The Advocate's Illusion

by Teresa Burrell

“Why are you trying to make small talk? I thought we had moved past all that. I’m sure our table conversations will move along just fine without the artificial questioning.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s not that.”

  Ron cut in. “Sabre wants to know if you have a boyfriend.”

  Sabre glared at Ron. “I want to know? You were the one who said you thought Mom was seeing someone and you didn’t want to cramp her style.”

  Ron and Sabre shot accusations back and forth until their mother interrupted them. “Yes, I’m seeing someone. Is that okay with you two?”

  Silence filled the room for a few seconds, then Ron said, “Of course, Mom.”

  “Yes, Mom, if you want to start dating, you should. You’ve been alone long enough,” Sabre said. “Is he from your bridge game?”

  “No.”

  “Where did you meet him?” Ron asked.

  Beverly hesitated.

  “Mom, where did you meet him?” Sabre said.

  “The internet.”

  “The internet?” Sabre shrieked. Then, as she turned to Ron, her hands flew out, palms up in a gesture of disbelief. “Mom is seeing some guy she met on the internet, and you didn’t even know it was going on? He could be a rapist or a con man or who knows. What’s the matter with you?”

  “What’s your point?” Ron asked. “Even if she met him at a bridge game, he could still be a rapist or a con man.”

  “Calm down,” her mother said. “I met him on Match.com. A lot of people my age are doing it. We’ve met for coffee a couple of times. He seems perfectly normal, except for that skull and prison number he has tattooed on his forehead.” Sabre’s mouth dropped open. Ron stared at his mother. “But I think he got that last year in the juvenile facility. He’s old enough now for real prison, but he doesn’t plan to go back any time soon. I think we may be in love.”

  Sabre and Ron burst out laughing, and their mother joined them. Sabre wasn’t sure what was more surprising, that her mother had a male interest, or that she made a joke about it. She was always so serious, especially after their father died. It was nice to see her laughing and joking again.

  “Tell us about him, Mom.”

  She described him physically and told them about the two times they had met. “He is sixty-five years old and owns his own real estate company. He’s a widower with three grown children. His son is a lawyer. His oldest daughter is a school teacher, and his youngest daughter is in college. Oh, and he has a nephew who is a priest. Other than that, there isn’t much to tell. We’re just getting to know each other. But I’m having fun.”

  “Have there been others?” Sabre asked.

  “I’ve had lots of winks, or hits, or whatever you call them, but after a few email exchanges, I knew they weren’t for me. Harley is the only one I’ve actually met.”

  “He sounds harmless, but all that could be a cover.”

  “Sabre, his nephew is a priest.”

  “Yeah, but his son is a lawyer, so that’s kind of a wash, isn’t it?” Ron said.

  “You’re so funny.” Sabre sneered at him. “So, it’s either the truth, or he’s good at what he does. The priest thing would be a nice touch, if he’s a con man. Did he tell you that before or after he knew you were Catholic?”

  Beverly thought for a second. “After, but—”

  “What’s his name? I’m going to have JP do a background check on him.”

  “Is that really necessary? He’s a very nice man.”

  “Just let her check it out, Mom,” Ron said. “It can’t hurt. If he’s for real, he’ll never know she looked into his background. If it’s a scam, he’ll be sorry he picked you to run it on.”

  Beverly acquiesced. “But don’t take too long. I’m seeing him next Friday.”

  Chapter 18

  The Fowler Case

  The Square With God Church, where Reverend Fowler was pastor, was small but nearly full at the Sunday morning service. JP sat on the side end of a pew, three rows from the back, trying to look inconspicuous. Uncomfortable in his suit and without his hat, he thought about how long it had been since he attended a church service other than a wedding or a funeral. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in God, he truly did, and he had attended church every Sunday all throughout his childhood. Once he left home and joined the Marines, he stopped going. He stopped doing a lot of things he had to do when he lived at home.

  JP watched the people and tried to pick out those who might talk to him. He expected he would only get one chance at this. He was sure he wouldn’t be welcome once Fowler found out who he was, and that he was asking questions. He felt a little bit guilty sitting in a house of God while he plotted his investigation, but he couldn’t think of another way to find out who attended the church, and he needed to talk to them. He reached for the church missal in the cubbyhole on the back of the pew in front of him. When he pulled it out, he discovered a church bulletin. Of course, he thought. Why didn’t I think of that? He hadn’t even checked for a website. He chastised himself for not looking for one, but he normally didn’t equate church with the internet. He might have been able to avoid this whole trip. He sat back and listened to the sermon.

  JP left the church as soon as the service ended so he would be outside when the others came out. He thought it might give him a chance to meet a few parishioners. He stood back a little and watched, then stepped forward as a young woman whom he guessed to be about twenty approached.

  “Good morning,” JP said.

  “Good morning.” She stared for a second. “Are you new to our church?”

  “Yes, it’s my first time. I don’t really know anyone here. I’m John Phillips.” He used his first and middle name, which he often did when he didn’t want to give his full name.

  “I’m Lucy Jennings. It’s nice to meet you.”

  A heavy set man and a short, thin woman approached. “You ready, Lucy?” the man said.

  “Yes, I was just talking to John. He’s new to our church.” She turned back to JP. “This is my mom and dad.”

  JP reached out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  The man reciprocated. “Welcome to our church. I’m Victor and this is Linda. We’d like to visit a while, but I’m afraid we’re in a hurry. Maybe next Sunday.”

  “No problem,” JP said.

  “Come on, Lucy,” Victor said.

  Most of the people had exited the church. Some were standing around talking and others were leaving. JP looked around, trying to figure out which one was Lester Gibbs. Just as he thought he had spotted him, Pastor Fowler came out. JP turned and slipped away, but before he reached the parking lot, the Jennings family passed him in a white Toyota. He memorized the license plate, and then jotted it down when he got to his car.

  ~~~

  Back at his office, JP called his deputy sheriff friend, Ernie Madrigal, and asked him to run the plate. Then he glanced through the church bulletin looking for names of members. He started a list of people to investigate later. He found a website for the church, which consisted of two pages. The home page had a photo and a short bio of Seth Fowler, the church location, and the times for the services. The other page was a blog page that appeared to have a number of contributors. A few posts had a byline of Seth Fowler, but mostly they seemed to be written by younger members. They wrote about coming events such as baptisms, weddings, and fundraisers. Often there were posts after the events, depicting their success. JP perused the posts, looking for the wedding of Lester Gibbs and Mary Margaret Fowler, but there was no entry.

  JP jotted down the name of each person who had written a post. The only one he recognized, besides Seth Fowler, was Linda Jennings, Lucy’s mother, but he had a list of about fifteen names with which to work. After looking around the blog, JP discovered there was an editorial staff that consisted of Seth Fowler, Linda Jennings, and Miles Cunningham. The name Cunningham sounded familiar to him, so he looked through the social worker’s report for witnesses or people the Fowlers had mentioned. The only perso
n Seth and Candace Fowler had talked about, outside the immediate family, was Lester Gibbs, but Mary Margaret talked about her best friend, Penny Cunningham.

  JP got up and fixed himself a sandwich before he started the boring task of searching for information about the people on his list. He started with Google, which would lead him to the person’s social media connections, if they had any. If they had a business, that usually showed up. If the name was unusual, it was a lot easier. The job was laborious and time-consuming, and he hated sitting that long at the computer.

  A few hours later, JP had a workable list with enough information to at least begin some interviews. Over half of his original list had no social media connections or Google entries of any kind, which he found unusual. His final list contained an elementary school principal; a nurse at a convalescent home who was on Google because she made the news when she saved several patients during a flood; a young woman who was a student at Mesa Community College and very active on Facebook and Twitter; and the owner of a dry-cleaning business. JP had enough information to find these people, hopefully, learn something about Fowler and/or Gibbs, or lead him to someone who could give him some insight. He decided to start with the student who was on social media. She seemed the easiest because she posted so much personal information. These kids have no idea how vulnerable they make themselves, he thought.

  JP knew from her recent posts that she was going to be studying at The Forum Coffee House for the next couple of hours. It was the perfect place for an accidental meeting. He called Sabre on the drive over.

  “Hey, kid. I’m on my way to a coffee shop to see one of the Square With God Church members.” He explained about his list, and how he found her. “I also came across the name ‘Miles Cunningham.’ Do you know if he is related to Mary Margaret’s friend, Penny?”

  “Yes, he is. Her father and her brother are both named Miles. I have an appointment tomorrow evening to see Penny. Do you want to come with me? Maybe you can talk to Miles.”

  “That works. Any chance we can get together this evening?”

  “Oh, I would love to, but I have a nasty hearing tomorrow I really need to work on. How about dinner after our interview tomorrow?”

  “That would be fine,” JP said. He pulled into The Forum parking lot and went inside. The shop hadn’t been open very long, but the owners had done a good job of making it inviting. It was a rectangular room with black pillars covered with comments written in white. One wall, the length of the room, was covered with more interesting “coffee quotes.” He saw a sign on the side of the bar that read “Life Happens, Coffee Helps.” There was plenty of seating, spaced well, and free Wi-Fi, which attracted students.

  Sharon Droppo was easy to spot from her photos on Facebook. She sat by herself at a table toward the back of the room. JP bought a cup of coffee and strode back to a table as close as he could get to her and took a seat. Since it was Sunday, he was surprised by the number of students in the shop studying. He looked around at all the patrons with laptops, and it made him feel a little naked.

  After a few minutes, he caught Sharon’s eye. “I see you’re studying, and I don’t mean to be rude, but don’t you attend the Square With God Church?”

  She looked at him with a blank face. “Yes, but I don’t remember seeing you at any services.”

  “I’m new to the church. I only know a few people so far. I met Lucy Jennings and her parents this morning after the service. I’m trying to make some new friends, people with good, moral beliefs.”

  “Lucy is a good friend of mine. Her parents are real nice too. They’d be good people for you to get to know. They’re both very active in the church. Mr. Jennings is in construction, and he has helped fix a lot of things around there. Mrs. Jennings is very active on our church blog. She writes a lot of posts, edits the others, and is very diligent about not letting any inappropriate comments get posted.”

  JP gave her a puzzling look. “What do you mean, inappropriate? Like bad language or something?”

  She sighed. “Some of us who write the blog are a little more forward-thinking than others, and the pastor doesn’t like to see that sort of thing posted. Mrs. Jennings is the gatekeeper.”

  “So you’re one of the writers?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I take it by your comments that you’ve been censored before?”

  “Censored is a harsh word. She’s just doing her job.” She gave a little laugh. “Who else have you met?”

  “I know Pastor Fowler and his family. I know Lester Gibbs.” JP watched her face when he said his name. There was an obvious twitch of her mouth and neck, so he pushed it. “I don’t know how to put this, because it makes me a little uncomfortable.” He paused. “Is it true that the pastor’s daughter just got married to Mr. Gibbs? She seems so young.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Was she betrothed at birth or something?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I really like the tenets of this church,” JP said, “but that seems kind of odd to me.”

  “A lot of the members were concerned about it, but they figure the pastor was guided by the Lord, and he had good reason for giving his blessing.”

  “You said ‘they;’ does that mean you don’t agree?”

  “It’s not my place to question it. But please don’t judge the church by that one thing. No one else has gotten married in the church that young.” She hesitated. “Except the pastor and his wife. She was pretty young, I guess.”

  Chapter 19

  The Fowler Case

  JP looked at his list. Since it was Sunday, the school principal wasn’t in, and the dry cleaner was closed. He didn’t know where to find the Jennings family. He would see Cunningham tomorrow with Sabre. That left the nurse at the convalescent home and Lester. He decided to start with the nurse, if he could catch her at work.

  The familiar smell of the aged, mixed with medicine, urine, and rubbing alcohol, permeated the air as JP stepped into the home. He had been in nursing homes that didn’t smell like that, but they housed the wealthy. There was something degrading about the places where so many of the elderly had to spend the last days of their lives. It bothered him as he walked to the desk and asked for Susan Olson.

  The young woman at the desk said, “I’ll check to see if she’s here and available. Who should I say is asking for her?”

  “JP Torn.”

  “Please have a seat. I’ll check.” She left and returned about five minutes later.

  “She’s with a patient right now, but she’ll be out as soon as she’s finished.”

  While JP waited, he picked up a Time magazine from the end table. The cover had a photo of Muhammad Ali when he was in his prime. It was a commemorative edition depicting the life of an icon, dated June, 2016. He read the article and then flipped through some of the other magazines. They were all at least a year old, and most of the news in Newsweek was no longer news. All that remained were entertainment magazines, in which he had no interest.

  Approximately a half-hour later, a thirty-something woman in purple scrubs appeared.

  “You must be JP Torn,” she said. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I had a patient who needed more than I anticipated.”

  “No problem. Thanks for seeing me.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  JP noticed the clerk eyeing them. It was probably the most interesting, or at least the most unusual thing, she had witnessed this evening. “Is there somewhere we can talk that’s a little more private?”

  “What’s this about?”

  “I’m a private investigator—”

  Before JP could say any more, she said, “There’s a conference room we can use.” She led him down the hall.

  The conference room looked more like a lounge with a sofa and a couple of armchairs. JP wondered what was in her past that made her not want the clerk to hear.

  They sat down, and JP continued. “I work for an attorney and I have a few questions.”


  “About me?”

  “No, about someone you know. It’s a confidential case, so I can’t say too much, but it has to do with Lester Gibbs and Mary Margaret Fowler.”

  She let out an obvious sigh of relief, then composed herself.

  “What about them?”

  “You know them both, right?”

  “Yes, they go to my church. But I don’t know either of them that well. You’d probably do better asking someone else.”

  “Perhaps, later, you can give me the names of those who might be more knowledgeable, but for now, if you could just tell me what you know, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Did you know they got married?”

  “I heard that.”

  “But you didn’t know beforehand they were planning to marry?”

  “No, and neither did he, apparently.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He asked me out a week or so before the wedding.”

  “Did you go out with him?”

  She wrinkled her face and shuddered. “No, I’ve always found him a little creepy. Now, I think he’s despicable.”

  “So you don’t approve of the marriage?”

  “She’s twelve,” she said, as if that said it all, and as far as JP was concerned, it did.

  “Do other church members feel the same way?”

  “Most of them won’t say anything about it or about Pastor Fowler giving his consent, but I don’t think anyone supports it. I’m sure he knew that too, because the wedding was done quickly and quietly.”

  “Do you know anyone who witnessed the wedding?”

  “I haven’t heard who was there. It was announced after the fact—the next Sunday during services.”

  “There was no other discussion about it from the pulpit?”

  “No. I was in the rotation to write the blog for the church website. I wrote an ‘opinion’ piece, but it was never posted. I wasn’t really surprised, but I couldn’t write something celebrating their marriage.”