by R. R. Irvine
“He’d been away nearly two years.”
“Your mother was my patient, too. I can’t betray her trust.”
“You signed the birth certificate listing Martin as my father.”
Murphy stood up and came around the desk. “I think we’d both better leave before the water gets any higher.”
28
TRAVELER CALLED the genealogy library and was quickly connected with his father.
“Jolene’s here,” Martin said the moment he came on the line.
“Does that mean you can’t talk?”
“Hell, no. We’ve been hard at work. We may have saved your ass.”
“Watch your language,” Jolene said in the background.
“Women,” Martin said. “Speaking of which, guess who Lael’s stepmother is.” He snorted and went on without waiting for Traveler’s response. “Crystal Moseby was her maiden name, daughter of the First Apostle. Think about it.”
Traveler did. Seth Woolley, Elton Woolley’s nephew and his closest living relative, had divorced his first wife to marry the daughter of the man rumored to be next in line to become God’s living prophet.
Martin lowered his voice. “I think maybe I ought to look a little further. What with Utah’s history of polygamy, who knows what might turn up. We could all be related to Moseby. Anyway, we’ll be burning the midnight oil here.”
“Are you trying to tell me something?” Traveler asked.
“Your mother never knew him, if that’s what you mean.”
“I talked to Doctor Murphy,” Traveler said.
“Are you sick?”
“I was checking up on you.”
“Where the hell are you?”
“The Boston Building.”
“You’d better go over to the office and find Newel Ellsworth. He called in a couple of hours ago and said he had to talk to you.”
Traveler glanced toward the entrance. Outside, a pair of workmen were erecting a temporary awning to divert the runoff away from the front steps. “Did he say why?”
“All he said was, ‘Tell Moroni I’m coming in out of the wilderness.’ ”
The Chester Building was four blocks away, but Traveler had to detour more than a mile to reach it. By the time he did, police had the street closed. At first he figured the floodwaters were threatening the temple. Then he saw the ambulance parked in front of the Chester Building, with a stretcher about to be loaded on board.
He stopped the truck right where it was, nose to nose with a barricading patrol car, and sprinted for the ambulance. A policeman gave chase. Traveler was about to be arrested when Willis Tanner pushed through the Chester Building’s bronze door and waved away the officer.
“What’s wrong?” Traveler panted.
“Newel Ellsworth’s been killed.”
Before Traveler could respond, the ambulance pulled away from the curb.
“Let’s get under cover,” Tanner said. “I don’t want to attract a crowd.”
Traveler allowed himself to be herded inside. Two uniformed policemen were there ahead of him, as was Anson Horne, a lieutenant specializing in police-church liaison. His goal in life, he’d once bragged, was to arrest Moroni Traveler and Son for misuse of an angel’s name.
Horne pointed a finger at Traveler and pretended to shoot him. His other hand held a small two-way radio.
“Not a word about the girl,” Tanner whispered in Traveler’s ear.
“We’ve arrested some friends of yours,” Horne said, blowing on his finger.
Traveler pushed past the lieutenant and headed for the cigar stand. The eternal flame was out and Nephi Bates was behind the counter.
“The blasphemers have been brought to justice,” Bates said.
“He means Bill and Charlie,” Tanner said.
Traveler half-turned to see that Horne had followed him, though the uniformed officers had stayed behind guarding the door.
“Where’s Barney?” Traveler asked.
Horne grinned. “He’s out trying to raise bail, assuming we allow it.”
“Would you mind telling me what happened?”
Rather than look up, the policeman aimed his words at Traveler’s collarbone. “Your buddy, Newel Ellsworth, was shot on the sidewalk out front. Someone walked right up to him, put a gun against his chest, and pulled the trigger.”
Traveler stared at Tanner. “Come on, Willis. You can’t believe Bill and Charlie did something like that.”
“They’re not charged with murder,” Horne said.
“What the hell are you up to?”
“Easy, Mo.” Tanner squinted to camouflage his tic. “They started yelling about some kind of church conspiracy. We had to get them off the street.”
Horne chuckled. “I’ve charged them with arson.”
“The house in Magna, the one the Sisters Cumorah rented, burned down,” Tanner explained. “We’re still investigating.”
“Yeah,” Horne added, “maybe we’ll put it down to vandalism if you do as you’re told.”
“What does Bill say?”
“He’s asking for a lawyer,” Tanner said.
Traveler paced to the elevator and back, reminding himself to stay calm. “Ellsworth was working for me.”
“Doing what?” Horne demanded.
“He needed the money. I didn’t expect him to come up with anything.”
“About what?”
“The devil.” Traveler glanced at Tanner. “Willis here can tell you more about that subject.”
“God help us,” Bates said from behind the cigar counter. “The devil has risen.”
“Lieutenant,” Tanner said, “I think we’d better talk.”
Without waiting for Horne’s reply, Tanner put his arm around the policeman’s shoulder and walked him as far as the revolving door. While they whispered, Horne kept his glare focused on Traveler. Finally, the policeman shook his head and shouted, “It’s on your head.”
Tanner said something Traveler couldn’t hear.
The policeman shrugged, gave his hand-held two-way radio to Tanner, and then signaled his men to follow him outside.
When Tanner returned to the cigar counter, he nodded at Bates. “I think you’d better take the elevator up top and check for leaks.”
Bates raised his hand, almost a salute, before trotting to the elevator. As soon as he disappeared, Tanner shook his head. “You shouldn’t have mentioned the devil, Moroni.”
“Jesus, Willis. Use your head. Newel didn’t get himself killed over graffiti or some damned rumor. He must have found out something about the girl.”
Tanner’s mouth opened but nothing came out.
“Considering your promises of secrecy,” Traveler said, “a lot of people seem to know about the kidnapping.”
Static hissed from the radio in Tanner’s hand. At the same time, he glanced toward the empty grillwork cage to make sure the elevator hadn’t returned.
Traveler said, “How many people know what’s really going on?”
“The prophet and the apostles. That’s it.”
Traveler thought that over. If Elton Woolley had told Ware, he might have told someone else. “Don’t lie to me now, Willis. It could have been Bill or Charlie who was shot, or even my father.”
“Then the sooner you find Lael, the better.”
“Call Horne back in here and put him to work. Better yet, call in the FBI, because time is running out and you’re going to need some help finding her.”
Before Tanner had time to reply, cables clattered inside the elevator shaft. A moment later, Nephi Bates arrived on the ground floor, opened the accordion door, and took tentative steps toward the cigar stand.
“I’m out of it,” Traveler said. “Favor or no favor, I don’t take chances when it comes to my father.”
Tanner’s tic forced him to close one eye as he raised the radio to his mouth. “Lieutenant Horne, can you hear me?”
“Go ahead,” the policeman said.
“I want Mad Bill and the Ind
ian arrested on suspicion of murder.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You bastard,” Traveler said. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Bates slip behind the counter.
“And, Lieutenant,” Tanner added, “don’t charge them formally until you hear from me.”
“What about Traveler? Do you want me to arrest him too?”
“Stay away from him. That’s an order.”
“Roger.”
Tanner slipped the radio into the pocket of his raincoat. “I’m sure the prophet will rest easier, Mo, knowing you have more incentive than ever.”
Traveler grabbed Tanner’s lapels and shook him. Bates gasped but made no move to intervene.
“Go ahead, Mo. Do what you have to, just as I will when it comes to protecting the prophet.”
Traveler released his hold. “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, it won’t work.”
“To be near the prophet and the spoken word of our Father should be enough for any man,” Tanner said. “But I’m your friend, too. I’m protecting your interests.”
“We’ve known each other a long time, Willis, long enough for me to know that you probably believe that. Hell. I guess I believe you, too, for what it’s worth.”
Traveler started for the door.
“Where are you going, Moroni?”
“You said it yourself. We must look to our fathers.”
Tanner ran after him. “Wait up, Mo, I apologize. I’m just trying to do my job. I . . . look outside. The rain is letting up. I’m sure of it.”
“Hallelujah!” Bates shouted.
29
LAEL’S FATHER, Seth Woolley, lived high up on South Temple Street, well past the governor’s mansion but still among the gentry. Traveler guessed the house to be turn of the century, Greek Revival in style, though he preferred to think of it as scaled-down Gone With the Wind. The front door, crowned by an arched window of beveled glass, was opened by Woolley himself.
The man scowled and said, “If you don’t mind, we’ll talk out here, under the portico.”
“You should put a sign up,” Traveler said. “No Gentiles allowed.” He stepped past Woolley and into a vestibule that opened onto a massive staircase worthy of Scarlett O’Hara.
Woolley fanned the door, reluctant to close it. “It’s blasphemy to have a man like you named for our angel.”
“Don’t be fooled by the change in weather.” Traveler pointed out a break in the cloud cover. “I figure the devil’s still at work out there somewhere.”
Woolley slammed the door. “If you haven’t brought my daughter home, why are you here?”
“People who withhold information shouldn’t expect miracles.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Woolley said.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d divorced Lael’s mother to marry the First Apostle’s daughter?”
“That has nothing to do with Lael being missing.”
“There are a lot of people in this land of Zion who might misunderstand your attitude. Even the prophet himself might start thinking that a man like yourself, a man with a new young wife, could turn his back on the past in expectation of future children.”
“You . . . heathen.” Woolley clenched his fists so hard they shook. “If you weren’t working for my uncle, I’d throw you out of here.”
Instead of replying, Traveler crossed the vestibule to an open door. Lights were on in the room beyond, a walnut-paneled library. Built-in bookcases, filled with leather-bound volumes, took up every inch of wall space except for a pair of leaded-pane windows. The books looked as if they’d been arranged by size and color.
A desk half the size of Traveler’s office stood at one end of the room. Traveler moved behind it before Woolley had the chance.
“What is it you want from me?” Woolley said.
Traveler waved him toward the only chair, a ladder-back on the other side of the room. Woolley raised his fists. For a moment, Traveler thought the man was going to put up a fight. Then suddenly he relaxed his hands and sighed. His shoulders sagged and his head hung as he dragged the chair across an Oriental rug to sit as supplicant in front of the desk.
Traveler nodded at a framed wedding picture in front of him. “What did the prophet say when you divorced Lael’s mother?”
“Being related to a man like Elton Woolley isn’t easy. Sometimes I feel as if I’d spent my entire life trying to live up to him.” He shook his head slowly. “As a child, people kept expecting things from me. Insight! Revelations. I don’t know. Uncle Elton was no different. I could never satisfy him.”
“Being related didn’t stop you from shedding your wife, did it?”
Woolley shrugged.
“With your uncle as sick as he is, maybe dying,” Traveler said, “it occurs to me that marrying Elihu Moseby’s daughter was a smart move on your part, especially if he becomes the next prophet.”
“You don’t know anything about my life.”
“Then tell me about it.”
He stared at Traveler for a while before continuing. “You try to be worthy, but no matter what you do it’s not enough. People look at you and shake their heads. But what happens when they don’t look at you anymore, when the prophet is gone and you’re no better than anyone else?”
“You tell me.”
Woolley reached for the wedding photograph. “It’s not the way you think. I love Crystal.”
Traveler stayed the man’s hand. “I have the feeling I’ve seen her before.”
“Of course you have. But you have to understand. It’s not like a regular job for Crystal. My wife doesn’t get paid. A man in my position, a bishop of the church, couldn’t allow that. Earning our daily bread isn’t woman’s work.”
Recognition caused Traveler to release the photo. She was more than the First Apostle’s daughter, she was his driver.
“You condemn me like everyone else,” Woolley went on. “But what could I do when a man like Moseby asks my permission? ‘I feel safe with Chris,’ he says. ‘I trust her. Allow an old man the luxury of his daughter’s company for a while at least, until the children come.’ ”
Woolley leaned back and closed his eyes. “It’s like everything else in my life. It wasn’t a request. It was a command. ‘My Chris,’ he calls her. ‘As close to me as any son could be.’ I prayed for insight, for the enlightenment that everyone expected from me. I failed as always, just like I’ve done with my daughter over the years.” He opened his eyes. “Crystal should be home, cooking meals, taking care of the house. My friends are laughing at me behind my back. I know it.”
“It’s dinnertime now,” Traveler said.
“I never know when she’ll be home.”
“I was hoping to talk to her.”
“You’d better get Moseby’s permission for that.”
“I could wait for her here.”
With a shrug, Woolley returned the silver frame to its place on the desk. Traveler studied the photograph more carefully. In it, Seth Woolley looked old enough to be father of the bride.
“I asked Lael to be a bridesmaid,” Woolley said. “But I should have known better. She and Crystal never got along. That first time they met, Crystal said, ‘We must listen to our fathers and follow their footsteps.’ Lael’s answer to that was to join the Army of Nauvoo. ‘One of us,’ she told me, ‘has to bring enlightenment to women.’ ‘What about the man you’ve taken up with?’ my wife said. ‘He’s an atheist waiting to be saved,’ my daughter answered.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Traveler said.
“My first wife used to say that Lael was born to compensate for me.”
“What did she mean by that?”
Woolley shook his head. “Lael’s a deep one, like her uncle. You’ll probably think I’m crazy, but there’ve been times when I thought my daughter could look inside my head and read my thoughts. You’ve never met her, have you?”
“No,” Traveler said.
“You’ll understand when you do
. She has the prophet’s eyes, you know.”
“The atheist you mentioned, is that Reuben Kirkland?”
“If she comes to harm, people will blame me for that. They’ll say I should have raised her better. Even the prophet condemns me. I’ve seen it in his face.”
Woolley pounded his knees with his fists. “My daughter told me once that she had a dream, a vision, and in it an angel told her she must save a soul before she dies. ‘Otherwise,’ Lael said, ‘my lifetime here on earth will be wasted.’ Do you think that Kirkland’s soul was meant to make amends for me?”
“Where can I find your wife?”
Woolley sighed. “You find the First Apostle and you’ll find her.”
“Do you have any suggestions where I should look at this moment?” Traveler said.
“The last I heard from my wife, her father was keeping the genealogy library open all night for you. Obviously that wasn’t true, since you’re here.”
“Do you remember her exact words?”
He shrugged. “That you, Moroni Traveler, had some important research to do.”
“My father’s named Moroni, too,” Traveler said. “When he chooses to use it.”
30
STARS WERE showing as Traveler drove down South Temple Street. The radio was reporting that a second storm was stalled in the California Sierras, dropping snow on Donner Pass. If it continued to stay there, forecasters were predicting a thirty percent chance that the new front would run out of steam completely by the time it crossed Nevada into Utah. Behind that storm, the announcer said, were blue skies all the way to Hawaii.
Despite the break in the weather, runoff from City Creek still had State Street barricaded with sandbags. Traveler detoured to higher ground before reaching the genealogy library on North Temple.
He parked his father’s Jeep out front, the only vehicle on the street. By the time he got out of the Cherokee, two men were waiting for him, obviously church security. One of them knew Traveler by sight. They both escorted him inside and turned him over to a librarian whose plastic name tag read Mrs. Christensen. She eyed her watch pointedly before ushering him through a maze of computer terminals to a cubbyhole where Martin and Jolene were at work.
