Cold Betrayal

At the bottom of the note was a PS: “Please call Sister Anselm. She’s waiting to hear from you.”

On the kitchen counter they found two new cell phones, two new iPads, and a note from Stuart. “Picked these up for you this afternoon. I transferred all the info and numbers over from your old phones and iPads, including the High Noon security protocols. The old devices are bricked. Anyone trying to access them for any reason will get nowhere.”

Ali sorted out which phone was hers and called Sister Anselm’s number while B. logged onto the new iPad to see what fires needed to be put out in the larger world of High Noon Enterprises.

“I’m so relieved to hear from you,” the nun said. “When I couldn’t reach you, I talked to Mr. Brooks, so I know some of what went on, but tell me everything.”

“That could take some time.”

“No problem. The nuns from All Saints are looking after Enid and Baby A

Ali told her all of it. There was a pause when the story finally came to an end.

“We lit the fuse on this,” Sister Anselm said quietly. “We didn’t mean to, but we did. Our getting involved caused all those deaths.”

“I’m afraid that’s true,” Ali agreed. “Richard Lowell was a woman-hating rabid dog. I’d shoot him again in a minute if I had the chance. But the others? Amos Sellers claimed to be completely in the dark on the human trafficking business, and maybe the others were, too. Maybe they were all true believers living their lives the way Lowell told them to.”

“Like Jim Jones and the Kool-Aid,” Sister Anselm observed. “And then there’s the problem with Sheriff Alvarado. He’s most likely the father of A

And B. would prefer to keep him that way, Ali thought, but with B. sitting right there within earshot, she didn’t say that aloud.

“I still want to know for sure A

The landline phone rang. Caller ID said Caller Unknown, but with everything that was going on, Ali felt a need to answer it. Besides, she had talked on the new cell phone for so long that it was burning her ear. “I need to take this.”

“Bye,” Sister Anselm said, and she was gone.

Ali picked up the other phone and was surprised to hear Andrea Rogers’s voice. “Thank you,” she said.

“Thank you?”

“For what you did. If you hadn’t gotten us out of the van when you did, Bill Witherspoon, Patricia, Agnes, and I would have been sitting ducks.”

“You’re welcome,” Ali said. “I didn’t recognize your phone number.”

“That’s because I don’t have my cell—none of us do—and I’m also out of the office. I had a free moment, though, and wanted to know how you’re doing.”

“B. and I just woke up,” Ali said. “What’s going on?”

“Patricia, Agnes, and I did our interviews and then spent the rest of the night and part of the morning helping with next-of-kin notifications. Understandably, the women from The Family are beyond distressed over what happened. I’m not sure how we would have managed if Patricia and Agnes hadn’t been there to run interference.

“I rode down from Colorado City to Flag with the first busload of displaced women and kids. A dozen of those were Brought Back girls. One of the passengers was a girl named Mary who was being held in solitary confinement in a cell at the church. Patricia tells me she was a Cast-Off girl, someone who was betrothed to Richard Lowell and failed the required virginity test. The rest were women with three or four kids apiece. They’re all temporarily settled in donated hotel rooms with volunteers from Irene’s Place helping them get cleaned up and into suitable clothing. Bill Witherspoon has been a huge help, by the way. Governor Dunham gave him a blank check to handle whatever is needed.”

“With state money?” Ali asked.

“No, he’s authorized to use her personal funds.”

“Speaking of Governor Dunham,” Ali said. “How’s she doing?”

“Out of surgery. She’s in serious condition—serious but stable. Her husband told Bill that her doctors are hoping to save her leg. If the SWAT team guys hadn’t used a tourniquet on it when they did, the leg would have been lost for sure.

“Anyway, the bus went back to pick up another load, and I stayed here to streamline arrangements. It’s complicated. Some of the so-called wives who also happen to be mothers are considered juveniles out here in the regular world. I’m walking a fine line making housing arrangements for them. Patricia may end up being turned into a de facto housemother.”

“What about Agnes?”

“I believe she’s staying on up at The Encampment for now. She said someone needed to look after the pigs and other livestock. I went toe-to-toe with a woman named Edith Tower. She was evidently Gordon Tower’s first wife, which makes her his first widow, too. When she started throwing her weight around, I told her that Agnes is staying on voluntarily and she is to be allowed a room in the house—Enid’s vacant room as a matter of fact. I also let her know that, if she made any attempt to force Agnes back into a state of involuntary servitude, there would be severe consequences.”

“How many of the widows are going to stay and how many will go?” Ali asked.

“There’s no way to tell that right now. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I know we’re going to need more help.”

“Take down this number,” Ali said before reciting a number from memory. “That’s my good friend Sister Anselm. She may be able to conjure up some additional help for you. We both have a vested interest in making sure these women are dealt with in the most humane way possible.”

“Oops,” Andrea said. “The bus is just pulling in. Gotta go.”

Ali put the phone down.

“How about one of those pasties now?” B. asked.

“Good idea,” she said. “I’m ready.”

40

By ten o’clock Monday morning Ali and Athena were belted into a Citation X. According to the computerized map on the bulkhead, they were somewhere far above Colorado on a three-hour flight from Flagstaff’s KFLG airport direct to Bemidji. Athena had been prepared to go and beard her mother in her den all on her own. Together, Chris, Ali, and B. had nixed that idea. They wanted her to have backup when she walked into a difficult situation with information that would likely turn a bad situation into a war zone.

Had Athena flown commercial from Phoenix, the trip would have taken the better part of three days. Flying direct, using B.’s jet card, meant they could come and go in a single day.

They were traveling with an iPad loaded with a collection of incriminating photos of Athena’s mother, Sandra, and of Elmer Munson, who, judging from the many surveillance photos of the two of them together, was more to Sandra than just the family doctor. There were photos of the two of them at various cash machines where Sandra was lifting money out of her mother-in-law’s bank accounts. There were front desk photos of them checking into hotel rooms at various casinos in the area. There were photos of them laughing it up at blackjack tables—blackjack being Sandra’s preferred game of chance, although given the sizes of her losses, it probably shouldn’t have been.