by Glen Ebisch
“A conversation about religion. Not sure I’ve heard it called that before,” Ashley said with a wink. “You do seem to have a way of attracting the most unlikely guys.”
“I’m not sure what to do about this situation.”
“Why not play along with him? It will give you a chance to find out what’s really going on in that community.”
“I don’t think I’m comfortable pretending to be interested in someone just to get information.”
“That’s called going undercover, or is it going under the covers?” Ashley said with what was probably a wicked grin under her mask.
“Very funny. I think I’ll wait until after my conversation with Rebecca to decide what I’m going to do about Jonathan. It could be that he’s just a nice, intelligent, dedicated guy.”
“Sergeant Rudinski won’t be happy about it either way.”
Clarissa had to admit to herself that Ashley had a point.
*****
Right at four o’clock, Clarissa walked up onto the porch of The Church of Good Grace. She rang the doorbell. Miranda opened the door and gave her a welcoming smile.
“Back again, Reverend?”
“Clarissa, please.”
The young woman nodded. “I’ll show you into Shepherd Jonathan’s study. Rebecca will be there in a few moments.”
The young woman led her down the hall and into the study at the back of the house. She gestured for Clarissa to take a seat in one of the wingback chairs where she’d been seated the last time for her conversation with Jonathan.
“I’ll tell Rebecca you’re here,” Miranda said, as she left the room.
Clarissa saw a bookcase to her left, and couldn’t resist walking over to see what sorts of things Jonathan read. There was one shelf filled with books on psychology; another held a mix of theology and philosophy; a third seemed to be devoted to business management. Before she could examine the collection more, the door behind her opened and a tall, slender young woman with short dark hair entered the room. The woman gave Clarissa a tentative smile.
“Reverend Abbot?”
“Clarissa will be fine.”
The woman sat in the chair across from her.
“I understand that my parents are concerned because I haven’t spoken with them recently,” she began.
“It’s quite natural for them to feel that way, don’t you think?”
Rebecca shrugged. “I suppose so, but nothing is ever half-way with them. If I talk with them, then before you know it, the two of them–––but especially my father–––will want me to move back in, and I don’t want to do that. I like having my freedom.”
“Do you have freedom here?”
“There are rules, of course, but you can pretty much do what you want. That wasn’t true when I was at home. I’m an only child and my parents kept an extremely close eye on me. It wasn’t until I went to college that I realized who I really was, and even then, they insisted that I come home every weekend. After I graduated, I came back home to live for a while as I looked for a job. Looking back, that was probably a big mistake because it encouraged my parents to think I was going to live at home forever, or at least until I got married. When I landed a good position in retail management, I decided I wanted to go out on my own. We had a terrible fight over that, but finally I left. It was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
“But then you came here.”
Rebecca shrugged. “I found out that I didn’t like living on my own. I don’t make friends easily, and I got tired of being on my own nights and weekends. Finally I heard about this place and gave it a try.”
“And that provided you with a new family?”
“Yes. But one that didn’t try to control my life the way my biological one did.”
“How did your parents feel about your coming here?”
She thought for a moment. “They didn’t like it when I lived on my own, but they absolutely hated it when I moved in here.”
“Why?” Clarissa asked.
“They didn’t like the fact that I wanted more freedom and left home, but moving here meant that I had replaced them as a family. They saw it as a betrayal, especially my father–––he’s pretty old school. They called the few friends I had from high school and told them I’d joined a cult. Then they began to barrage me with emails begging me to see the light and come home. Finally, they started coming around here, demanding to see me. I told whoever was door monitor to tell them to go away, but they kept coming around. It got to the point where I started to worry that Shepherd Jonathan would throw me out. And now, apparently, they’ve come to you. How can they do that? I’m twenty-three. I’m an adult. I can do what I want with my life.”
“Did Jonathan ever threaten to make you leave because of all this disturbance?”
She shook her head. “He’s been very understanding. But I want it to stop. It isn’t right.”
“Maybe if you met with your parents with other people present to act as a buffer, you could work things out,” Clarissa suggested.
“You don’t know them. They aren’t open to compromise, especially my father.”
“Maybe if Jonathan and I were both there when you met with them, we could get them to see the situation in a more balanced way.”
Rebecca looked doubtful. “I’ll give it a try, but if that doesn’t work, I’ll go to the police and tell them I’m being harassed. I could get a restraining order against them, couldn’t I?”
“I’m not a lawyer, and I’m not sure how anxious the police would be to get involved between parents and a daughter. Why don’t we try a meeting first?”
She nodded. “I’ll talk to Shepherd Jonathan and see what he says.”
“Good. Do you like it here?”
She smiled. “It’s pretty good. I’ve made some friends, and I like being part of something larger than myself. There’s a real good sense of community here.”
“I can see where that would be better than living alone. How about the Church’s religious teachings? Do you find it easy to accept them?”
“Oh, I’ve never been much for organized religion, but the Sunday services are kind of fun. We sing a lot, usually contemporary stuff. Then Shepherd Jonathan tells us a story from the Bible or something else he’s been reading, and we talk about it for a while. It’s a good chance to get to know the other people, and find out that you aren’t the only one with problems.”
“And people from outside the community join in as well?”
“A few outsiders attend, but usually friends and family of the people who live here. We’re all about the same age, in our twenties. Afterwards we have some food and a little party.”
“That does sound like fun.” Clarissa thought that it sounded preferable to the formality of most church services.
Rebecca stood up. “Sorry, but I have to go now. I’m on kitchen duty this week, and I have to help prepare dinner.”
“Let me know what you work out with Shepherd Jonathan, and tell him that I’d be happy to participate in a meeting with your parents if he’d like me to do that.”
Rebecca smiled. “If I were you, I’m not sure I’d use the word ‘happy.’”
As soon as she’d left the room, Miranda entered and escorted Clarissa to the front door. The community obviously was anxious not to leave guests unattended.
“Have a good day . . . Clarissa,” the young woman said as she closed the door, proving that she could be less formal if she tried.
Chapter 11
Ashley had left for the day by the time Clarissa returned to the office. She was about to lock up her desk and leave for the day herself when the phone rang. It was Rudinski.
“How are you making out on the Rebecca Carlson front?” he asked as soon as she picked up the phone. “The father has been on the phone again giving Lieutenant Baker some grief.”
Clarissa filled him in on her conversation with Rebecca and the plans for a meeting with her parents.
“So the go
od shepherd hasn’t been causing you any problems?”
“He wasn’t there when I met with Rebecca,” she replied, a little put off by his hostility toward Jonathan. After all, the man hadn’t done anything illegal so far. “I had a good talk with her, and it sounds like she’s just trying to get away from controlling parents,” Clarissa concluded.
“That doesn’t mean she hasn’t gotten herself involved in some kind of cult.”
Clarissa sighed. “There’s no evidence of that, and Rebecca certainly seems happy.”
“Probably most people who’ve been brainwashed are happy after a while.”
“Most of the people in this community are out working in the world and interacting with other people. The first criterion of a cult is that the members rarely have a close connection with anyone outside the group. Rebecca or any one of the others, as far as I know, can easily walk away whenever they want.”
“Yeah, maybe. We’ll see if this Jonathan character actually lets you meet with this girl’s parents. I’ll give you two to one that he comes up with some excuse to cancel it.”
“I’ll bet you a dinner,” Clarissa said sharply.
“You’re on.”
Clarissa thought it wise to change the subject. “So how did your meeting with Karla’s sisters go?”
“They’re quite a couple of characters, especially that tall, thin one. She thinks the police are absolutely useless. And the two of them are determined to haunt all the bars in town to discover who their sister might have met up with while she was down here. The only good thing that came out of it is that we got a photo of the estranged husband to show in case he’s in town. Of course, the sisters will probably be flashing it around every bar and restaurant before we get a chance to. Who knows? With all of us involved, we might find something.”
“But no sign of her laptop or cell phone?”
“We don’t know if she had a laptop with her, but her cell phone is definitely gone. We assume it was taken by the killer.”
“They told you about her using an internet dating site.”
“Yeah. But do you really think she’d travel all the way down here to meet with a guy she’d only communicated with online.”
“People who are desperate to make a connection will do desperate things.”
“I suppose. Too bad we don’t have a picture of this guy from the dating sight.”
“Who knows if he even posted a genuine picture? I hear a lot of people don’t.”
“Do you know this from personal experience?” Rudinski asked in a teasing tone.
“No. Not yet at least. But who knows what the future might bring.”
“Not that, I hope. Speaking of which, would you like to go out tonight for a bite to eat.”
“Sorry, I’d better not. Mrs. Morgan just made some meatballs and spaghetti using her own homemade sauce. She’ll be very disappointed if I don’t sample it tonight, so I can praise it to the skies tomorrow morning.” What she said was true, but she felt bad at blowing off Rudinski twice in a row.
Rudinski laughed. “Okay. I understand. Some other time then.”
They hung up with each promising to keep the other up to date on what was happening with the two cases. Clarissa locked up the office and headed over to the parsonage. She glanced in the refrigerator at the container of meatballs and sauce. It would only take her twenty minutes to put together the spaghetti and a salad. But it was too early to eat just yet, and she had the jittery feeling she often got when she’d been off her exercise schedule for too long. So she went upstairs and changed into her running clothes, and ten minutes later she was heading down toward the promenade that went along the beach.
This late into September the shops along the beach stayed closed except for the weekends when tourists would still come by to look at the ocean and pick up souvenirs. Bars and restaurants would open most nights, but only draw big crowds on the weekends. So as she ran along the promenade, things were very quiet. Some of the larger hotels had a few cars in the parking lots and the occasional vehicle cruised along the road that ran between the beach and the shops, but aside from one or two late season walkers, she had the route pretty much to herself.
As she ran along, Clarissa began to think about Jonathan. What were her feelings about him? When he’d suggested that they get together some time to discuss religion, she could’ve politely discouraged him, but she hadn’t. She wondered if it was because he had a plan to change at least a small part of the world. She knew she’d always had a weakness for men who had ambition, and she suspected that Jonathan had that in spades. But did she know him well enough to say whether she even liked him or not? One brief conversation from behind masks was hardly very revealing. Rudinski was suspicious of the man, partly, she thought, because of a touch of jealousy, and partly out of a hardheaded suspicion of small communities. She knew he could be right, and she might be naïve to accept Jonathan at face value. But she was going to give him the benefit of the doubt until there was good reason to do otherwise.
Deciding she’d done enough hard thinking for one day, Clarissa concentrated on her running. When she got back to the parsonage, she had an excellent meal of meatballs and spaghetti washed down with an Italian red wine and then she went to bed early and slept more soundly than she had for a month.
Chapter 12
The next morning Mrs. Morgan was hard at work in the kitchen by the time Clarissa came down for breakfast. She seemed to be perpetually working, although for the life of her Clarissa could never quite make out what she was doing or discern any particular results.
“Would you like a couple of fried eggs for breakfast?” Mrs. Morgan asked as the minister settled in at the kitchen table with the local newspaper.
“A bowl of cereal and a slice of toast will be fine, thanks.”
Shaking her head slightly, Mrs. Morgan went to the cabinet to get a bowl.
“Your usual cereal?” she asked in a tone suggesting that to have a usual breakfast cereal was the moral equivalent of having an accustomed scotch.
“That will be fine.”
Clarissa scanned the paper until she found the story about the murder of Karla Evanston. Included in the article was a picture of her estranged husband. He appeared to be an average guy, decent looking if a bit beefy but not handsome enough to attract attention. Clarissa hoped that if he’d followed Karla to Shore Side that someone would have spotted and remembered him. But would he have remained in town? If he knew about his wife’s death, there was every reason to believe that he would have left immediately.
Mrs. Morgan placed a bowl of Clarissa’s usual cereal in front of her, along with a slice of toast, an unpeeled banana, and a cup of coffee.
“Would you like the banana sliced on your cereal?” she asked.
“No, I’ll take it to work with me and have it during my mid-morning break.”
The woman hovered for a moment, and it finally clicked with Clarissa that she was waiting for something specific.
“I enjoyed the meatballs and spaghetti very much. I’ve eaten in a lot of Italian restaurants in New York City, and I’d say your sauce is one of the best that I’ve ever had.”
“Really!” Mrs. Morgan said, beaming with obvious delight. “You know I’ve always thought it was good, but not being Italian, I’ve always wondered just how authentic it was. I learned it from my Aunt Ruthie who was married to an Italian, so I always figured that if he liked it then it couldn’t be too bad.”
“Well, worry no more, Mrs. Morgan, it is superb.” The praise might have been a slight exaggeration, but the sauce had certainly been very good and Clarissa had found that very few people really wanted their accomplishments examined too closely.
After a brief conversation about the merits of various world cuisines, Clarissa returned to the article about the murder, finding nothing that she didn’t already know. Being careful to take the banana with her, Clarissa said goodbye to Mrs. Morgan and made her way across the lawn to the church office.
; Ashley was already there when Clarissa entered, and for a moment she remained staring off into space as though seeing something fascinating that only she could perceive.
“Good morning,” Clarissa said.
Ashley spun around to look at her. “Hi, Boss, how are you this morning?”
“Pretty well, but the day is still young.”
“How did your conversation go with Rebecca Carlson?”
Clarissa filled her in.
“So it sounds like she’s pretty happy as part of the flock.”
“It seems that way.”
“Of course, it could be the Stockholm Syndrome. You’ve heard of that, right?”
“That’s where captives or abused people start to bond with the people imprisoning them or abusing them, right?”
“Right. Well, maybe these folks living in The Church of Good Grace have bonded with Shepherd Jonathan, and think that everything he’s doing to them is peachy keen.”
“I suppose that’s possible, but that’s not the way it feels. Everyone is acting very naturally, and there’s nothing oppressive about the place.”
“Maybe Jonathan is just good at what he does.”
“Now you sound like Roger Rudinski.”
“He’s so upset because you’ve got the hots for the shepherd that he can’t think clearly about the whole situation.”
“I don’t have ‘the hots’ as you put it for Jonathan.”
“Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration. But you’re impressed by him and admire what he’s doing. You can see where that might get under Rudinski’s skin. After all, he hasn’t been going out with you for long, so he probably doesn’t feel very secure.”
Clarissa had to admit to herself that Ashley had a point. Put that way, maybe she was being too hard on Rudinski. She was expecting him to be objective and analytical in a situation where he was emotionally involved. In retrospect, she probably should’ve been more circumspect in her praise of Jonathan, whom she hardly knew. Instead she had gone on and on about him to Rudinski like a blushing schoolgirl. No wonder he was angry and hurt.