I’d also been learning that faith was just that—faith. It wasn’t concrete. There were no lab tests I could implement to determine whether or not my faith was real. It simply was. And I was okay with that. The scientist in me often rebelled, but I knew in my heart—and through careful research—that faith and science could merge into one.
Believe it or not, I’d even brought some people to church with me. There was Sharon who owned the coffeehouse across the street from my apartment building. Bill McCormick, my downstairs neighbor, also came with me sometimes, though I had to wonder if he simply came as a means of networking and trying to gain more fans for his radio talk show…or maybe even to pick up women. But who was I to judge?
Perhaps most striking for me was that my father had begun to come with me. Yep. My father, the alcoholic who’d claimed for years that he couldn’t work, was now sober. He was coming to church, along with his new girlfriend Teddi. And he was working as a painter, a job he’d held for three months. That might be a new record for him. Not that I was counting.
The fact that this was the church Riley came to still amazed me. When I’d first met him, I’d assumed he’d go to the uptight variety. But instead, here he was in a congregation of blue collar workers, college students and artists. I liked to think of the group as closely aligned with the twelve disciples. After all, the disciples were a ragtag group and hardly seemed upright and overly righteous.
The sermon today had been on the Prodigal Son. I’d heard the story before but today, it struck me fresh as I realized that God forgave me the same way the father had forgiven his youngest son in the story. Accepting forgiveness in my life had felt like layers of burdens had been peeled away until the core of my personhood was revealed. Sometimes those layers began to curl back up, and I had to remind myself that someone else was in control of my life—God—and that he was going to take care of me. That wasn’t an easy concept for someone who had trouble loosening her grip on the reins.
Everyone stood to sing the last song before church dismissed. As the guitarist started strumming the strands of “Here I Am to Worship,” I closed my eyes. Worship. This was my favorite part of each service. I wasn’t one to often express my admiration for people—or for God, for that matter. But singing allowed me to do just that without feeling self-conscious.
God was working in my life. I never thought I’d say that, but he was.
Life seemed to be falling back into routine with church today. I already had two jobs lined up for the week. Riley would go back to work tomorrow. Chad should be back from his ski trip this evening.
But how about Sierra? How could we return to normal with Sierra missing? Shouldn’t the police be out searching for her? She was the victim here. Would they ever realize that?
And why was someone playing games with me? Why were they pulling me into this mystery? More importantly, who was that person?
I had so many questions and so few answers. I needed a game plan for how I was going to figure all of this out.
The answers had to start with Lydia. I’d tried to patiently wait for her date with Riley, but that wouldn’t be until after this week when her divorce was finalized. I couldn’t wait that long. Sierra’s life could be on the line, so this was no time to be patient.
“Gabby?”
“I have to do it,” I blurted.
Riley cocked his eyebrow. “Do what?”
I shook my head, trying to come out of my stupor. “Huh?”
He tilted his head, a no-nonsense expression gracing his perfect features. “I asked you what you wanted to do for lunch and you said, ‘I have to do it.’ Care to explain?”
Why bother concealing my plan? Riley would find out anyway. He always did. “I have to talk to Lydia. Today. Can you help?”
He paused a moment, saying nothing, before he finally nodded. “I have her phone number. I suppose I could pass that along to you.”
“Thank you.”
He touched my elbow. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m really worried about Sierra, Riley. Something’s wrong. I feel like I’m going on with my life as if nothing has happened. What if she’s hurt somewhere? Or in danger?”
“You’re doing what you can, Gabby. The FBI is working on this case even. I’d venture to say that plenty is being done.”
I shook my head. “Not by me. I’ve got to talk to Lydia. And Mark Daniels.”
“Mark Daniels?”
“The man who called and asked for those books to be set aside at the crime scene last night,” I reminded him. “Those two are the only leads I have.”
“Let’s go then.”
I raised a brow. “You’re coming?”
“How many times do I have to tell you, Gabby? I don’t want you trying to conquer this alone. I know I can’t stop you, but I can at least tag along and try to keep you out of trouble.”
“He’s right, you know.” My dad appeared in our little circle. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel the initial resentment I usually did when he came around. We had so many issues from the past to work through. I just didn’t know how to approach most of them, which was pretty unusual for me. I had a track record of diving into things headfirst.
“Well, father knows best.” I tried to keep the edge out of my voice, but I’m not sure it worked.
“You’re not going to come by the coffee shop for a sandwich?” Sharon, the owner of The Grounds coffee shop, as well as a friend, approached us. She wiped a pink strand of hair out of her eyes, revealing the multiple piercings that graced her eyebrows, nose, upper lip and ears. Sharon was quiet, a good listener and had more creativity in one iced latte than I experienced in a lifetime.
I shook my head. “I can’t right now. There’s something I have to do. But I’ll take a rain check on it.”
“We’ve got these new paintings that you have to see. I think they’re right up your alley, Gabby. The artist is local and edgy and almost has a bit of mystery about her work. I thought of you when she hung them up for display.”
“I’ll definitely check them out. I’ve just got to do something for Sierra first.”
Sharon’s gaze scanned the crowds. “Where is Sierra?”
“I wish I knew.” I bit my lip. “Pray for her.”
Sharon’s smile dropped. “It’s that serious?”
I nodded. “Yeah, unfortunately.”
“I just saw her yesterday morning.”
I straightened. “Yesterday morning? Are you sure?”
“Positive. I thought she was up to her strange antics again. She was climbing into her apartment through a window. I saw it from the coffeehouse.”
“Are you sure it was Sierra?”
“Pretty sure. Short Asian chick with dark plastic framed glasses.”
I looked at Riley. “I’ve got to check out her apartment. That’s where I need to start first.”
Riley and I hurried from the crowd and outside to his car. The school was close enough that we could have walked, but the biting cold remained so we’d taken his car. As soon as I slipped inside, I saw the paper on the windshield.
“Not again,” I muttered. I stuck my hand out the window and snatched the paper, hoping it was simply a local restaurant advertising its daily specials.
As soon as I saw the typed words on the other side, I knew it wasn’t.
For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Trust in God’s plan. But remember, I am God.
I looked at Riley after reading it out loud. “What does that mean? Someone is playing God?”
“People who end the lives of others often think they’re God. I think there’s a killer who wants you to play his game. This is serious, Gabby.”
I felt chilled to the bone. “Yeah, I know.” I tucked the paper into my purse. One more thing to give Parker. Why couldn’t I just get that man out of my life? Did God want to teach me some cosmic lesson by having me interact with Parker daily now? “Let’s not waste any more time. I’ve got to check Sierra’s apartment and se
e what’s going on.”
The drive home took three minutes. I couldn’t even talk the whole way there, which only proved how serious I felt since I, by most accounts, was never quiet.
I pulled Sierra’s apartment key from my messenger bag and gripped it as Riley pulled into the lot. As soon as the car was in park, I threw the door open and hurried into the apartment building. As I opened Sierra’s door, the wooden beads hanging on the other side begin their clacking. The sound made me miss Sierra even more.
Sure, Sierra could be a little hard to take sometimes, but so could I, so who was I to complain? I missed her acorn brownies, the moaning—supposedly relaxing—whale music she listened to, and her constant soliloquies on the evil of humanity toward the animal kingdom.
I pushed aside the beads and stepped into her apartment. I could feel Riley behind me. When I stopped in my tracks, he collided into me.
“Someone’s been here.” The place was ransacked. Not a table or book had been spared. Her plants had been turned upside down and dirt scattered the floor. Her posters had been ripped in half. Her couch cushions had been gutted.
Riley stepped around me to survey the damage. “Did Sierra do this yesterday when she snuck inside?”
I shook my head, staring at the mess around me. “I can’t imagine she would do this. What purpose would it serve?”
“If it wasn’t Sierra, then who?”
“Whoever is behind all of these crimes.” It seemed a reasonable deduction. “Maybe they want to find Sierra. Maybe she has something they want. Maybe that’s why she snuck back into the apartment yesterday.”
Riley shook his head, his jaw jutting out to show his disapproval of the situation. “This is getting crazier by the moment, Gabby. I don’t like it.”
Another thought hit me—a horrible thought, but one I needed to address. “Riley, we need to make sure Sierra’s not here. Sharon saw Sierra come in. She didn’t say she saw her come out.”
Riley’s eyes registered my thought process, moving from disapproval to concern. He put his hand on my shoulder. “You stay here. I’ll go check everything out.”
I didn’t argue. I stepped backward into the clacking beads and held my breath. He stepped over some books, dodged a broken bowl and slid around the overturned dining room table. He knew enough to not disturb anything. Evidence could be all around us. Fingerprints, footprints, fibers. If Sierra were hurt, the police would collect all of that in order to find out the person behind the crime.
I held my breath. Please, Lord, help her to be okay.
Riley disappeared into the hallway, back toward the bedroom. I waited, the minutes painfully stretching onward. What did Riley see? Was my friend okay?
“Gabby, you’re going to want to come see this.”
I swallowed, my throat burning. What had he found? I tiptoed along the same path as Riley did earlier and found him in the bathroom.
Raw ground beef—along with its juices—was strung across the sink, creating a terrible stench in the small space.
Then on the mirror were the words “Meat is Murder.”
Chapter Nine
I stared at Parker who, even with his Brad Pitt good looks, couldn’t make a scrunched up nose look attractive. He stared at the mangled, raw ground beef in Sierra’s bathroom. As quickly as he lost his Fed composure, the aloof detachment returned
My hands went to my hips as I grew impatient with him trying to process the scene. “What do you think this means?”
He shrugged, still staring at the very visible—and effective—threat left by the person behind this chaos. “I’m not sure. Someone’s definitely trying to make a statement, though.”
“A statement that they want Sierra dead.” I bit my lip, not wanting my thoughts to go there.
Parker shook his head. “Not necessarily.”
My eyebrow twitched in curiosity. “What do you mean? What else could this message possibly mean?”
He turned from his examination of the bathroom and stared me straight in the eye. “You said your friend saw Sierra sneaking in here yesterday, correct?”
I stepped back, indignation flashing through me. “You think Sierra did this? No way. Why would she do that?”
He shrugged in such a casual manner that I wanted to sock him. “To take the suspicion off of herself.”
“She wouldn’t do that.”
“She’s smart enough to devise a plan like that.”
I swung my head back and forth, anger boiling through me. “No, she’s smart enough to turn herself in if she’s guilty. And she’d never touch raw meat. Never.”
“I think she broke in here, picked up any evidence that might point to her, something she might have missed, and then tore the place up.”
My finger went in the air. “You’re off base. You’re way off base. You’re wasting valuable time looking in the wrong direction.”
Parker didn’t back off. He stepped toward me, arrogance saturating his gaze. “Okay, Miss Know-It-All, what do you think is going on here?”
“I think my friend was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I think she’s being set up. And I think she’s running for her life because whoever is behind these crimes knows that she knows.”
“Nice theory. Not likely though.”
Riley grabbed my finger, which ever since I’d raised it had been swinging wildly through the air with each word I spoke. “Let’s put that away,” he mumbled. “Fussing at each other will get us nowhere.”
Parker sighed and lowered his voice. “Gabby, we have it on video that Sierra was at the office of Harrison Developers only four days ago. She entered the building with a back pack. She left without it.”
The information felt like a slap in the face. Finally, I came out of my stupor. “That means nothing. Another coincidence.” But even to my own ears, my words didn’t sound right. “I’m going to prove she’s innocent, Parker.”
His gaze locked on mine. “Just don’t get yourself killed in the process, Gabby.”
Riley followed me to the door and said nothing as I charged outside, hoping he was behind me. I climbed into his car and, to my relief, he did also. We sat silently a moment until finally Riley asked, “Well?”
“Right now I want to track down someone named Bruce Watkins.”
“Who’s Bruce Watkins?”
“No one. Just an ecoterrorist.”
***
We pulled into a parking space at the gas station, and Riley turned toward me. “And your plan is…?”
I shrugged. “I have no plan. I’m going to wing it.”
“Winging usually doesn’t equal winning.”
“Is that court talk?”
He blinked at me. “Court talk?”
“You know, what you tell yourself before a trial or something?”
Riley shook his head. “No, it’s just common sense.”
I opened my door. “How about this then? Let’s do this on a wing and a prayer.”
He groaned, but stepped out of the car also. A couple of snow flurries pecked me in the face as I hurried across the parking lot. Just as I pulled open the door to the convenience store, a man breezed out. Just before he was out of my line of sight, I read his nametag. Bruce. This had to be my guy.
I stopped in the doorway, and Riley slammed into my back. I turned toward him, raised my eyebrows and nodded toward the employee who’d just left.
Riley silently mouthed, “What?”
I shrugged and nodded toward the employee again.
He shrugged, his eyes wide in confusion.
I nodded toward Bruce Watkins again, wondering why Riley was having such a hard time reading my brilliant body language.
“Casual,” I whispered. “Come on.”
I walked back toward Riley’s car, keeping my eyes on Bruce as he climbed into an old clunker of a car.
Riley leaned toward me, close enough that I could feel his breath across my cheek. “You don’t look casual, Gabby. You look like you were attempting a robbery, bu
t your plan was foiled,” he whispered.
“We’ve got to follow that man before he gets away. This is no time to worry about if I look suspicious.” Regardless, I tried to relax my shoulders and slow my gait.
Riley climbed into the driver’s seat just as Bruce pulled away.
“We’ve got to follow him!”
Riley put the car in drive, a little too slowly for my tastes. He glanced at me once more, still not moving. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
I nodded in fake confidence. “Absolutely.” Yeah, so really I had no idea. “Let’s go!”
We followed him through Norfolk until he stopped at some townhouses, parked his car and climbed out. I watched as he unlocked the townhouse with the red door, looked both ways, and then went inside.
“What now?” Riley asked.
That was a great question. What now? I made a decision. “Now I’m going to go talk to him.”
Riley arched an eyebrow. “Just like that? Go up to his door and demand he tells you where Sierra is?”
I shrugged. “Not exactly.” I unlatched the door and waved my head in the distance. “You’ll see.” Before I slammed the door closed, I grabbed a clipboard from the backseat, jammed a blank piece of paper under the clip, and tucked a pencil behind my ear.
“Do I even want to know?”
“Probably not. You’re going to need to stand where he can’t see you. Otherwise, he’ll never buy my story.”
“I’m not sure I want you that close to him alone.”
I pointed to a bush. “You just crouch there. You’ll be close enough to spring into action if I need you.”
He drug in a breath. “I’ll have to trust you on this one.” He gave me one last look before taking his place out of sight.
I tucked a hair behind my ear, threw my shoulders back and rang the doorbell. A moment later, Bruce answered the door, already clad in an undershirt and flannel pants. His dirty blond hair looked a touch greasy at the part and his beard had a few crumbs in it. “Can I help you?”
“The question is, can I help you?”
He twisted in head in confusion. “Excuse me?”
Organized Grime Page 6
