Carly glanced over her shoulder to see who was interrupting them then scowled.
“My condolences,” he said to Carly.
“I’m not talking to you,” she snapped.
Eric seemed to smile right through her cold shoulder then addressed Kate, “Given any thought to a chat?”
Carly looked appalled. “You’re not going to talk to him, are you?”
“No,” said Kate right away. “Not about your dad, anyway.”
Carly seemed annoyed. She narrowed her eyes.
“Not at all,” Kate clarified.
“That’s too bad,” said Eric. “I got in touch with Neil Motley,” he boasted. “You know, the old police chief. He had quite a bit to say.”
Kate hated to seem highly interested. The last thing she wanted to do was upset Carly, but she couldn’t help it. Her expression gave it away.
In a huff, Carly wrapped up her muffin, making to go. “I owe Larry a visit.”
“Oh, you don’t have to go,” said Kate.
“No, no. I’ve been thinking about getting in touch with him, anyway. And if you feel the need to hear this vulture out, I won’t stop you. Just know whatever you say, he’ll twist it around then print it.”
“I’ll call you later,” said Kate, which Carly barely acknowledged before she started for the door.
“May I?” asked Eric, pulling out a chair.
“You talked to Neil Motley?” she asked skeptically. “He hasn’t spoken to anyone from Rock Ridge. He all but disappeared.”
“It’s amazing what a little money can do.”
Kate frowned.
“And a little lie. I told him I was with the New York Times.”
“And he believed you?”
“I had a few credits last year. Small articles. Low-rung copy editor, but still, he was able to check it out. I seemed credible.”
“And what did you tell him you were calling about?”
“In that regard, I told the truth,” said Eric, brushing off the muffin crumbs that Carly had left on the table. “I told him I was writing an article on the Anarchist Freedom Network, which is true, though I didn’t mention I had no idea when I’d have enough of the facts to actually get the green light from my editor to print anything.”
“So what did he tell you?”
Eric leaned over the table. “The only reason I’d tell you is if you tell me what you know.”
“That means you know less than I do,” she pointed out.
“I promise you I know things you don’t,” he countered. “Not to mention I need your help. I can’t go to the development and poke around. They know I’m a reporter. I’d get nowhere. But you’re a handywoman. You could go there for any reason.”
Kate was about to mention that his assumption was hardly true. The last time she’d gone, Clem Tully all but dragged her off the premises, but in order to get Eric talking, she agreed.
“Your husband, Greg, enlisted Neil’s help,” he said to stir intrigue. It worked. Kate didn’t even blink. “They left together.”
“When Neil abruptly quit and moved to North Carolina?”
Eric nodded.
“Neil said that?”
“He did. And he e-mailed me photos of them, e-mail correspondence, all kinds of proof that Greg was down south for a few years.”
“So where is he now? In North Carolina?”
Eric shook his head. “He hasn’t been down there in the past year. Neil said he disappeared. I believe him.”
“Disappeared where?”
Eric was momentarily distracted when his cell phone started ringing. He answered, and Kate faintly heard a woman through the line. It sounded like Celia. He said he'd call her back and then quickly hung up.
Kate glared at him. "Are you having an affair with Celia Johnson?"
Smugly, Eric said, "If I am, it doesn't mean I killed Ken."
"I can't believe you," she said, disgusted with him.
Eric gave her a moment to get over it and then said, “All Neil could say about Greg running off from North Carolina was that it had to do with Bradley Stuart.”
“Jessica’s son who went missing when he was four years old?” she asked with astonishment.
“If you find Bradley, you’ll find Greg.”
Chapter Eight
As Kate drove her truck towards the gate to the campsite, she wondered how in the heck Eric had roped her into doing this. Realistically, she didn’t have a prayer in hell of finding Bradley, but Eric had lit a fire in her. She believed him about Greg. And when he’d told her to poke around the campsite, it seemed like a good idea.
Now that she was passing through the gate and heading towards a humongous structure, she felt entirely conspicuous and had no idea how she was going to pull this off.
Far from the campsite it had once been, the acreage looked more like a corporate lot. It wasn’t paved and there were still tents here and there, but they were way off towards the tree line and there seemed to be less scrappy anarchists wandering around.
Tully Construction vehicles were all over, bulldozers and forklifts and cranes, all in operation. The construction workers shouted at one another, but she couldn’t spot Clem Tully anywhere, or Mike Waters. The trailers, where she assumed the temporary offices were set up, were still where she’d seen them last.
She rolled up to a row of parked cars and decided she might get further in her effort to nose around if she was on foot, so she pulled up between two cars and killed the engine. Then, as she got out of her truck, she noticed the crushed front end of the VW that had rear-ended her. So Carly was right. The driver, Toby Marks, was one of the anarchists.
She didn’t, however, notice that Toby Marks was rounding his VW until she nearly bumped into him.
He startled. “Look, lady,” he said, flying into a panicked defense. “I’ve already told my insurance company it was my fault. I don’t want any trouble.”
“Calm down, I don’t, either,” she said when he cowered, shuffling backwards. “I didn’t come here because of you, but maybe you can help me with something.”
His expression relaxed, but his eyes remained cautious.
She didn’t know why she was asking. The last time she’d asked one of the anarchists about Greg, the kid immediately called for Mike Waters, but she figured she’d give it a shot. Maybe Toby would feel like he owed her since he banged up her fender.
“Have you heard of a man named Greg Flaherty?”
Suddenly, he went white as a sheet, then his eyes widened. “Right, on the police report, your name is Kate Flaherty.”
“That’s right.”
“You’re related to Greg?”
Kate was stunned that he seemed to know Greg. “We’re married. Getting divorced actually.”
“I’m not going with him.” When he saw her confused look he asked, “He’s here? Is he here? That’s why you’ve come?”
“What do you mean you’re not going with him?”
“I’m old enough now,” he said, holding his head high. “No one can make me do anything I don’t want to do.”
“Are you saying Greg made you do something you didn’t want to do?”
“You’re his wife. You don’t know?”
Kate didn’t want to say she hadn’t a clue for fear he’d clam up.
“He disappeared almost six years ago.”
“Yeah, I know,” he snorted.
Confusion swept over her until she realized he looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
“What’s your real name?” she asked. “It’s not Toby Marks.”
He fell silent and looked scared. “I’m not going with him.”
“Is Greg here?”
“If he were, I’m sure he would’ve grabbed me by now, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t on his way.”
Suddenly, Kate realized why he looked so familiar. He looked like Jessica.
“Bradley Stuart?” she asked, astonished.
“Keep your voice down.”
&nbs
p; “What happened to you? You disappeared when you were four.”
“Kidnapped? Yeah, it took me a really long time to figure out that’s what was going on.”
“Tell me what happened,” she said sternly.
He glanced over his shoulder then all around. “Not here,” he said. “Let’s go in the woods.”
Kate walked beside him, as they ventured through the woods away from the campers and construction workers. Soon they came to a stream where Toby, or Bradley, as the case might be, kicked a stone into the water.
“It was that guy, Neil.”
“Neil Motley, the old police chief?”
“I knew him, sort of. He was friendly with my parents. I was so young I didn’t know what was going on. He just told me to come with him. My parents were at some kind of party, a benefit or I don’t know. Left me home with the babysitter, who I guess left early even though my parents weren’t back. Neil got me out of bed. Then it was all a blur. I was in a car then a plane. Then I was in the care of this family I didn’t know. It wasn’t until years later I understood it was witness protection. Greg had organized it. Apparently, my dad was some kind of anarchist criminal.”
Dudley Stuart, the second murder victim who was the mayor in secret support of the development.
“This guy Walter used to visit me with Neil and Greg sometimes. Walter was nice.”
“Did Neil take your photo with Walter?”
“Probably. They acted like my family. Then I was living with Neil and then Greg joined us. When I got older and started asking questions I found out what was really going on.”
Not that Bradley would understand, but Greg was probably trying to save him from the anarchists.
“As soon as I heard my dad died, got killed, I just had to come up here. I don’t believe he was a bad person. I want to be like him. This is where I belong, with the anarchists. I don’t care if Greg hunts me down. I won’t go with him. No one can make me.”
“Bradley, now this is very important,” said Kate. “When did you last see Greg?”
Chapter Nine
The more Bradley opened up about his fears that Greg would find him, remove him from his “people,” as he kept referring to the anarchists, drag him back down south to Neil Motley’s house, the more Kate felt for him. He was just a scared kid. He was confused. He’d built his father up in his head and had very little concept of how destructive the anarchists were to society and to Rock Ridge, specifically. But as Kate listened, she realized that she knew very little about the development, its purpose, and what specifically the anarchists planned to do in Rock Ridge.
Bradley told her that the last time he’d seen Greg had been right before he escaped from Neil’s house. The pieces were starting to fit. Dudley’s murder had been a catalyst of sorts. Like Bradley had mentioned, as soon as he learned the news, he fled North Carolina. His running away prompted Greg to go after him. All the while the land deal was waxing and waning, hanging on by a financial thread, as more and more residents of Rock Ridge had been murdered in its wake.
“So what are the anarchists planning on doing here?” Kate asked when it seemed Bradley had calmed down and become more comfortable with her. She knew his impression of the development was viewed through rose-colored glasses. He didn’t find anything wrong with the anarchist or anarchy, in general, but she believed Greg had been working for the US government and probably still was. Though in the past year Greg had become an anomaly, a stranger, someone who in reality wasn’t at all who she’d married, she’d still known him. He’d had a good head on his shoulders, and he was brilliant as a professor of Middle Eastern studies. If Greg, with the government’s support, had made it his mission to infiltrate the anarchists for the purposes of shutting them down, then she trusted they really did pose a threat to Rock Ridge. She just needed to find out what that threat was precisely.
Bradley threw a stone into the stream and glanced at the sky as though it held the answer.
“It’s going to be a community,” he said, which didn’t exactly answer her question, but she reminded herself he was more or less a child, not yet an adult, wavering in the hormonal flux of his teenaged years.
“In what sense, though?” Kate studied his face. He appeared annoyed that she didn’t get it. “If you think about it, it's already a community. You guys have been camping out here for almost a year. You’ve completely taken over the campsite. The residents in Rock Ridge don’t even think about taking their kids here anymore. Why does Mike Waters need to build a development?”
“Just what I said. It’s a community. It’s a business. There’s going to be a school. Mike is going to build a wall around the site. It's going to be an alternative to living in society. We’re going to emancipate ourselves from the town, from the government. We’re going to have our own militia.”
As he went on, Kate realized he was describing a cult.
“Mike’s recruiting scientists and philosophers. That’s how Greg was able to spy on the Anarchist Freedom Network. He approached Mike, talked himself up as a scholar, an expert on the Middle East. He said he could show Mike how to model the community on successful anarchists in those far-off countries. Greg even flew to the Middle East with Mike to show him firsthand how other anarchists were doing it.”
“Bradley, those are terrorist organizations,” Kate pointed out.
“But what is a terrorist really? Only someone who believes the government is a dictatorship they want to destroy.”
It suddenly struck her that Bradley had been completely brainwashed.
“Are the anarchists planning on harming the residents of Rock Ridge?” She asked, though she was afraid of what the answer might be. “Are they planning on bombing?”
“I’m sure they will if they have to. We’re going to live completely outside of society,” he explained. “We’re not going to follow the government like sheep. We’re not going to pay arbitrary taxes that the government imposes. We’re going to take back the land. And this is just one cell. All over the country more and more cells will start to form. Mike Waters has big plans for this country. As soon as the community here is established, Mike is going to branch out, build in other towns. You’ll see. Ten years from now, maybe even in less time, we’re going to take this country back.”
Or start a serious civil war, she thought.
“Why do you think this development interested people like Walter Miller? People like Harvy Stuart? Harvy was the mayor, after all. If you think about it, he had risen in the governmental ranks and held a prestigious position. And Walter was living the American dream. He had a successful law practice. Why would these people throw that away for anarchy?”
“They aren’t throwing it away,” he countered. “They’re improving upon it.”
It was almost hard to talk to him. Though they were communicating and he’d certainly opened up, it was like they were both looking at the sky and Bradley was convinced it was purple, whereas the fact of the matter was that it was blue and nothing but.
What confused her more than anything, however, was how the Anarchist Freedom Network could possibly be a business, so she questioned him about it.
His response was simply, “Books.”
“Books?”
“That’s one income stream, but there will be others. And don’t forget we’ll soon be completely self-sufficient. Grow our own vegetables. Have our own cattle and slaughter houses.”
“Gas and electric?”
“We’ll find a way. But until we get there we’re going to flood the market with our books. Nothing too obvious. That’s another reason why Mike recruited scholars and also artists. They’ll write nonfiction and fiction, and the message will be anarchy. We’ll introduce the general population to a better way of life, and they will come.”
“Bradley, that’s just propaganda.”
“Call it what you want. If you look around here, you’ll notice it’s working. There are almost two thousand of us. From what I heard, only six months ago the
re were less than a thousand here. We’re growing, and we won’t stop.”
Kate must have looked ill to learn all of this, because he immediately changed his tone, saying, “What? You asked. I didn’t have to tell you. I could’ve hollered and gotten a gang of guys to haul you off the property.”
“Yes, I know. I’m glad you told me.”
“If I knew more about where your husband was, I’d tell you,” he added. “But I’ll say one thing. He’s smart and I doubt it’ll be long before he comes here for me.”
In a way, Kate wasn’t sure how she felt about Greg’s determination to keep Bradley safe in this sense. Greg hadn’t fled with their twins. He’d left Kate behind, and yet he’d focused his efforts on shielding Bradley. It was puzzling and hurtful, and if she ever saw Greg again, she’d give him a piece of her mind and then some.
It was also difficult to reconcile the fact that all those years ago, Greg had acted like he was helping Jessica find Bradley. Why would he do that? It was almost diabolical giving her hope that he could find her son, when all the while he was the one who had orchestrated taking Bradley.
“Look, Bradley,” she began. “I know you want to stay here, and at this point, I’m not going to stop you. But I think you owe it to your mother to let her know you’re alive and well. Losing you was hands down the hardest thing she’s ever been through, and deep down she never recovered. In the back of her mind, she still worries about where you are. She’s tormented that she never knew what happened. Would you consider coming back with me just to see her?”
“That sounds like a trap.”
“It’s not a trap,” she insisted. “It’s only to set her mind at ease. I mean, don’t you want to see your mom? Haven’t you missed her?”
Bradley fell silent and kicked a rock into the stream.
“I can’t exactly drive my car,” he said, but it didn’t sound like an excuse so much as a request for a ride.
“I’ll drive you there and bring you back,” she offered.
“It better not be a trap,” he said again.
“You have my word.”
He held her gaze then lifted the hem of his shirt, revealing he had a gun tucked into his waistband, as he said, “I better.”
Mrs. Fix It Mysteries: The Complete 15-Books Cozy Mystery Series Page 45
