by Tom Turner
A half an hour later Ryder was in her car and Nick was on his way home to watch The Big Bang Theory.
Ryder dialed Jackie on her cell.
“Hey. What’s up?” Jackie asked.
“I just had a date with a seventy-two-year-old man,” Ryder said. “A hell of a way to spend my Saturday night. Anyway, this guy Talmadge Bartow seems like someone we should take a good hard look at.”
Jackie didn’t say anything at first. “How ‘bout this… I’m having dinner with Harry Bull tomorrow night. Why don’t I see what he knows about Bartow?”
“Yeah, okay, but be careful what you say,” Ryder said. “If there’s anything to what Marty Shepherd said—”
“Yeah, don’t worry, I won’t be volunteering much.”
Jackie was on her computer, looking into the Mercy Christian Church. Turned out to be six Mercy Christian Churches in and around Savannah. Almost like it was a franchise operation or a chain like McDonald’s. All six had some of the slickest websites Jackie had ever seen. The web site said that Dean Melrose worked at the church just off of Route 18, though he seemed to be the senior pastor of all six. If the other five were mega-churches, this branch looked to be a mega-mega-church. There were two services on Sunday and one on Wednesday. She was in luck. Tomorrow was Sunday. She decided to go to the early one at 9.
The next morning, she GPS’d her way there. It was a little less than a half an hour from Mercer Island. On her way there, she thought about Kay Lee Oldfield and the fact that she hadn’t heard from her in a few days. That was a good sign. She dialed her on her Bluetooth and Kay Lee answered on the third ring.
“Hi, Kay Lee, it’s Jackie Farrell,” she said. “I’m assuming that no news is good news. Nothing from Ralston, right?”
“Not a peep,” Kay Lee said. “What a relief.”
“I am so glad to hear that,” Jackie said. “Let’s hope you’re in the clear now.”
“Who knows,” Kay Lee said. “Maybe the old bird’s found himself a girlfriend.”
As she got close to the church’s address, she saw parked police cars with their lights flashing at four different locations. They turned out to be cops directing traffic at the four different entrances to the church’s vast parking lot. It reminded Jackie of the parking lot at Giants Stadium, where she went to a few football games with her old boyfriend Sam. She turned into a vacant spot, but stopped when she saw the sign said, “Seniors” stenciled on the pavement. She ended up parking a long hike away from the complex of modern structures that reminded her of airport buildings. She noticed she was one of the few people walking toward the buildings without a bible in her hand.
She walked into the main building, following the signs to the “Faith Center.” She went through one of the massive doors and saw, fifty feet away, a coffee shop with practically every table filled. Its clientele was mainly families, but it had the ambiance of a Starbucks, except much larger.
She followed another sign to the “Faith Center.” She walked into a huge room that looked like it could easily accommodate a rock concert, maybe Mumford & Sons-size. She looked up onto its elevated stage, which had digital clocks on both sides that said, Countdown to Christ. Behind the stage was a thin, thirty-foot high gold cross, which was about the only thing that indicated this was a church.
As the two digital clocks counted down from sixty seconds to zero, the lights on the stage dimmed and four men and a woman in two-hundred-dollar jeans ambled onto it with electric guitars. Then, in the next wave, came three women and a man. The man walked over to a drum kit and sat while the three women went over to three standing microphones.
On the digital clock… five, four, three, two, one… and the band started up. The sound system was something that the most discriminating rock band would probably have been more than content with, and the music was booming. And, damn, it rocked! Two big screens had automatically descended from the ceiling and highlighted the musicians in Samsung Ultra HD so clearly that you could see even tiny moles on their faces. It was truly a first-class production.
Jackie was fixated on a long-haired guitarist who had ripped jeans and was jumping around the stage like a modern-day Pete Townsend. The song was catchy, and the lead singer and his back-ups sang the refrain, the Christian way is the only way, with style and conviction.
At the end of the song, the applause ratcheted up as a man strode out onto the stage as the band vacated it.
The man was Perrier.
But it wasn’t.
Because the face, which was the same as the one in the picture that Eileen Mudge had given Jackie, didn’t match the body in the photo. The one in the photo was a fat man who had no body or chest hair. The man on the stage was skinny and wore a blue shirt with the top two buttons unbuttoned and chest hair sprouting out just below his neck.
Eileen Mudge had scammed her. Jackie’s mind raced in a million directions: Clearly, Eileen had never taken a picture of Dean Melrose at Casa Romantica. Or if she had, Melrose had not been naked, because the fat, hairless body did not go with the man Jackie was studying on stage. So, Eileen must have grafted it onto Melrose, which would have been a photographic trick that even a neophyte techy like Jackie could have pulled off.
She still needed to talk to the pastor. To see if he knew how to find Wendy. Or maybe that was a scam too.
Dean Melrose started speaking and, from his first few words, was thoroughly engaging. He was genuine, funny, wise, and self-effacing. Like several members of the band, he had a Fu Manchu, which was about the last thing you’d see on the face of Reverend Edward W. Colchester, Jackie’s straightlaced, childhood Episcopal minister on Long Island. But Jackie couldn’t help but like this man.
At the end of the twenty-minute sermon, which was much more enlightening than any she could remember Reverend Colchester ever having given, the band came back up as the pastor walked off the stage with an expansive wave of the hand. He walked around back then down to the front of the stage and, slowly, congregants in ones and twos approached him, spoke to him, and in some cases, hugged him. This was a custom Jackie was unfamiliar with as she watched the pastor laugh then hug an overweight black woman in a white dress. Jackie decided to approach him and slipped past a few people in her pew and out into the aisle. Melrose was talking to a couple as she approached. She waited, then the pastor’s eyes made contact with hers. She stepped up to him and smiled.
“Thank you, pastor,” she said, “that was a great service.”
“Well, thank you for coming,” he said.
She took a step closer and lowered her voice. “I am a private investigator and it is important that I find Wendy,” she said simply. Then, “Wendy from Mercer Island.”
The pastor smiled at her. “Meet me in the coffee shop in fifteen minutes and we can talk.”
“Thank you,” she said simply and walked back to her pew.
If Jackie could find any fault with the service at all, it was that the collection plate passed down her row seemed to have been salted with crisp-looking twenty-dollar bills in case you were tempted to cheap out and drop a measly buck or two. And the second thing was there were maybe a few too many, Can I have an amen? Aside from that, it was an altogether satisfying, inspiring experience. Jackie thought she’d probably come back for another service. She could definitely skip her pickleball game one Sunday.
She walked to the coffee shop, ordered an espresso, and sat at one of the tables.
A few minutes later the pastor approached her table and sat down.
“I really enjoyed the service,” she said again.
“Your first one?”
She nodded.
“Well, again, I’m glad you came,” he said. “Why do you want to find Wendy?”
“I am trying to solve a murder—”
“Let me guess. Miranda Cato?”
Jackie was surprised. “How did you know?”
“I have asked Wendy to join us,” Melrose said, evading the question. “She is one of my administrative assi
stants. A valuable member of the team.”
Wow, thought Jackie, talk about career changes.
As if he had read her mind, Melrose leaned closer. “I know about her background,” he said. “She came to us seeking help at a very difficult time in her life. That’s what we try to do here: give help when people need it most.”
Jackie nodded as, off in the distance, she saw a woman coming toward them.
The woman, close to six feet tall, came up to the table. Dressed in a conservative blue dress and wearing glasses, she was a natural beauty and wore no make-up. She had high cheekbones and penetrating blue eyes, and almost looked like a movie star trying to look plain.
“This is Wendy,” Melrose said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.”
“Jackie. Jackie Farrell,” she said, looking up at Wendy. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” Wendy said, sitting.
“Well, you ladies don’t need me,” Melrose said, standing up. “I’m going to go prepare for my eleven o’clock.”
“Thank you, Pastor,” Jackie said.
“Thanks, Dean,” Wendy said with a wide smile.
Melrose nodded to both of them and walked away.
“So,” Jackie said, locking eyes with Wendy. “He seems like a very nice man.”
“The best,” said Wendy. “So, what do you want to know about my former life?”
“Well, as I told Pastor Melrose and guess he told you, I am a private investigator trying to solve Miranda Cato’s murder and I’d appreciate any help you can give me.”
Wendy looked down, sighed, put her hands together and smiled. “Got a few hours?”
“Hey, as long as it takes,” Jackie said. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”
Wendy shook her head. “No thanks. No caffeine anymore. How ‘bout I give you the condensed version,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “One of the things the pastor and the others here teach is Golden Rule 101: tell the truth no matter how painful it may be. You know what they say, John 8:32—”
“I’m no bible scholar, but… ‘the truth will set you free?’”
“Exactly,” Wendy said. “And, boy, does it ever.”
23
“So, Wendy was afraid she’d end up like Miranda if she crossed this guy John?” Ryder said.
Jackie nodded.
A man named John, Wendy had just revealed to Jackie, was Miranda Cato’s silent partner in Casa Romantica.
That was a major revelation.
“Who knew Miranda even had a partner?” Ryder said. “Her daughter never mentioned it, right?”
Jackie shook her head. “I don’t think she had a clue.”
She made a mental note to call Sarah Dunn and ask her.
Ryder was stretched out on Jackie’s living room couch on Mercer Island, twirling a strand of her hair. After the service at Mercy Christian Church, Jackie had called Ryder and asked her to come right over. Jackie had an iced tea in her hand and her shoeless feet were propped up on a coffee table.
“So, Wendy told me that John and Miranda were equal partners for three years, until John tried to change their split to him getting seventy-five percent and Miranda twenty-five. And Miranda nixed it. He told her he should get the extra twenty-five percent because it was all about the johns he was getting to come there. Really rich guys from all over the country. Supposedly even some prince from the Middle East who hung out there for a week and spent like seventy-five thousand bucks.”
Ryder looked dumbfounded. “How is it possible to spend seventy-five grand at a whorehouse?”
“I asked her that. The Casa clearly was way, way more than your typical whorehouse,” Jackie said. “You could play tennis on a grass or clay tennis court, golf at your choice of the six courses at Mercer Island, go deep-sea fishing on a boat docked there, hunt for quail and dove somewhere nearby. I mean, you name it, they had it. They even had a helicopter pad behind the place, so you could take a chopper to or from the airport or go wherever the hell you wanted.”
“But the main event was still the women,” Ryder said.
“Yeah, which Wendy said was Miranda’s point to John: It was all about the women, not tennis, golf and shooting birds. Claimed she had the best women anywhere ‘cause of how discriminating she was,” Jackie said. “She said Miranda only accepted like one in a hundred of the women who applied.”
“Applied? What do you mean ‘applied’? Like getting into Harvard? You need eight hundreds on your college boards or something?” Ryder asked, shaking her head.
Jackie smiled. “She had a website, according to Wendy, called casaromantica.com, which Miranda solicited on. But in a very subtle way,” Jackie said. “Instead of a résumé, the applicant would send photos. If Miranda liked what she saw, she’d have the woman come to Casa Romantica for an interview so she could check ‘em out.”
“Did Wendy tell you John’s last name?”
“I asked but she said she never knew it.”
Ryder shook her head. “Just another John,” she chuckled. “Like we don’t have enough already.”
Jackie smiled and nodded.
“So, Wendy thinks he killed Miranda when they couldn’t agree on the split?” Ryder asked.
Jackie nodded. “Yup, that’s her guess. He told her once Miranda was gonna be history and he wanted her to take over. He was going to give her a quarter of what they made, and she was good with that.”
“Until what happened to Miranda.”
Jackie nodded. “Exactly. Then Wendy couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Like you said, she was afraid she might end up like Miranda if she went against John. So, she told him she had changed her mind and John went crazy. Tried to talk her into it and when she still said no, threatened to kill her.”
“Wow,” Ryder said. “Sounds like a guy you don’t want to go sideways on.”
Jackie nodded. “Yeah, so what happened was, Wendy had already become a regular at the Mercy Church. Gotten to know a bunch of the people there, including Dean Melrose. So right after John threatened her, she went to Melrose and told him everything. You know, like a confession almost.”
“About her life at Casa Romantica and the whole thing?”
Jackie nodded. “Everything. So, Melrose offered to shelter her, then gave her a job at the church.”
“I like this guy,” said Ryder. “Unless he’s got an ulterior motive.”
“Like what?”
“Well, like you told me, she’s movie-star beautiful.”
Jackie shook her head. “This guy’s not like that.”
Ryder smirked. “Isn’t that what they said about that Catholic priest in Oyster Bay?” A town near where the sisters grew up.
Jackie didn’t say anything for a few moments. “You gotta trust my gut on this.”
Ryder nodded. “Okay. So, is that the whole story?”
“No, it gets worse,” Jackie said. “John kept leaving these intimidating messages on Wendy’s cell. Trying to get her to come back and take the job. Getting really graphic about how he’s going to kill her if she doesn’t. So finally, she goes to Melrose and plays one of the messages.”
“And what happened?”
“Melrose calls John back on Wendy’s cell. John answers and Melrose says to him to stop calling Wendy or he’s gonna expose Casa Romantica to the whole world.”
“Wait, how long ago was this?” Ryder asked.
“Um, like ten, eleven months ago. Right after Miranda was killed.”
“So, the thing ratcheted up between John and Melrose?”
Jackie nodded. “Did it ever.”
“So then what?”
“John threatened to kill Melrose.”
Ryder sat up on the couch, her eyes big.
“You’re kidding?” Then, with a frown, “You can’t kill a minister.”
Jackie laughed. “Yeah, well, John wasn’t done. He called Wendy again, said he’d cut her up into little pieces, which is when Melrose went to Casa Romantica. To confront Joh
n.”
“That was pretty bold. And?”
“Well, so the way Eileen Mudge told it was this ‘preacher’ came to Casa Romantica to have sex, when the reality was Melrose went there to get John to quit threatening Wendy.”
“And what happened?”
“John and Melrose sat down and had a little heart-to-heart,” Jackie said. “The way it ended, according to Wendy, was John agreed to leave Wendy alone and Melrose agreed not to go to the authorities and expose the Casa.”
Ryder shook her head. “This whole thing’s incredible.”
“I know.” Jackie got up out of her chair and started pacing. “So, my theory is that when Melrose went to confront John, someone took that picture of him.”
Ryder nodded “Then doctored the photo?”
“Yup. Put the fat, hairless body on the poor guy. Then somehow it ended up with Eileen Mudge.”
“Sounds like a good theory, but why would it end up with her?”
Jackie sighed. “I’m all out of theories,” she said. “Anyway, about a month after Melrose confronted John, Wendy told me the Casa closed its doors and the house went on the market for three million bucks.”
“Why did she think that happened?” Ryder asked.
“‘Cause John couldn’t find anyone good to run it day-to-day,” Jackie said with a shrug. “But who knows for sure.”
“Could have also been that there had been a murder there,” Ryder said. “I mean, think about it: if you’re a john and you hear the madam just got killed, would you be in big hurry to go jump in the sack there?”
24
Jackie had to hand it to her sister: the girl sure could cut to the heart of the matter quick.
“So again, the question is,” Ryder asked, taking a sip of iced tea, “why would Eileen want to give you a bum steer. Meaning that doctored photo of Melrose,”
“I don’t know,” Jackie said. “I think we should go to her house and have another little talk with her. You can do your intimidating tall-girl thing.”
