Righteous - 01 - The Righteous

by Michael Wallace

  Eliza enjoyed his hesitation. She’d given him something that he hadn’t yet considered.

  At last, he laughed. “Excellent, Eliza. Okay, first things first. Let’s rule out the Mexicans. Should be easy enough.”

  It wasn’t as hot as it had been yesterday, but it was warm enough. By the time they reached the Mexicans’ trailer, sweat trickled down her back and dribbled along the edge of her bra. She let Jacob walk ahead so she could fiddle with the darn thing. Once she went through the temple, she would add an extra layer of clothing in the temple garments. She didn’t know how the women of Blister Creek could stand it.

  The Mexicans had returned with Elder Kimball’s flagstone that afternoon, and lounged in the shade of a cottonwood tree where they’d parked the trailer. It was a fifth wheel, raised on cinderblock. They had a panel truck, in which they’d hauled their supplies of carpet, linoleum, and bathroom fixtures. A beat-up Ford F-150 parked next to the panel truck.

  The four men played a card game. One man hastily shoved a beer into a cooler. Elder Kimball was a fanatic about that sort of thing, but Jacob wouldn’t care if they drank or smoked. Why should a gentile obey the Word of Wisdom?

  Jacob addressed the men in Spanish. “Buenas tardes. Hay alguien acá que hable inglés?”

  “I speak English,” one of the men said. He raised his eyebrows. “You speak very good Spanish.” He glanced at Eliza, then dismissed her with his eyes and turned back to Jacob. “Where did you learn?”

  “Spent a few years in Mexico when I was a teenager. But my Spanish is rusty.”

  The Mormon Colonies in Mexico had been established with the same thinking as the settlements in Alberta, to hide polygamists from the federal government. The colonies had mostly gone mainstream, but they still had a few unaffiliated polygamists. Jacob had spent several years in the colonies as a child during a series of raids similar to those that had once sent Eliza to Blister Creek.

  “But what about you?” Jacob asked. “You barely have an accent.”

  “I’ve been in the U.S. off and on since ‘89. Worked in Atlanta for a few years, then Phoenix.” He smiled. “Thought a few months in a polygamous cult would make a good change of pace.”

  She didn’t know if he was trying to bait Jacob, but her brother just chuckled. “Just don’t cross the cult leader or they’ll burn down your trailer in the middle of the night.” He said it in the same joking tone of voice that the Mexican had used, except that Eliza knew that Elder Kimball had been planning just that.

  “My name is Manuel. These other three don’t speak English.”

  “I’m Jacob and this is my sister Eliza.” He turned to the others and introduced himself in Spanish. Eliza understood enough to hear their names as Jaime, Martín, and Eduardo.

  Jacob turned back to Manuel and said in English, “I’m not from Blister Creek. Are these people easy to work for?”

  Manuel shrugged. “Sure.” He said something to the other men and they continued their card game without him. “I mean, they’ve been paying us on time, which is the most important thing.” His tone was friendly enough, but reserved, just shy of suspicious.

  Jacob continued with the small talk for a couple of minutes, then casually asked if they’d ever met any of the women in the town. Did they know a woman named Charity Kimball? How about her sister wives? What about Amanda Kimball?

  “Is that what this is about?” Manuel’s tone had grown defensive. “You think one of my men has been messing around with your women?” He shook his head. “We’re so busy most days we barely have time to sleep, and these guys are never out of my sight, except when a couple of them drive to St. George for supplies or to hit the bar.”

  Jacob said, “Nah, I don’t think that. I’m looking for a man. Someone said he was back in town.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s one of what we call the Lost Boys. They’re young men expelled for wrong-thinking or bad behavior.” He shrugged. “Or maybe they’re just dumb. Our standards are strict.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed. So who is he?”

  “He’s my brother, actually. Name is Enoch. He’s been in some trouble and I thought he might have come around looking for me.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  “He’ll be easy enough to recognize. Red hair, and if you shook his hand, you’d notice a crooked thumb.”

  As Jacob spoke, Eliza watched the other three men. They occasionally glanced her way or to the conversation between Jacob and Manuel, but mostly paid attention to their game.

  Except for the one named Eduardo. He was a young man, maybe twenty, with dark hair and brown eyes. He wore a tank top and his arms and shoulders were bare and muscled and very tanned. He caught her eye and then looked back at her a moment later.

  Go ahead and stare, she thought, refusing to look away or feel embarrassed. Gentiles were all the same. They gawked at her conservative clothes and lack of make-up as if she had just stepped off a nineteenth century frontier homestead.

  “Well, good,” Jacob said as Eliza tuned back into the conversation. She had missed something. “Thanks for the information.” He shook hands and gave his farewells to the others in Spanish.

  “I missed that last part,” she said as they walked away. “He’s seen Enoch?”

  “Yes, with two other young men. They were probably Lost Boys, too. Could have been Tuesday. Maybe Monday. He wasn’t sure. Saw them coming out of the temple.”

  “What? The temple?”

  “Yeah, I know. Enoch has been excommunicated. He can’t go into the temple.” They reached the sidewalk and Jacob said, “Apart from that, there was something odd about that exchange. Seemed like Manuel was pumping me for information.”

  Eliza didn’t say anything, still off-balance from the news about Enoch. She was sweating again now that they’d left the shade of the cottonwood tree.

  Jacob said, “Which begs the question, what? Has Manuel heard something? Is he just curious, or does he know more than he’s letting on? I was certain that the Mexicans weren’t involved. Maybe I was wrong. Did you see anything?”

  “Just that the young one—Eduardo—kept staring at me. Reminds me of that place we stopped in Cedar City. You’d think we were a carnival exhibit or Amish or something.”

  “Maybe he thought you were cute,” Jacob said. “He was just checking you out.”

  “Oh, shut up. I can tell the difference between gawking and checking out.”

  “If you say so. But it seems like he’s seen enough polygamists now that he’s past the gawking stage. If that’s all it was.”

  “Anyway,” she said in an exaggerated tone. “What’s next?”

  They passed the church building, together with a few women coming from a late meeting. There were a handful of elderly women, and two mothers pushing strollers. Eliza and Jacob exchanged friendly greetings with these women.

  Jacob waited until they were alone again before answering. “What’s next? First, the minor leads. I’ve got a couple of phone calls, that stuff to send to the lab, and perhaps you could ask Amanda’s sister wives some questions.”

  “Fernie might know something. I’m kind of afraid to talk to the others.”

  “It won’t hurt to ask Fernie, although I thought I’d give her a call myself,” he said. Eliza remembered that Jacob, while not related to Fernie by birth, had spent more time with Eliza’s half-sister than she had. He continued, “But don’t worry about the others. Be yourself and they’ll warm up. Start with Charity Kimball.”

  Easy enough for him to say, but she knew she had to make herself useful. The other women knew about the murder by now. It was her job to talk to them. “Okay. I’ll see what I can find.”

  He nodded. “Good. Maybe someone noticed Amanda acting strange, or saw her talking to someone. I’d also like a second look at Witch’s Warts. See if I can find the spot where they killed Amanda. Now,” he said in a change of tone. “What’s up with our brother?”

  “Enoch?” She asked in surp
rise. “He’s not mixed up in this.”

  Jacob’s expression grew pained. “Are you sure? I’m not saying he’s the murderer, but what’s he doing kicking around Blister Creek? He doesn’t belong here. And he wasn’t alone, either. Remember?”

  She studied the expression on Jacob’s face. “Do you know something already?”

  They were approaching the Kimball house and they slowed their pace. Jacob turned. “I don’t know everything that Enoch’s been up to. But this isn’t the first time he’s been seen running with other Lost Boys. Gideon Kimball, for one. And now he shows up in Blister Creek. It’s the last place he belongs. And the timing. According to Charity Kimball, one day before Amanda’s murder.”

  “That could be coincidence.”

  “Sure. But it’s the best lead we’ve got at the moment.”

  “So how do we find Enoch?” she asked.

  “Manuel saw him drive off in some piece of junk with Nevada plates. We’ll look around town, but I think we’ll have more luck if we track him down where he lives. Don’t have his address, but I know where he works.”

  They had reached the Kimball house. Children played in the front yard, in spite of the heat, and women set up tables on the veranda for Sunday dinner.

  “So where are we going?” Eliza asked, before they came within earshot of the others.

  “Babylon. The Great Whore of the Desert. Legs spread wide, she gives teat to drunks and pornographers. Gambling, drugs, and all other manner of vice call it home.”

  Eliza was shocked, both by his crudity and by what he was implying. “You don’t mean…”

  He nodded. “Las Vegas.”

  #

  It cooled quickly as they gathered with the Kimballs for their Sunday evening meal. They ate watermelon and pork ribs, together with potatoes, corn on the cob, raspberry pie, and gallons of lemonade.

  In spite of the week-ending feast, the mood was somber. Most of Elder Kimball’s wives had only learned of Amanda’s death that morning. The mood at the funeral had been grim. Someone planted the rumor that Amanda had died of exposure in the desert, but this didn’t take. Sharp eyes had spotted trauma on the body and services had turned into a gossip fest. Eliza had heard a dozen theories about the murder, all of which she took into account, but none offered new information.

  And many of the women in Blister Creek did nothing to hide their anger. They were angry that the men had kept a stranglehold on information. Women and girls had walked around for three full days without knowing there was a murderer in town.

  Eliza was eating watermelon and thinking about Las Vegas when one of Elder Kimball’s weaselly sons, Taylor Junior, slid in next to her. She looked for her brother. Jacob was talking with Fernie Kimball, Eliza’s half-sister. The woman laughed at something that he said. Neither looked Eliza’s way.

  “You look lovely today, Eliza,” Taylor Junior said. His voice was hoarse, as if he were just getting over a cold. He sat close enough on the bench that his leg touched hers.

  She shifted so as to remove her leg from contact and said, “Thank you,” then turned back to her food.

  “I noticed you in Sunday School. That woman has nice hips, I thought. Perfect ratio of hips to waist and legs of the right length and size. Not too skinny, but not overweight, either. One look and I knew you’d be both a good lover and fertile.”

  Eliza never ceased to be astonished by the sheer, awkward rudeness of the young men of the church. A laugh came out of her mouth before she could stop it.

  Taylor Junior looked annoyed. “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “But perfect ratio of hips to waist? Come on, you need to work on your pick-up lines.”

  “What are you talking about? That wasn’t a pick-up line.”

  “Small talk, then. Whatever you call it, it was incredibly rude.”

  She’d put a gentle tone to her words, but Taylor Kimball sputtered angrily as he rose to his feet. “Are you looking for an invitation written on a silk napkin, delicately perfumed? This isn’t about pick-up lines. And you don’t have any say in the matter. You’re just a girl. And you won’t stay single forever, you know.”

  “No, but you might if you don’t stop acting like such a jerk.” She was angry now. “There’s not a woman in the world who will go for that kind of come-on.”

  Other women had overheard the conversation and they smirked as Taylor Junior grew even more huffy and red, if that was possible. Eliza was beginning to wish she’d kept her mouth shut.

  “I’ll tell you something, Eliza Christianson,” Taylor Junior said. He had lifted his voice so that everyone in the surrounding area could hear. “No, two somethings. In the first place—”

  But before he could posture any further, Jacob arrived at the table. He put a hand on Taylor Junior’s shoulder. “Here, have a seat. It’d be a shame to waste this good meal with an argument.”

  Taylor Junior brushed away Jacob’s hand. “Your sister needs to learn her place.” The women at the table tried to hush him. Their amusement had turned to embarrassment. But Taylor Junior ignored them. “Did you hear what she said to me?” he said to Jacob and anyone who would listen. “Your sister—” and he spat this word for a second time, “just told me—”

  “Whatever it was, I’m sure it was nothing.” Jacob returned his hand to Taylor Junior’s shoulder. “Sit down, Brother Kimball.”

  “Don’t touch me. And don’t give me that brother garbage. You’re not my brother and you’re not my priesthood leader.” Taylor Junior stood taller and stared Jacob in the eye.

  Jacob’s voice lowered, then. “Careful, Junior. Very careful.”

  “Yeah, whatever. You don’t have a wife either, so who are you to threaten me?”

  “I’m not threatening you,” Jacob said. The flash faded from his face. Only the grim set to his mouth remained to show he was angry. “But let’s be clear. You’re not going to marry my sister. Now or ever.” He turned to go. “I don’t want to see you sitting with her when I come back. Or talking to her.”

  With that, he walked away. There remained silence, before the women turned back to individual conversations, each of which began jarringly, like a lawnmower sputtering to life. Eliza looked down at her food, waiting for Taylor Junior to leave.

  He looked around, then stared at the back of Jacob. A shuffle. He made to leave, but before he did, he put his hand on Eliza’s knee and gave a vice-like squeeze. She winced.

  “You little bitch,” he whispered. “I won’t forget this. And when you do become my wife, your wedding night will be one to remember. Your cunt’ll be so sore you won’t be able to sit for a week.” He got up and stomped toward the house. She was left trembling.

  Jacob was cheerful when he returned, having missed Taylor Junior’s parting shot. “I hope Father isn’t disappointed. Because that little display disqualifies Taylor Junior from the marriage sweepstakes. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Eliza looked up in alarm. “He isn’t…he wasn’t…”

  “Yes,” Jacob said, face suddenly serious. “He was.”

  She glanced at Taylor Junior, now slamming the door of the house behind him, and then back to her brother. Elder Johnson, Taylor Kimball Junior. Who was the third choice?

  Chapter Six:

  By the time they left Blister Creek on Monday, Eliza could not stop thinking about Enoch. Surely he couldn’t be involved in Amanda’s murder.

  She had once felt the same way about Enoch that she now felt about Jacob. As a young girl, she had idolized them both. They were like Book of Mormon heroes. Captain Moroni with his Standard of Liberty. Ammon, who had cut off the arms of the Lamanite bandits and converted an entire nation of unbelievers. They knew everything. They could do anything.

  And what girl ever had two brothers like Jacob and Enoch? They never teased her or told her to go play with her dolls. They had read her stories, and later taught her to read by herself. They had taught her to ride and groom a horse. They had taken her fishing at the bea
ver pond and when the brook trout weren’t biting had spun preposterous stories about a colony of gnomes that lived in Father’s beard, surviving on crumbs of toast and bits of jam they found clinging to his whiskers. Jacob used big, delicious words like juxtaposition and defenestrate with no sense of irony. Enoch whispered brain teasers in her ear during sacrament meeting just when she thought she would slip into a coma through sheer boredom.

  But she was older now. For all that she loved Jacob, she saw that he was only human. He made mistakes. He could be condescending. He wrestled with his doubts. Enoch remained forever perfect in her mind.

  So it was with reluctance that she raised her fears as they hit I-15 and headed south toward St. George. An hour and a half beyond that waited Las Vegas.

  “Please tell me that Enoch is not involved.”

  “I hope not, Liz.” Jacob sounded troubled. “Maybe he knows something, maybe not. But even if he does, it doesn’t mean he’s directly involved.”

  “He doesn’t belong in Blister Creek. You said it yourself. And in the temple? It can’t be random. It’s got to be tied to the murder. But why? Why Enoch?”

  Jacob said, “It’s like the story of Lehi’s dream in the Book of Mormon. He let go of the iron rod and is wandering strange paths through the mists and darkness. A Lost Boy.”

  Jacob fiddled with the radio and settled on an AM station with an evangelical preacher, spinning nonsense about miracle spring water that could cure whatever ailed you, depending, of course, on your faithfulness. She wondered if the spring water were an out-and-out fraud, or if the whole outfit was a tool of the devil. The show was grating, and she was relieved when Jacob finally switched it off again.

  “And why are they called Lost Boys?” Jacob said about twenty minutes later, as if there had been no pause in the conversation. “Lost sounds accidental. You lost your compass. Maybe someone gave you bad directions.”