The Girl and the Secret Society (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 9)

by A J Rivers

  “Oh, that would be such a nice conversation. If you do get a chance to have that sit down with him, be sure to mention his wedding officiating services,” Dean says.

  “Wedding officiating?”

  “Seems Sterling Jennings is busy. Presiding over murder trials and marrying mysteriously missing men.”

  My mouth falls open. “Mason and Eleanor? He married them?”

  “Yes he did,” Dean confirms. “It's amazing what you can access when you have the authorization of the police department and FBI behind you.” He pulls a few sheets of paper out of a folder and spreads them out in front of me. A fully unredacted marriage license and wedding certificate. The license was signed by the clerk and a wedding certificate signed by one Judge Sterling Jennings.

  I look at the wedding license again. “You said this is the name of the county clerk?”

  “Yeah,” Dean says. “What about it?”

  I walk over to my notes and scan over them again. I write the clerk's name down under Mason.

  “This name shows up in three of these murders,” I explain. “County Clerk here, sister over here, key witness over here.”

  “The same person?” Dean asks.

  “I think so,” I say. “I've been branching out, researching each of these cases, and I think I'm starting to form a web.”

  "Let's see who it catches," he mutters. His phone rings in his pocket, and he looks at it strangely before answering. He listens for a few seconds, and his eyes widen. “She'll be right there.”

  “She? Is that me?” I ask when he hangs up the phone.

  “That was Ethan,” Dean says.

  “Ethan from the bank?” I ask.

  “Guess who just came in to empty out her bank account. The grieving widow.”

  His eyes flash slightly as he smiles at me.

  “Are you serious? Eleanor Goldman is up at the bank right now?”

  “You better hurry,” he says.

  “Aren't you coming?”

  “I can't. I have a meeting I have to go to,” he says.

  “A meeting?” I ask. “With whom?”

  “I'll tell you everything as soon as I can. But you need to hurry if you want to talk to her,” he says. “Ethan and Jennifer are trying to delay her as much as possible, but they don't really have a lot to go on.”

  I don't have time to question him anymore. I run out of the police station and race to the bank. As I'm pulling into the parking lot, I see Millie come out. She glares at me and rolls her eyes as I walk across the parking lot, but I don't engage with her. Instead, I rush inside. Ethan and Jennifer are both standing at one teller window, chattering between themselves and pointing at a computer screen, pretending to be having difficulty.

  A woman stands at the window, leaning forward as if she's trying to see the screen. A large-rimmed sunhat matches the dark blue of her sundress. She's clutching her purse in front of her with a neatly folded cardigan draped over her hands. She looks like a throwback. A customer who should have come here generations ago when this bank was new. She would be elegant if it weren't for the frustrated, angry posture.

  Ethan glances up as I cross the lobby and suddenly throws his hands up in the air with a wide smile.

  “Look at that,” he says. “I figured it out.”

  I get to the window and step up behind the woman.

  "Eleanor Goldman?" I start.

  She turns around, and I try not to gasp. Her face is bruised and swollen, covered by a surgical mask, so only her eyes peer out at me. That explains her long stay in the hospital.

  "Yes?"

  "I'm Emma Griffin. I'm an FBI agent."

  "I know who you are. You were helping that private investigator look for my husband." She looks down and takes a breath, touching gingerly under one eye. Her voice is hoarse, like she's been crying, and cracks slightly. "So, I suppose it's good news for you that he's not missing anymore. He's just dead."

  "Yes. I wanted to express my condolences. I hear it happened while you were in the hospital."

  She stares at me for a few seconds, then tugs the brim of her hat down further.

  "It did. And, yes, I'm well aware that means if I hadn't been so vain and let him be in the hospital with me, he would still be alive. If you're finished, I'd like to leave."

  "Mrs. Goldman, we're not done here," Ethan calls out from behind her.

  "I'll come back to close the account," she says. "I'm too upset to be out right now."

  "Close your account?" I frown, falling into step beside Eleanor as she walks out of the building. "Why are you closing your account?"

  "If you must know, I'm moving out of Harlan. Without Mason, there's just no reason to stay. Excuse me."

  She gets in her car and drives out of the parking lot. I'm walking toward my car when I see Millie coming toward me.

  "Can I speak with you?" she asks.

  Her face is tense, but her voice is soft, almost pleading.

  "Sure," I say, nodding.

  "It's about my brother."

  The words have barely left her mouth when a shot rings out. I dive to the ground, but Millie isn't so lucky. She moans, her hand going to her chest.

  "Millie," I gasp, diving forward to catch her as she collapses to the pavement. Her eyes lock on mine. "Keep looking at me. Don't close your eyes."

  I hold her in my lap with one hand and call for help with the other.

  "Stop him," she whispers. "Look at the alibis. Stop him."

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  I haven't slept. I haven't eaten. I'm going on coffee and pure adrenaline.

  Look at the alibis. Stop him. Look at the alibis.

  It's all I can think about.

  Find them. Stop him.

  I've moved the piece of paper from the table up onto the wall, so I have more space and can step back and look at the entire web. I go over it and over it. Every detail.

  The connections are forming in my head, but they're not making any sense. I can't make the links. I know they're there. I can see where they are supposed to be. People in places they shouldn't be, at times when they shouldn't be there. Names showing up in too many cases. People with no motive, or too much motive.

  And the alibis. Far too perfect.

  But I don't understand.

  “Emma, you can't keep going like this,” Sam says, coming into the room. “It’s been two days. You need some rest.”

  “No,” I tell him. “Not yet. I have to figure this out.”

  “At least eat something,” he sighs, offering me a protein bar and a bottle of water. I look down at them, back at Sam, and then tear into the wrapper, scarfing it down. My next words are mumbled through chewing. “How is she?”

  “Alive,” Sam says. “For now. She hasn't woken up, but she's fighting. Detective White did a press conference asking for anybody with any information to contact him. Some of Millie's family was there. Her ex-husband was even there.”

  “Her ex-husband?” I ask, chasing down the protein bar with a swig of water.

  “Apparently. I don't know anything about him other than that his name is Jared Haynes.”

  “That's how she got her last name,” I note. “That's not her maiden name.”

  “No,” he says.

  “Was the press conference posted?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Why?”

  I pull my phone out and go to the Harlan police department’s social media page. The first post is the video of the press conference. Even without starting it, I can see the detective standing at the podium with people on either side of him. One is an older woman who I assume is Millie's mother, standing with a younger man who must have been her ex-husband. But it's the man on the other side of him that stops me.

  Starting the video, I sink slowly down into a chair.

  “We are all horrified by this seemingly random act of violence coming right on the heels of the tragic discoveries of the last few weeks. Everyone in Harlan deserves to feel safe. So, we must work together to find
those responsible for these horrors and stop them. As Millie Haynes fights for her life, her family asks the community to keep her in your prayers and to speak up if you know anything. As representative of the family, Millie's older brother Rod would like to say a few things about his sister in hopes that may help find who's responsible.”

  “Damn it all,” I snap, stopping the video and shoving my phone into my pocket.

  “What's going on?” Sam asks.

  “Have you heard from Dean?” I ask.

  “No,” he says. “Emma, what's going on?”

  “When Dean and I followed Millie and saw her talking to that man on the side of the road….” I start.

  “Yeah,” he nods.

  “That was him. Rod Jennings is Millie's brother.”

  “But that means…”

  “So is Sterling Jennings,” I complete the sentence.

  I'm running out to the parking lot when I see Dean pull in. He drives up beside me and rolls down his window.

  “I found it,” he says. “I'm sure.”

  “Let's go,” I say.

  “Where are you going?” Sam asks.

  “I need you to stay here,” I tell him. “I need you; I need to be able to call you and know you're here. Do you understand?”

  “Emma, tell me what you're doing,” he says.

  “I can't,” I tell him. “I love you.”

  “I love you too. Be safe.”

  I climb into the car with Dean, and we speed into the darkness.

  “Sterling Jennings is Millie's brother,” I tell him. “And the man we saw on the side of the road is Rod.”

  “Shit,” he mutters.

  “We have to move fast,” I say. “Did you find out anything else?”

  “At the time Jennings was supposedly officiating the wedding, he was also presiding over a theft trial. And the license was issued on a day when Mason could not have been there to sign it. Debra, his ex, has video of him at their son's little league game, then at the team banquet. When I first started working the case for her, I remember her talking about that day. She said he looked so happy to be there and she thought it was so wonderful for their son. That's the last memory he has of his father.”

  We drive for almost an hour, blazing through tiny back roads and finally ending up in an area so desolate it sends a chill down my spine. The last time I saw this place, it was during daylight, a hunch I had to follow. Now it was dark and what was beautiful farmland now looks foreboding.

  “We should park here,” Dean says. “It's not too far.”

  We get out of the car, and he leads me into the tall grass to one side of the road. It's not like walking through the corn stalks. It's softer, but I feel insects bouncing against me as they jump from blade to blade. We walk in silence, not knowing who might be around to hear us. Soon, a path opens up, leading us deeper across the field.

  Ahead of us, I see the silhouette of the stark building against the sky. It was beautiful in the photograph I saw. Lakyn captured it with the afternoon sun shimmering down on an old steeple. But in moonlight, it's imposing.

  “I looked through the pictures again,” Dean whispers as we approach the building. “The last one looked like a cellar door, so when I came here, that's what I looked for. And I found it. The only reason she would take a picture of it is if that's how she got inside. It was a record. She wanted to be able to describe it to Xavier so she could make sure she was doing what he needed her to.”

  “How did he find out about this?” I ask.

  “I don't know,” Dean says. “At some point, he must have met the right person. Or the wrong one.”

  “Did you go inside?”

  “Yes,” he says. “But just to make sure I could.”

  “Show me,” I tell him.

  “Emma, it's dangerous.”

  “I know,” I tell him. “But I have to know. I have to see for myself.”

  He nods, and we continue toward the building.

  “It looks deserted. When I was leaving, there weren't any cars around. I think they only come out here for specific purposes.”

  “It's not exactly the most convenient location,” I note.

  We get to the door, and Dean and I slip inside. It reminds me of his description of breaking into the abandoned hospital outside of Feathered Nest, where he discovered my mother's medical records and completely shattered my understanding of my childhood.

  This is different. This building was once abandoned. Many of the people around probably still think it is. But Dean and I both know there's life inside. A temple. A gathering place for something I'm just beginning to scratch the surface of.

  The door leads us into a surprisingly dry, warm cellar. We creep through it, making our way toward the middle, where we hope to find steps leading us upstairs. We do, and I hold my breath as we climb slowly up toward the door. Dean stops, the light from the flashlight on his phone just illuminating his finger coming to his lips.

  We stand at the door, listening. There's no movement on the other side.

  "Go," I whisper to Dean.

  He reaches for the knob. "It's locked."

  "Damn it. We need to get inside."

  "Give me a second."

  He hands me his phone and pulls a slim tool case out of his pocket. I've seen him use these tools before. I hope they're reliable this time.

  The old knob takes a few tries, but Dean finally succeeds in popping the lock. The sound is magnified in the quiet building. We stand still, holding our breath, waiting to see if anything responds. When it doesn't, I reach for the knob and open the door.

  Out of the cellar, the building is cool. The smell of incense and wood oil is strong, and I let it help me decide which way to head.

  "What if there are cameras?" Dean asks.

  I shake my head. "Not in a place like this. There's no one here that hasn't been extensively vetted and earned the trust of everyone else. They don't need cameras."

  We get to a set of large arched doors, but I don't open them. Instead, I follow the wall around to the side where there's a small hallway.

  "Where are you going?" Dean asks.

  "When I was little, our grandmother brought me to a church like this for a wedding. It wasn't as elaborate, but it was an old country church. There were hallways on either side of the sanctuary so people could get up to the altar without having to walk down the aisle. There should be a door that brings us right where we want to be."

  We get down the hallway, and I find the small access door. Stepping through, it brings us to small curved areas on either side of the pulpit. Dean holds his phone up to shine the light ahead of us. The wheel is right where it was positioned in Lakyn's photo. Using its placement, I follow along the wall until I find a large plaque. I call out for Dean.

  "Did you find it?" he asks.

  "It's right here."

  Taking out my phone, I shine the flashlight on the plaque. The picture Lakyn took of the plaque couldn't have been taken at the same time as many of the other images. The mirror ahead of me is where Sam noticed the reflection of the robed men. If she was standing here when she took that picture, they would have seen her. It means she came here more than once.

  In the picture Lakyn took, the words engraved into the small metal plates attached to the large wooden plaque were indecipherable. I could only make out the word ‘sponsor’ on one and a name on another. Now that I'm looking at it again, I can see that each of the plates has two names. The first name has a date beneath it, and the second has the word ‘sponsor’.

  “Look,” I point out to him. “A couple of these have the same person listed as their sponsor.”

  “Check the dates,” Dean says. “Is it what you thought?”

  Running my fingertips over the names, I compare dates with the web of notes written on the paper back at the police station. The more that line up, the harder the knot in my stomach and the harsher the burn in the center of my chest. My hand rests on one plaque in particular.

  "Lorenz
o Tarasco. Sponsored by Sterling Jennings. October 21st, 2008. That's the day Andrew died."

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  The sound of a door closing somewhere deep in the building makes my heart stop. I look at Dean.

  “Go,” he whispers. “Go back the way we came. I'm going the other way.”

  “We shouldn't split up,” I whisper back.

  “We’ll move faster and hide more quickly if we go separately,” he says. “Just get back to the cellar. And if you can't get there, head up. Go up any stairs you happen to find. They don't use the upper floors of the building.”

  We can hear voices now. There's no more time to waste. I turn off my phone, so the light isn't visible, and shove it into my pocket. Then I open the door to the hallway and slip out. Holding the doorknob, I gently ease the door closed, so it doesn't make any noise. Without the light of my phone, it's hard to move through the darkness, but I use my memory of getting here to guide me.

  There's more light in the hallways in front of the sanctuary, thanks to big windows along the upper portions of the walls. All I need to do is get out of the hallway, through the center of the building, and back to the cellar door.

  But I don't make it.

  As soon as I step out of the hallway, I see a group of hooded, robed figures standing in front of the doors to the sanctuary. I back up and run up the hallway toward the access door into the sanctuary.

  There's nowhere else to go. No doors in this hall lead to the outside. All I can do is run through the sanctuary. When I do, I find the other access door and burst through it. Right into the arms of one of the men.

  He lets out a surprised gasp, but I shove against him to shut him up. He clatters back against the wall, sending echoes through the old church.

  Not good.

  The other group of robed figures head up the hallway to the source of the commotion. I whip my head around, considering my options and figuring how to escape, but then the man gets back to his feet and lunges for me again. His hood starts to fall back, revealing a sliver of his face in the moonlight. I've seen his face before. I don't remember where, but I know I've seen it.