Reluctant Runaway (6 page)

Brent sighed. He put the baby on his shoulder and sat in the rocking chair again. Adam lay against his father, sucking his thumb, eyelids drooping.

“That’s the first Mama Jo knew about it. I didn’t want to worry her. Thought I could find Karen myself. When I didn’t, I notified the cops, but they didn’t give the matter high priority” The rocker picked up speed. “Someone’s unhappy wife packs a bag and runs? No biggie. But then they figured out she was a receptionist from the museum where those Anasazi artifacts were stolen, and all of a sudden they’re hot to locate her.”

“Did the theft happen on the same day Karen disappeared?” She picked up a magazine from the coffee table and fanned herself.

“The night before.”

“Don’t the police think it’s strange that she’d take off
after
the theft?”

“Yeah, they think it’s real weird.” The rocker creaked into overdrive. “I’m a prime suspect as the thief, and maybe I did away with my wife because she found out.”

“That’s bogus! You’re no murderer. One look at you with that baby over your shoulder and … ” Desi’s breath hitched. She quit fanning.

Brent’s brother had looked like a dedicated family man, and he turned out to be—

“You’re thinking about Dean.” The rocker stopped, and his eyes darkened. “I love him, but I don’t understand what he did. We’re not at all alike.”

“Yes, you are.” Desi nodded. “He’s not a killer, and neither are you.”

“Thanks. I think. But you didn’t say I’m not a thief.”

Desi shrugged. “You could be, but that feels too much like lightning striking twice.”

“To the police, it looks like bad seed related to bad seed.”

“The cops are paid to have suspicious minds. You reported your wife missing. Real dumb if you wanted to get away with murder and burglary.”

“Not so dumb if I wanted to make myself look innocent.”

Desi groaned. “Do I ever know how you feel! I’ve had the long finger of the law pointed my direction.”

“But you came out of it great.” Adam stirred. Brent sighed, and the rocker started in. “If they don’t find out who took those things, this is going to ruin my career. Who’ll want to hire an archaeologist suspected of stealing artifacts in grad school? I’ve already been barred from my internship at the museum. Temporarily, they say.” Brent’s nostrils flared. “But who cares? I just want my wife back. And Adam needs his mommy.”

Desi eyed the sleeping baby. Brent’s reactions rang true. It was Jo who seemed off. But that was a subject to take up with Max. She met Brent’s gaze. “You see me now, after my mess has been sorted out. When I was in the middle of it, I didn’t know how I’d come out alive. But by the grace of God, here I am. We can trust Him now, too.”

Brent shook his head. “He’s seemed pretty far away these past months.”

“Months?” Desi sat forward.

“Yeah. Karen’s pregnancy was rough, and she missed a lot of work. Good thing she had an understanding supervisor. Then after the baby came, she took a leave of absence. Depression set in, and she … changed. Wouldn’t go to church. Wouldn’t even step out of the house. At least not until the day of the robbery, when she went in to work for a few hours. She came home wiped out and slept the clock around.”

“I suppose her returning to work the same day as the robbery looks suspicious to the police.”

“Sure, and exhibiting symptoms of mental instability doesn’t help.”

Desi frowned. “Postpartum depression isn’t uncommon. You’d think people, especially professionals, would be aware of that these days. Did you get help for her?”

“Sure. The doc put her on medication. That meant she couldn’t nurse, so she felt like a failure as a mother on top of everything else.”

Desi got up and stretched out a kink in her back. She tossed the magazine onto the table and took a chair next to Brent. “Max said Karen had some issues before coming to the Lord. Maybe that’s a nosy comment, but.

“No offense. When we first met, she was messed up, but then she fell in love with Jesus. Got out of a dangerous relationship. Turned her life around. I was so proud of her. Proud to be her husband. Then, a few months ago it was like her faith got—well—twisted. She turned into some brittle person I didn’t even know.”

“Still conflicted about her heritage.”

Brent looked up as Jo walked into the room, Max close behind. “How long have you been listening?”

“Long enough to know you’ve missed an important piece of the puzzle. Not meanin’ to, of course, because you see Karen for herself and not as a half-breed.”

Jo turned her gaze on Desi. “Even in the twenty-first century, marriages between Native Americans and whites aren’t well received, especially if it’s an Indian man with a white wife. My marriage couldn’t survive the strain. Pete found comfort in meth. I chose divorce to protect Karen from the drugs, but I couldn’t guard her from everything. She grew up torn between two cultures and not accepted by either. The motorcycle gang accepted her. The church accepted her … to a point.”

Brent surged to his feet. The baby startled and fussed. “What does
that
mean?”

Jo shook her head. “Not a good presupper subject. Max and I had an interestin’ conversation, but I think we should save more serious talk until after supper.”

Brent jerked a nod. “I’ll put Adam in his crib.”

“Great.” Jo’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “The food’ll be ready in about twenty minutes. Time for me to run to the store for milk. I know that’s what you like with your meal.”

Desi looked from one to the other.
The thought’s kind, but the tone’s subzero. What’s between these two?

“Des and I’ll get the milk.” Max stepped between her sister and Brent. “I know the way.”

Jo shrugged. “The car keys are hangin’ on the hook inside the door. I’ll set the table.” She walked away.

Max’s gaze followed her sister from the room and then locked onto Desi. “Off we go, then. Bye, Brent.”

He nodded and headed toward the back bedroom.

“Bring that along.” Max pointed at the glossy periodical Desi had used as a fan.

Desi picked it up and opened her mouth.

Max held up a hand. “Don’t ask. Yet.” She led the way into the warm New Mexico dusk. They climbed into Jo’s beat-up car and pulled out of the driveway.

Max let out a long breath. “Under control, she says? Not hardly. What my sister calls an interestin’ conversation, I call downright spooky.”

“Spooky how?”

Max tapped the magazine in Desi’s hand. “Like that.”

Desi looked at the title on the cover. “The
Inner Witness?
Jo used that phrase in the kitchen. Sounds like something to do with Jehovah’s Witnesses.” She wrinkled her nose. “Is your sister
getting hooked in with them? I can see why you’re nervous.”

“Beyond nervous. Jehovah’s Witness stuff I have an answer for, but I don’t know
what
to do with the Reverend Archer Romlin.”

“Romlin? I’ve heard that name recently.”

“Maybe you caught his TV show sometime.”

“No, but I met this large fellow at that White House party Tony says Hamilton’s a crook, but Ham claims to have come to the Lord under this Reverend Romlin’s ministry. Says his life’s turned around. I don’t know the whole story, but if it’s legit, that’s a pretty cool testimony”

“Big ‘if there. Jo talks about this Romlin every time I call these days. I tuned into the show a few times out of curiosity. I’ve got to admit that the man sounds and looks great.” Max cast Desi a sideways glance.

“But?”

“He
feels
wrong. When he talks about Jesus, he calls Him the Lamb of God.”

“That’s scriptural.”

“Yeah, but they’ve got this ritual Feast of the Lamb thing goin’, kind of a cross between the Jewish Passover and Christian Communion. Romlin promises miracles to those who daily consume the body and blood.”

Desi looked down at the magazine. “I’m all for regular Communion. I’ve received answers to prayer when the bread and wine reminded me of the price Jesus paid to redeem me.” She flipped the pages and stopped on one displaying a full color photo of the Lord with His pierced hands outstretched.
Our Communion is with Him through the precious blood
, the caption read. She tapped her upper lip. “On the surface, this stuff looks great. But you’re right. It feels wrong.”

“That’s the spooky part. The lingo is ambiguous enough to
question and yet close enough not to condemn. Jo says Romlin teaches his followers to listen to their Inner Witness. She’s convinced hers is sayin’ we’re the ones to get to the bottom of what happened to Karen.”

Desi groaned. “Is Inner Witness another term for the leading of the Holy Spirit, or does it refer to another kind of spirit—a dangerous fake?”

“Exactly!” Max turned the vehicle into the grocery store lot. “I love my sister, but she goes from one faddy spirituality to the next.”

“Yeah, you’ve told me about a few of her faith experiments. ‘Always learning, but never coming to knowledge of the truth.’ One of the toughest kinds of people to reach.”

Max parked the car. “My opinion? A lot of Karen’s identity problems came from all the screwed up philosophies Jo’s tried. I had high hopes when Karen met Brent and started goin’ to his church. Thought maybe she’d help her mom find the way, but I think the opposite happened. Jo and this Inner Witness Ministries pulled Karen into something that’s … off. And did it before she had a chance to get her feet on solid ground with the Lord.”

“Could the Inner Witness have anything to do with Karen’s disappearance?”

“Wouldn’t a cult be a better explanation than bein’ a thief or a murder victim?”

Desi shook her head. “I’ve heard how hard it is to get people free of cult ideology, but it’s an avenue to explore that won’t put us afoul of a legal investigation. The magazine says the ministry headquarters is in Santa Fe. Too convenient to ignore. We should look into this.”

‘Deal.” Max held up her hand.

Desi smacked it. She laid the magazine on the seat. “Just a
PO box listed. Think you can dig the street address off the Internet tonight?”

Max shot her a look.

Desi laughed. “Sorry I asked.”

They went into the store, bought the milk, and drove back to the house. A big pickup with dual rear wheels was parked at the curb. The rays of the lowering sun sparkled off the chrome on the roll bar.

“Oh, man, Jo’s ex is here. He’d better not be high. With that baby in there … ” Max got out and slammed the door.

Desi followed at a hustle. Raised voices came from inside the house. Max broke into a run; Desi followed. When a woman screamed, Desi pulled her cell phone from her purse. A man bellowed as she punched in nine. Glass smashed. She punched in one.

All went still.

Max stopped with one foot on the porch step. Desi crept up behind her, finger poised over that last button.

A bird called from the branches of a tree.

Max jumped and let out a little laugh. Desi breathed again.

A gun blast shattered the air.

 Five

N
o, Max!” Desi tackled her friend from behind, and they tumbled together up the single step onto the porch.

Max struggled. “Let go of me! That’s my
sister
in there!”

“And that’s a gun in there. Hold your horses, and let me scoot up to the window and take a peek inside. You finish calling 9-1-1.” Desi handed Max the phone and scrambled on all fours to the living room window.

Desi raised her head and peeked over the sash. The great room was empty. No, wait! A man with a long black ponytail and shiny cowboy boots backed in from the kitchen, hands raised. Jo followed with a shotgun pointed at Shiny Boots’s middle.

“Go on. Git now!” Jo’s voice blasted almost as loud as the gun.

“You’ll wish you’d let me take him.” The man rushed for the door.

Desi turned toward her friend. “Look out!”

Max jumped up as Shiny Boots charged outside. The man dodged around Max and hopped off the porch. Long, jeans-clad legs ate up the distance to the pickup. Shiny Boots leaped in, gunned the motor, and peeled out, leaving black streaks on the road.

Desi stood up on unsteady legs. “Your sister is the gun-toter, not the guy who left a layer of rubber behind.”

Max groaned. “Jo inherited the lion’s share of the temper in our Irish. Pete must have done somethin’ to provoke her. No one can do that like her ex.”

The front door banged open, and Jo came out. No gun, but her eyes spat fire. “Would you believe that crackhead came here to get Adam? Said he needed to take him to a safe place.”

A siren’s wail approached. Jo’s gaze targeted Max and the cell phone. “You didn’t call the police!”

Max planted her hands on her hips. “We heard gunfire. What were we supposed to do? Twiddle our thumbs?”

“Point taken.” Jo stepped across the lawn as the cruiser pulled up to the curb.

A pair of officers got out. Thankfully, not the ones who’d tried to haul Max in for questioning. Desi stood beside her friend. “I wonder if they get called here often. Those uniforms don’t look too alarmed.”

Max’s shoulders slumped. “I work for you to get a little peace and quiet. My family’s always been chock-full of drama.”

“I didn’t know you found our brand of adventure relaxing.”

Jo came back across the lawn, and the police cruiser pulled away. “Guess we got that straightened out. No law against a woman accidentally discharging a firearm in her home.”

“What did you shoot?” Max stared at her sister. “Pete didn’t have holes in him.”

“Oh, I’d’ve peppered him with buckshot. He knew that for sure when I emptied a barrel into my wall tiles. Let’s go eat. And don’t forget the milk.” She went into the house.

Desi got the carton out of the car. “Wonder where Brent and Adam were when the OK Corral went down?”

Max took the milk. “Good question.”

“Right here.” Brent stepped around the side of the house, carrying a bright-eyed baby. “Jo shooed us out the back door as soon as she saw who drove up. We took a walk to the park. Was that a gunshot I heard?”

“It wasn’t a truck backfiring.” Max marched toward the
house. “Which you’d know—” she tossed over her shoulder— “if you’d stuck around to help my sister.”

Desi fell into step with Brent.

The young man gave her a lopsided grin. “My mother-in-law is one lady who can take care of herself, even against a kachina dancer.”

“Kachina dancer?”

“Zuni medicine man. That’s what Karen’s father is. Or was until he married white and got strung out on drugs.” Brent stopped beside the porch.

Desi looked into the young man’s solemn eyes. “I sense more to the story.”

Brent disentangled his son’s fist from his hair. The baby chortled and grabbed another wad. “After he and Jo split, Pete went back to the old ways. He can’t stand me. Says I lured his daughter from her heritage with this Jesus talk. He’d like to get his hands on Adam and make sure none of us ever sees him again. Just disappear into the desert.”

Desi frowned. “That’s pretty hard to believe with our sophisticated search methods.”

“Tell that to the families of the kids on the cartons.” He jerked his head in the direction Max had gone with the milk.

“You’ve got me there. So Cheama is using Karen’s disappearance as an excuse to say Adam’s in danger?”

“It’s more complicated than that. He claims the spirits have told him that Adam is the focus of battle in the unseen realm and will be destroyed unless protected by the ancient arts of the Zuni shaman. He believes it, too.”

Desi looked at the ground. “He might be a little right.”

“Ouch!” Brent pulled his son’s fist out of his hair and kissed the dimpled knuckles. “What do you mean? I thought you were a Christian.”

“I’m not saying Adam needs a shaman’s protection, but he should be taken out of harm’s way If something’s up that Pete knows about, Karen might have known it, too. If she left on her own, her love for you and the baby may have been her motive. I know what a parent will do if he thinks his child is in danger. Not many months ago, my father died doing what he thought was best to protect me.”

Brent’s brows lifted. “But what could be so scary that a mother would leave her child?”

“I have no idea, but it’s as likely as any of the other unproven theories floating around.”

Max poked her head out the door. “Are you ever comin’ to the table? I’m starved.”

Desi laughed. “Good to hear those words out of you, woman. You’re too skinny. Enjoy your sister’s cooking tonight, because tomorrow you fly back to Boston with Adam. Your kids need you, and your mom will be tickled silly to get her hands on another baby.”

Max stepped outside. “No way, Jose! My sister needs me.”

Brent handed Adam up to her. “Jo needs you to look after Karen’s baby. I need you to do that. If the police hadn’t told me not to leave town, I’d take Adam myself.”

The infant went after Max’s hair, toothless grin on his face. Max disengaged his fingers and looked from Brent to Desi. “What about our plans to drop in on the ministry headquarters?”

“I’ll do it. In fact, if it’ll help your family and tie off a loose end, I’ll even figure out a way to talk to this Snake Bonney without diving into some biker den.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Brent stared at her like she’d lost every marble in her head.

Max laughed. “Desiree Jacobs never kids about helpin’ people she cares about. I’d say the hairy unwashed better watch
out. She’ll have ‘em shaved and bathed before she’s through.” She headed inside.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I think.” Desi followed Max into the house.

‘Anytime, lady.”

Making up the rear, Brent gave a tentative chuckle. “Oh, I see. You two
are
kidding.”

“Nope.” Desi clamped her lips shut.
Me and my big mouth
. How was she supposed to keep her word to Tony? And she needed to talk to Pete Cheama, too. Her beloved FBI agent would have a fit. Still, she really only promised to stay away from Hamilton Gordon. Not a word about Reverend Romlin or anyone else.

Too bad she made that promise about Gordon. She was aching to know what the man meant by “shared history.” On second thought, he was an unconvicted criminal entrenched in a pseudo-Christian cult. What could be good about sharing history with him?

Desi took her place at the kitchen table and smiled as the enchiladas were passed around. She glanced at Max eating like she’d never seen food before. Good for her.

Many enchiladas later, Max yawned and pushed her plate away. “Early to bed tonight.”

“Me, too.” Desi got up. “Let’s get these dishes done.”

Jo smiled. “Not you two. Shoo! Brent and I have it covered. I’ll even waive the serious discussion until tomorrow.”

Desi didn’t argue, and Max trailed behind her to the great room. Desi got her laptop out. “No shut-eye until I download the report from the Denver office on the museum theft.”

“I’ll get you that street address for Inner Witness Ministries.” Max’s laptop appeared.

They both logged in using Jo’s wireless connection. The
room fell silent except for the clinking of dishes from the kitchen.

“That’s funny.” Max looked up from her screen.

Desi tore her attention from the report that was anything but amusing. “What’s funny?”

“No problem findin’ a fancy website for the ministry complete with street address, but I can’t find a home address for Reverend Romlin—and I know tricks to get that information.”

Desi chuckled. “The man’s homeless?”

“I doubt it, but he knows how to keep his private information off the web, and that takes doin’. I did find this.” Max turned her screen toward Desi.

The page was crude and colorless, like a prototype site. No graphics or photos, a little bare-bones text about the ministry but nothing they didn’t already know.

“Look here.” Max pointed. “A different address than on the other site. I checked to see if Inner Witness still owns this property, and they do.”

“Give me both addresses, but I’m more interested in visiting the less public place.”

“You got it.” Max stifled a yawn.

“Hit the hay, girl. But tomorrow do me a favor and scrounge around for a connection between HJ Securities and Gordon Corp. I’d like to know how I drew Gordon’s attention.”

“I’m on it.” Max grinned and handed Desi a slip of paper with the addresses. She wandered toward the bedroom. “You comin’? You’ve got to be as wiped out as I am.”

“In a few minutes.” Desi went back to the report from the Denver office.

Her heart beat an angry tattoo. Whoever robbed the museum had outstanding computer skills—and inside help. The security system hadn’t merely been shut down, but fried to
a crisp by a malicious virus that could only have been introduced to the control computer via an infected disk from inside the secure room. The night guard didn’t have access. He prowled hallways, peered in the windows of locked display room doors, and probably snoozed in the lobby with his feet up on the receptionist’s counter. But someone who worked in the museum during the day could have collected the necessary thumbprint and voice activation code.

Desi read on. Ah, a thief got careless with glass in the display area, and left blood near the artifact case. Should be a good clue for the authorities. She scanned the document further and gasped. No wonder the police suspected Brent and/or Karen of complicity in the theft!

In addition to the digital print reader, the computer control room was also secured by voice recognition software. Brent spent most of the day before the break-in recording interviews with museum staff for his thesis, including the curator and the administrator—the two voices that opened the door if the right words were spoken. But how would Brent know the code words to splice together? No doubt that was the unanswered question that kept him from being arrested.

Was the young man as dishonest as his brother? Desi hadn’t thought so this afternoon, but now? She shook her head. She wasn’t ready to convict him on circumstantial evidence.

Karen also worked for a few hours the day prior to the theft. Her supervisor said she gave the young woman the new punch code to get in the front door so she could open up the next day. But the museum never opened. The theft was discovered in the early morning when a patrol car stopped by on regular rounds and couldn’t raise the guard. Unless the guard was tricked into opening the door, the thieves would have needed the front door code before they could get to the computer room. If Karen
played a part in the theft, was she an accomplice, or was she snatched and forced to reveal the code and then murdered?

Brent’s fears for his wife were well-founded. Unless, of course, Karen ran away to serve a cult. Not an attractive alternative, but better than being dead. Heart heavy, Desi shut down her laptop. Tomorrow might be a good day for answers. And she wouldn’t even ruffle Tony’s feathers.

How much trouble could she get into just checking out a ministry hole-in-the-wall?

Desi drifted awake. Light showed around the edges of lavender curtains. Morning, finally.

She’d awakened at 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. from dreams of Jabba the Hutt with a Darth Vader voice chasing her through a room full of blue-eyed babies. Each time she woke up, Jabba was about to catch her because the babies floated all over the place like they were weightless, crying and grabbing her hair.

Stupid dream. Symptom of an overtired brain.

Desi’s gaze traveled around the room. So this was the bedroom Karen had as a girl. Jo must not have changed much since her daughter moved out.

A desk sat near the window with a shelf over it. A dream catcher hung from a corner of the shelf, and a couple of odd-looking wooden dolls gazed down at Desi. Max said they were kachinas, representing spirits honored in tribal ceremonies. Strange critters with distorted faces. Other than that, the room was pretty much teen-rebel stock decor—heavy metal band posters, a dusty lava lamp on the dresser, and a jarring color scheme of red, black, and shock me purple.

Desi rolled onto her back and stretched. The big toe on her right foot gave a twinge. Someone stirred and sighed, and Desi
turned her head. Tousled red curls covered the pillow of the twin bed next to hers.