“Yeah. I thought so. I’ll pass on that sweet morsel of information to the police.”
Kai turns and leaves my office, and I drop into my chair, stomach churning. Dear God. Could things get any worse?
Two
Wednesday, October 2
Ember stands in the shadow of the memorial slab looking like a lost waif. If it weren’t for her sky-blue uniform, she might be mistaken for a child. I sent a text requesting we meet in the garden before the start of her evening shift. I assumed she would’ve heard about the arrests, but she must have slept through the day’s events.
“Adam’s been arrested.” I repeat.
“You said that. But how is it possible I wasn’t told?” She wrings her delicate hands together. “I mean, isn’t Adam allowed one phone call, or does that just happen in the movies?”
“He called his father.” I know that because Doug left me an angry voice mail. Said there was a good chance Adam was going to be charged with murder, and he wanted nothing to do with him. He was tired of his son’s screwups and wouldn’t offer a cent for his defense. That he had his own family to consider. His own family. Like Alice and Adam were throwaways. I could throttle him for that.
I tried contacting the jail for information, but I kept running into dead ends. Eventually my call was forwarded to an ill-tempered woman who insisted all my questions would be answered if I attended an eight a.m. meeting with Detective Ruiz. Something about her tone told me this was an order, not a request. I hung up the phone, panicked, wondering if I should give a lawyer a call. I dug through my purse until I came across Leo Silverstein’s battered business card. But I had never followed through on Carlyn’s request for support, so it seemed awkward to reach out now. I tried googling local criminal lawyers and even gave one a call. But he wanted five thousand just to speak with me, more if he accompanied me to the precinct. I couldn’t see spending that kind of money since at any moment I might lose my job.
“Why was he arrested?” Ember asks, her voice shaking. “What are they accusing him of?”
I try to organize my thoughts. “They know about Adam’s meeting with Milo.”
“But he didn’t do anything bad. He just told a stupid lie.”
“They also arrested Zach. They believe the two of them are in collusion.”
“Collusion? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Why don’t you take a seat?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ll tell you, but I think it’s better if you hear this sitting down.”
She opens her mouth to argue and then eases onto the bench. Taking a seat next to her, I catch a whiff of her lemon scent.
“Okay,” she says in a frightened voice. “Go ahead.”
“There’s no easy way to say this.” I swallow, my throat gone dry. “Kate Harrington is dead.”
“What?”
“She was murdered early this morning.”
“Murdered?” Ember starts to tremble, and I reach out for her hand. “I don’t understand,” she says. “How could anyone hurt Kate?” She pulls her hand from mine, gets to her feet, and begins to circle the koi pond. “It’s impossible. She was a wonderful woman. Who could do such a horrible thing?” She pauses and runs her hands across her stubbly blonde hair. “Are you telling me they think Adam and Zach have something to do with her death?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Despite the warmth of the evening air, I, too, begin to shake. “They’re saying Kate wrote Zach’s name in blood on the villa floor.”
She throws up her hands in frustration. “That’s crazy. It makes no sense.”
The same thought has been nagging at me all day. “I agree. I believe whoever murdered Kate is trying to implicate Zach in the crime.”
“That’s frightening. Do you have any idea who it could be?”
“No. But we need to figure this out, and quick. I don’t have much time. There’s a chance I’ll soon be fired, or even arrested.”
“You?” She eyes me in disbelief.
I nod. “Last night Zach broke into Kai’s office and forwarded me a private email. It’s thrown suspicion my way.”
She raises her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God. Is there anything I can do to help?”
I level my eyes on hers. “You can start by telling me the truth.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I want to know about the Goodnight Club.”
Ember’s cheeks flush red. “The what?”
“The Goodnight Club.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. And it’s important you explain. I think the secrets surrounding the club might be wrapped up in what’s happening to Adam and Zach.”
She sits cross-legged on the grass, her mouth shut tight. I continue on.
“I know you were working with the ambassador.”
She hesitates. “Who told you that?”
“Pastor Sam.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “She told you I worked with the ambassador? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Zach and I confronted her with Gordon Harrington’s pink slip, and she told us about the club. She said she was the ambassador to someone she called the Angel and that you assisted from time to time.”
Silence falls between us. Ember rocks back and forth. Crickets chirp in the hedges, filling the empty void. She takes a deep breath and speaks in a halting voice. “I don’t know why, but the pastor is not telling you the whole truth.”
“In what way?”
“She is not the ambassador.”
“Then who is?”
Ember nibbles on her lower lip. “I am.”
“You?” I feel like a rock has struck my head.
“Yes.”
“But then . . . what is the pastor’s role?”
“Pastor Sam is the Angel.”
“What?” I jump to my feet. “She’s the one helping our guests to kill themselves?”
Ember shakes her head. “No. Pastor Sam is an angel of mercy. She assists her disciples with their crossings.”
“What are disciples?”
“Members of the Goodnight Club.”
My mind works back and forth. “I don’t understand. Why would she lie about your roles?”
Ember gets up and begins to pace. “She probably wanted to keep her identity a secret, and I’m guessing she also wanted to protect me. Some people think what we do is wrong.”
“It is wrong. It’s against the law.”
She pauses and looks at me. “I don’t happen to agree.”
“Obviously not.” I try to organize my thoughts. “How involved were you in the . . . the crossings?”
“I never attended one, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Not even as a witness?”
“No.”
“Then what was your job?”
She works her pale hands together. “I acted as a liaison between the club and the person they only knew as the Angel.”
“Which means?”
“When a member was ready to cross, Kate would leave their pink slip under that small rock beneath your bench. My job was to retrieve the notes and deliver them to the pastor.”
“Did you ever meet the pastor here?”
“Yes. We’d rendezvous to discuss logistics or to smooth out potential problems. Like the time Dario Panini threatened to have a coroner examine his mother’s body. We stopped soon after Zach arrived. He nearly caught us a couple of times, and the pastor was adamant our relationship be kept secret.”
I consider that. “Did the club members know your identity?”
“No. We felt it was safer that way.”
“Not even Kate?”
“We never told her, but I’m fairly certain she guessed the pastor and I were involved.”
“Why’s that?”
“She’d hint around every now and then.”
I lean over and pick up the rock.
“You won’t find a pink slip.
Gordon Harrington was the last crossing. The club has been disbanded, and the pastor has suspended her services. She’ll be leaving town soon.”
“She told us she was moving to Mumbai. That true?”
“I thought she mentioned someplace in Europe.”
I move close to Ember, my eyes searching her face for the truth. “I need you to be 100 percent truthful with me. Did Pastor Sam ever mention anything about a serial killer?”
“A serial killer?” She looks confused. “No. Never. She was worried about a copycat killer.”
“Copycat?”
“Yes, because of Simon Appleton.”
“But he died of a heart attack, didn’t he?”
“The pastor believed someone intervened, and she was angry because she knew he hadn’t wanted to die.”
“Did she do anything about it?”
“I’m not sure. But eventually she told me I wasn’t to worry . . . that the problem had been solved.”
I watch her closely. “Was that before or after Milo’s death?”
Ember screws up her face in thought. “After, I think. Why?”
“I don’t know. I’m just trying to put pieces of this puzzle together.” I lick my lips. “What about Kai? Did she ever suggest he might be involved?”
“Mr. Gilchrist? No. Never. Why would you ask?”
“So, she never mentioned him in connection with the suspicious deaths of several destitutes?”
“No.”
“That’s strange. She told us she believed Kai was a serial killer. That he killed Milo and at least five of the destitutes.”
Ember’s good eye widens. “She never said that to me. And I wouldn’t believe it if she had.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t believe Kai’s evil, just self-involved. And besides, the pastor was the one working with the destitutes.”
“What do you mean ‘working’?”
“A dozen or so had become disciples.”
“You mean they joined the Goodnight Club?”
“No. She worked with them separately.”
“Worked with them?”
“Counseled them.”
“About?”
“Their options. A number of the destitutes were devastated at the thought of having to move. They . . . they told her they would rather die than leave the campus.”
“And you helped with this . . . this counseling?”
“No. I refused to. Many of the destitutes were healthy. They were just sad at the thought of losing their homes. I thought we should help them in a different way. Find them nice places to live.”
“And the pastor didn’t agree?”
She looks at me sadly. “No. She didn’t.”
I try to make sense of this new information. “And did some of these disciples cross?”
“At least five that I know of.”
Five? I stare at Ember. The pastor was behind their deaths? But why would she lie to us? Not once but all over the place. What game is she trying to play?
“This is so confusing,” Ember says, raising her hands to her head.
“Agreed.” I think for a moment. “In fact, the only way we can clear this up is by speaking to the pastor in person. Right now. Before another moment goes by.”
Ember takes a step back. “I don’t know . . .”
“She’s probably in her office. We can confront her together with her varying versions of the truth. Make her tell us what really happened so we can get to the bottom of this mess.”
Ember takes another step back. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Sometimes she has . . . well, she can get into these dark moods. I mean, occasionally she gets really angry and . . .”
“So you’re telling me you’re scared of her?”
She nods, looking paler than ever. “A little.”
“Well, you needn’t be. Nothing is going happen. We’ll do this together, you and me.”
Ember glances at her watch. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m already late for my shift, and we’re short-staffed tonight. Maybe tomorrow morning?”
“This can’t wait until morning. We need answers, and we need them now. If you won’t come, I’ll just have to meet with her on my own.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?”
“I have no choice. I can’t bear to think of my son spending time in jail. And I feel terrible about Zach. I’ve got to find a way to help them both. It can’t wait.”
“All right. But can we talk later tonight? I want to hear what she says.”
“What time?”
“I have a break at nine.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you at my office.”
“You’ll be here that late?”
“I need to start packing my things. Even if I’m not arrested, I doubt I’ll keep my job.”
“Okay.” She gives me a quick hug. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” She releases me and turns to leave.
“Wait a moment,” I say. “Can I ask you one thing?”
“Yes?”
I take a deep breath. “Do you . . . do you think Adam will ever forgive me for what we . . . what I did to him? For telling that awful lie?”
Her face softens with a smile. “I do.”
I nod. “Thank you for that.”
“He’s still angry, but he’s coming to terms with his life. He knows he can’t blame all of his poor choices on the events of that one terrible day. I will say it’s a relief for him to be able to share the burden, to know that Hunter’s death was not just his fault.” She pauses and hugs me again. This time I feel the peaceful humming she emanated when she touched me months ago. “The important thing now is for you to forgive yourself.”
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
“If I can find a way to forgive myself, so can you.”
“You? You didn’t hurt your children.”
She releases me, her shoulders drooping. “Not directly. But my burden is that I provoked Bodie that night in Big Sur when I knew he was on the brink. I should’ve gone to bed, discussed the issue when he was sober. If I had, there wouldn’t have been a fire. Ella and Emma would be alive, and there’d be another baby or two.” She closes her eyes; her face turns wistful. “We’d be living together as a happy family. I know it. I dream about it all the time. If only . . .” She wraps her arms around herself as if she’s searching for her own inner peace. Then she opens her eyes, her dream over. “You see, we all have our regrets. Our wounds. What matters is how we live today. How we treat others. And how we find the strength to go on.” Her gaze fixes on mine. “Now go speak to the pastor and get our men out of jail.”
Our men. If only Adam could be so lucky as to spend his life with Ember. She would make up for everything that’s ever gone wrong in his life. She would make up for me and my lie. I watch her slip into the evening shadows, thinking of our first meeting in the garden. “I love watching the koi,” she’d said. “They never argue or fight. We can learn a lot from them, don’t you think?”
Yes. I do.
Three
Wednesday, October 2
I hurry to the chapel, my back dripping with sweat. I’m not sure if it’s due to nerves or because at six in the evening, it’s hotter than it was at midday. The Santa Ana winds are blowing; the campus trees are bent nearly sideways, and leaves race past my feet. Fire trucks wail in the distance, and I pause to scour the mountains. The last thing this town needs is another wildfire. We’ve had more than our share of bad luck.
It’s a relief when I step from the heat of the evening into the cool of the shadowy chapel. I clatter across the flagstone floor and down the back steps, focusing on what I’m going to say. But when I knock on the pastor’s door, there’s no answer. I turn to leave and then change my mind. I’m hoping she’ll soon return. She has to. I don’t have the luxury of time. I need answers, and I need them now. I test the doorknob. The office is open. I’ll wait inside until the pastor
gets back.
I flick on the overhead light, and the room shivers in iridescent shadows. I don’t like this windowless room with its claustrophobic feel. After taking a seat on one of the two straight-backed chairs, I anxiously wait. The musty smell rankles my nose; the shelves of old books loom like threats on all sides. The lights are flickering on and off, the winds wreaking havoc up above. God forbid the electricity goes out and I have to feel my way out of this place.
I check my cell phone. Damn it! My battery has gone dead. How could I be so stupid? What if Ember needs to reach me? I stand for a moment and then sit. Cross my legs and count to ten. My stomach does a few double flips. Jesus. My nerves are making me sick. Out of habit, I tap my Fitbit. I’m short five thousand steps. Five thousand? I’ll never get to ten today. I frown at the absurdity of the thought. Who cares how many steps I take? I don’t. Or maybe I do. I wait a few moments and get up and begin to pace back and forth. One, two, three, four. It’s not for the steps, I tell myself. The rhythm helps me to focus.
Five, six, seven, eight. My gaze falls across the leather-bound book centered on the pastor’s desk. I remember she’d called it her Bible, but it’s much too thin for that. I pause and look over my shoulder and then gingerly pick up the book and flip it open to the first page. Just like I thought, it’s not a Bible. In fact, it’s not even a book but rather some kind of journal written in perfectly scripted longhand.
I skim through the first few pages and recognize the names of guests who have recently departed. Karen Crawley. Tim Taylor. Loretta Thomas. Mary Panini. Each entry has a common theme. Name, date, age. The method used to cross. That’s followed by the telling of a secret. Most seem to be about clandestine lovers, hurts held close, sexual preferences suppressed. The saddest story comes from Loretta Thomas, who on her fourteenth birthday was raped by a pack of rabid college boys. I gloss over these entries quickly, not wanting to be a voyeur. Then I come across several entries that cause my stomach to constrict. The first is Simon Appleton’s, which seems strange as the pastor claims she didn’t help him to cross. And then there’s an entry on Nurse Milo. But he couldn’t have confessed his secrets to the pastor if he was felled by the serial killer. I scour the pages, seeking the truth.
What She Never Said Page 26
