I drove around the block again and parked at the far end of the building, away from the street. I wanted to get my Nikon out of my trunk, but hearing Dylan’s words, I opted for fast, and turned on the camera app on my phone. I stepped out of my car and tried to shut the door softly. Once I had, I shook my head. No one was there. I was just being ridiculous.

  Birds squawked above my head as I moved toward the building. My low-heeled shoes weren’t especially good for walking through the taller grass, but I chose that direction to avoid the obvious path of the sidewalk. Approaching the gap from the rear, I peered around the corner. Closer to this end were two doors directly across from one another, one to each building. Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the passage. The closer I came to the doors, the more audible voices became. I pressed my body against the rough brick and listened, trying to decide which building the sounds were coming from. Just as I determined it was the one that wasn’t the old firehouse, the sound of tires on the loose gravel in
front of the buildings made my heart race.

  With only the nose of a black SUV visible, I hurried in the other direction, out the passage, and toward my car. Once inside, I let out the breath and hit the “Lock” button. Before I could convince myself that it was Dylan’s fault I was so jumpy, a big dark hand knocked once on my window.

  I recognized the man immediately: his picture was on my computer. He was the driver of the SUV I’d seen on my first stakeout. Of course, from behind the tinted glass I hadn’t gotten the full experience of his girth. His waist was higher than the bottom of my window, and he bent forward. His not-so-welcoming face was at the glass as I eased my window down a little bit.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “Lady, you lost?”

  “I may be,” I lied. “I’m supposed to take pictures of some real estate for my company. Do you know if these buildings are for sale?”

  “Not to my knowledge. I suggest you get yourself out of here, and tell your boss if he sends you here again, you better have a gun.”

  I nodded. “Thank you,” I mumbled, rolling my window up and backing away. I may not have taken a full breath until I was back on Woodward Avenue.

  I was so lost in the money trail of the buildings that until my phone buzzed, I’d forgotten about my lunch with Tracy.

  Tracy Howell: CHARLOTTE, I’M SORRY. INSTEAD OF LUNCH, CAN WE DO DRINKS, SAY FIVE? I’M WORKING THROUGH LUNCH AND WILL DEFINITELY NEED ONE BY THEN.

  Shit!

  Stella: YES! I’M KIND OF BURIED AT WORK TOO. SEE YOU AT FIVE . . . JUMBO’S?

  Tracy Howell: I’LL BE THERE.

  I turned back to the computer screen and rubbed my temples. Since I’d been back to WCJB I hadn’t left my cubicle or even stood up. The pages of chicken scratch I’d accumulated wouldn’t make much sense to anyone but me, and even I wasn’t sure what it all meant.

  The school that I suspected was the preserves processing center was indeed owned by Entermann’s Realty. According to everything I could find, it was officially empty, out of commission, and had been since Highland Heights Public Schools closed the doors in the midnineties due to decreased enrollment. I wondered if anyone was even aware that it was being used.