Not of This Fold

by Mette Ivie Harrison

  I thought of the end of my marriage to Ben Tookey, my first husband, more than thirty years ago. He’d been in denial about being gay, and our marriage was a disaster in many ways, but I’d still loved him and wept at the end of our relationship, even though I’d been the one to pursue a divorce.

  But Gwen and Brad’s marriage seemed different to me. The Ferrises had weathered so much difficulty already. This couldn’t compare to the rest, surely. Kurt and I had been through a lot together, too. We weren’t in perfect harmony at the moment. Maybe we never would be. But I wasn’t going to throw it all out because of that.

  “Maybe you should give it some time,” I suggested, though I wasn’t sure Gwen was listening.

  “Yeah,” Gwen breathed out. “Time.” She got out of my car.

  I let her go at that, waiting to drive off until she had walked into her house and closed the door behind her.

  Chapter 18

  I opened my door the next morning to find Detective Gore there, waiting for me. She hadn’t called to warn me in advance and after what had happened yesterday, I was nervous that this was going to be a further harangue.

  “Can I come in?” Gore asked, not quite meeting my gaze.

  I hesitated a moment, then led her into the front room. She’d been there several times before, and I couldn’t help but think of the times she’d made sure things came out right. I wanted her to trust me again.

  “I wanted to talk to you privately,” Gore said. She sounded cool and collected, unlike yesterday. She hadn’t come here to apologize, surely? It was Gwen who’d been on the receiving end of most of her anger.

  “Anything I can do to help,” I said. “Especially after what happened with Gabriela’s phone. I didn’t know it would cause you that much trouble.”

  “I’m glad you said that.” Gore smiled. “I do have something to ask you.” She sat down on the couch across from me.

  “All right. Go on.” As long as it wasn’t testifying against Gwen in court, I was in.

  “I wanted you to help me understand the Spanish ward here. I could have asked some of the other detectives who are Mormon, but I worry it would look like I was belittling their religion.”

  So there were boundaries she couldn’t breach at work. I was glad she trusted me enough to ask difficult questions. It meant we were friends again, at least of a sort. Gwen would be able to better explain how the Spanish ward worked differently than a regular Mormon ward, but if she’d wanted to talk to Gwen, she’d have said that. I figured that with the phone incident, Gwen wasn’t on the top of her list for trusted Mormon contacts.

  “I’m not in the Spanish ward myself, but I might be able to help clarify some things,” I said.

  She met my gaze now. “My first question is—why is there such a thing in the first place? I mean, it looks from the outside like you’re trying to keep certain people corralled in a lower tier or something.”

  I winced. “That’s not the purpose of it. It’s trying to meet people where they are.”

  Gore raised her eyebrows at this. “Seems like people are divided on racial lines.”

  “They’re not racial,” I said. “It’s linguistic.” But I knew that wasn’t necessarily true. It was cultural, as well. “People choose for themselves if they want to be in Spanish wards or not. No one makes them stay if they want to move to an English speaking ward.” Even as I said it, I knew it didn’t sound right.

  “Well, I’ve been reading up about the Mormon church in Mexico,” Gore said, making it clear she had done plenty of research and had her own agenda here. “Do you know the history?”

  “You mean about Mormon polygamists fleeing to Mexico to escape prosecution here in Utah?” I asked.

  “Yes, that, to begin with. Until I was looking it up, I thought that the Wilford Woodruff Proclamation banned polygamy for all Mormons,” Gore said. “Like, in 1890.”

  I winced. “Yeah, uh, not quite.” The Proclamation was meant to sound like that to the law enforcement officials who were arresting polygamists and confiscating church property, and to make Utah look ready to become a state to the federal government back in Washington, D.C., but it was also clear to Mormons that the actual language of the document allowed polygamy to continue anywhere it wasn’t illegal. For a while, that included Mexico and Canada.

  “But it turns out there was another Proclamation against polygamy in 1910, was it?” said Gore.

  I nodded again. This wasn’t information that the average Mormon knew. It certainly wasn’t taught in our Sunday School classes. Some very prominent Mormon families lived in Mexico as polygamists for decades after it was illegal in the United States. The Romneys, the Browns, the Pratts.

  “There was a revolution in Mexico in the early 1900s and a bunch of Mormon polygamists came back to the US then.”

  “Yes,” I said. Though there were plenty of Mormons who were still practicing polygamy secretly in Utah anyway. Polygamist marriages had continued to happen in temples in Utah and even been sealed by apostles of the church. But the polygamists in Mexico weren’t as used to being secretive about it.

  “The LeBarons were also part of the Mormon settlement in Mexico, did you know that?” Gore was watching me very closely.

  I knew who the LeBarons were. They had started up various splinter groups from other small polygamous groups. One was called something about the Church of the Fullness of Times. And they’d fought amongst themselves, killing rival leaders, until they were jailed and stopped in the 1970s. It wasn’t a great time to be Mormon back then. The horror was spread all over the national newspapers, as if the average Mormons had something to do with it.

  “Is this really what you came to ask me about?” I was uncomfortable now.

  “I just think it’s interesting that there are so many groups that come out of Mormonism where people follow a single supposed prophet without question,” Gore said.

  “Splitting groups after a change in leadership is hardly unique to Mormonism. You see it lots of other religions. And in other groups, too.”

  “All right, but what about Greg Hope? What do you know about him?” Gore asked, apparently finished with her questions about Mormon history.

  I shook my head. “Probably as much as you do. I’ve never met him.”

  “Oh.” She looked disappointed. “I thought you would have a better sense, since your husband is a bishop too. Don’t bishops get together to talk about church matters and make decisions about their wards?”

  I was pretty sure she had us confused with Catholics. The Mormon “bishop” designation is very different. “I don’t think Kurt has met Greg Hope, either. We’ve only seen him on those car wash commercials.”

  “I understand he was a bit of a celebrity,” Gore said. “Still is, among the rank and file of Mormonism.”

  I shrugged. “He was a basketball player at BYU. But it was probably his mission to Mexico that made him a bishop. Kurt told me he baptized over a thousand people in his two years there.”

  Gore coughed. “So that’s a lot for one mission, then?”

  I nodded. “It’s probably a record.”

  But I didn’t want to go on about it, since I wasn’t sure it was something admirable. It was one thing to critique the church to other members, and another to do it to a non-member. “Back then, the church was growing very quickly in Mexico.” This was a different history of the Mormon church in Mexico, after the polygamists had left and the missionaries came back to preach to the native population as “Lamanites,” the people of the Book of Mormon.

  “So that’s why he’s a bishop for the Latino population here? He has the charisma necessary to keep people coming back week after week?”

  That wasn’t exactly the way that I’d put it. “I think it’s his general leadership qualities.” Why was I defending this choice when I didn’t trust it? Sometimes it was so frustrating to see how de
eply ingrained my deference to leadership was, even when I thought I’d rooted it out.

  “But he’s in charge of the whole ward, and he’s supposed to get them to pay tithing to the church every month, right? And to keep them from complaining that there aren’t any higher church leaders who are Hispanic to represent their own interests?”

  There was a newly called apostle who was from Brazil, but I didn’t want to go into that with Gore. I wanted to say that we were still young as a church, still teaching leadership to those of other countries, but I was afraid of how colonialist that sounded. “I like to think he’s trying to help them get along in the world we live in,” I said.

  Gore gave me an appraising look, like she’d never met me before. “You really see it that way?” she asked. “You think he’s on a mission from God to civilize them or something like that?”

  “No, no. Not like that. Just . . .” I trailed off, unsure where to go from here. Gwen had made me realize just how problematic the whole idea of “Lamanites” was. Yes, they were supposed to be the dark-skinned descendants of a branch of Israel who were destined to come to power in the Americas. But why did their skin have to lighten in the latter days, and why did they have to acknowledge the Mormon church as the one true way to God before being “saved?” I didn’t know if I believed that at all anymore.

  “What do you know about Bishop Hope’s business?” Gore pressed.

  I shook my head, getting the sense that she hadn’t really been interested in talking about Mexico or the Spanish ward except as they related to Greg Hope. “Nothing. I mean, I’ve read a little about it online. He sells security systems.” I didn’t want to tell her what I really thought yet, since I didn’t have any reason to have such a negative opinion.

  “Did you know his staff is almost entirely made up of members of his ward?”

  “I—I’d heard that,” I said cautiously. “He helps them.” I hoped that, though I didn’t really believe it.

  Gore sniffed loudly at that. “Helps them,” she echoed. “Sounds more like he’s helping himself to amass wealth while keeping his workers firmly beneath him in every sphere.”

  That was probably something she wouldn’t have said to anyone else. “Do you think he had something to do with Gabriela’s murder?” I asked. Was that why she was really here? Did she think I could offer insight on his personality or his role in the ward?

  Gore stiffened. “Not necessarily.”

  I stared at her.

  “I’m just asking about Bishop Hope because I’m trying to understand the dynamics of the ward Gabriela was in. How people related to each other there, so I can understand more clearly who might have benefited from her death.” She was trying her best to be vague.

  “Well, if you want to know more about how the Spanish ward works, maybe you should talk to President Frost. He’s over the whole stake,” I said.

  “I remember President Frost. No, thank you,” Gore said, glancing at the door. President Frost had stepped into one of Gore’s previous cases and given Gore the impression he covered up for other Mormons in power. Given that level of perceived trustworthiness, I could see why she wouldn’t go back to him.

  “Then maybe Kurt could help? He’s not home right now, but you could talk to him another time. Maybe if you came back at night?” I said, softening. I really didn’t think I could help her in the way she wanted.

  “Can you give me his number at work?” Gore asked instead, and put it into her phone as we spoke. Then she stood up and got ready to leave. Apparently I’d given her what she wanted about Hope, though I wasn’t sure what it was.

  “What about Gwen?” I asked. “You’re not going to charge her with anything, are you? About the phone?”

  Gore shook her head as if this was unimportant. “We’re moving on. This is about Gabriela, not about your friend,” she said, skipping even Gwen’s name.

  “Well, thank you,” I said.

  She walked to the door. “Greg Hope really isn’t a friend of your husband’s?” she asked one more time, her hand on the knob.

  “No, not at all.”

  She nodded, walked out, and drove off.

  I asked Kurt that night if she’d contacted him.

  “Who?” he said.

  “Detective Gore. You remember her from that other case?”

  “Oh, the black woman detective. She’s good, isn’t she?”

  “I think so,” I said. “Did she contact you today? She came over to talk about Bishop Hope and the Spanish ward.”

  “Did she? Interesting,” Kurt said.

  What a strange answer. He didn’t want to know more? “Well, she might contact you later. She thought you and Bishop Hope were friends because you’re both bishops.” I grinned at this. “Like how people outside of Utah think that if you’re Mormon, you must know all the other Mormons.”

  “Well, I’ll help her if I can,” Kurt said, scratching the back of his head.

  Chapter 19

  Later that week, I was still puzzling over Gore’s visit and her questions about Bishop Hope. I looked online for more information, but I couldn’t find anything else there. I ended up deciding that I was just going to have to see it for myself. I called Gwen to ask if she wanted to go with me and pretend we were interested in getting into sales. That seemed the best way to find out what I wanted to know about how the business worked. It wasn’t in any way illegal, either.

  I didn’t tell her about Detective Gore coming by the house. I still didn’t know what to make of it and didn’t want her reading into it.

  “You’ve just made my week,” she said enthusiastically. “When can we go?”

  That struck me as suspicious. “What about your job at Zions?”

  “I quit,” Gwen said.

  That was a surprise. “Can you afford to do that?”

  “I was going to give notice next month anyway, once I started the Police Academy. And we have savings. We’ll be fine financially,” she said casually.

  “Have you told Brad?” I asked, because Kurt would surely have passed that information along if he knew, and Brad would have told him.

  She said nothing, which was answer enough.

  There was nothing I could do to force her to communicate with her husband. I certainly couldn’t step in for her. “All right, I’ll drive,” I said. “Pick you up in thirty minutes?”

  “I think if we want a real sales interview, we’ll need an appointment. I’ll call and set them up, OK?” Gwen said and hung up. Clearly, she was as eager to figure out this piece of the Gabriela Suarez puzzle as I was.

  I looked down at the sweatpants I was wearing and decided I’d better put on something more professional if I wanted to look like I was really trying to get a job at a home security company. I glanced through my closet and wished that I had something other than everyday casual clothes and the dresses I wore to church. I didn’t really have anything that resembled business attire. It wasn’t as if Kurt’s job ever required me to entertain people. Anything he wanted me to attend with him as bishop was best done in Sunday attire.

  In the end, I threw on one of my darker dresses without a big flared skirt and hoped it would work. I carefully put on some lipstick and ran a brush through my hair, then brought out the gel that my daughter-in-law Willow had showed me how to use for Adam’s wedding years ago, which I hadn’t bothered with since then. It made my hair look slightly less poofy.

  I smiled at myself in the mirror. Good enough.

  I hurried out to the car and went to pick up Gwen. She was dressed in a navy suit, far more appropriate for the occasion than my dress. Probably the outfit she would’ve worn if she’d been headed to work at Zions.

  “So, I’m hoping to figure out if this is a scam,” I said. “What about you?”

  She gave me a funny look. “Linda, it’s obviously a scam. We just have to figure out how big it
is and how they get people to sign up for it—breaking arms, threats, or just plain old American lies.”

  I thought about Gabriela. She’d never talked about her job, but had clearly received regular payments for something.

  It took about ten minutes to drive to the address I’d already put into my phone, down to the freeway, then up two exits and past the Southtowne Mall.

  The Celestial Security property was extensive and high on the mountain. It looked almost like a palace with its white stone façade and incredibly lavish landscaping, including a waterfall near the building entrance, where we waited to be admitted.

  The front door was opened by an attractive, slim woman wearing what looked like a gallon of foundation in addition to her very red lipstick. She looked up at me and said, “Ladies, it’s so good to meet you both.”

  “We have appointments,” Gwen put in.

  “Ah,” said the made-up woman. “May I have your names?” She looked down at an expensive electronic version of an appointment calendar.

  We gave them.

  “Well, I’m Serena Matthews,” said the woman, tucking the electronic calendar under one arm and holding a limp hand out to me. “Come in and we’ll get you started. We’re so excited to meet you and invite you into our special family here at Celestial Security. This is a day you’ll never forget, the first day of the rest of your life.”

  Wow. That was putting it on pretty thick.

  “Come right this way. We have special, individualized sessions for each of you, with someone who can answer all your questions and give you the attention you deserve.” She walked us inside, asking about our children—this was a misstep for Gwen, but was quickly glossed over. Apparently they hadn’t checked our backgrounds.

  Despite myself, I felt relaxed and well disposed. If this company was a scam, it was a very good one.

  After this, we were offered a dazzling array of herbal teas, hot chocolate, Snapples, and sodas, as well as some expensive cookies and cupcakes that were “ordered in fresh every day.” Gwen refused, but I eagerly tried a couple, since I figured I might as well enjoy myself while I was here. She gave me a bemused look, but I took pleasure in deciding that my own cookies were better and these cupcakes were over-frosted. They looked very pretty, but not enough care had been taken on the inside, a metaphor perhaps for the entire Celestial Security business.