11 Hanging by a Hair (32 page)

“No!” Angela screamed, throwing up an arm.

Marla gritted her teeth, bracing for impact. The pole loomed in her vision.

A jarring crash drove her body forward against the seatbelt.

An explosion and pressure to her chest.

And then nothing.

Marla shifted on her cushioned chair at the Passover table, while her brother Michael led the last of the service before the meal. Battered and bruised, she’d at least suffered no life-threatening injuries in the car crash that had saved her life.

The same couldn’t be said for Angela, whose body lay in the morgue until her next of kin could be notified. Funny how no one knew if she even had any relatives. She’d been single, never married, presumably without any siblings. It must have been a lonely life, but maybe she preferred it that way. Or was that why Angela had turned to religion, to fill the emptiness in her soul? She seemed to have truly believed in the gospel she preached.

“We can eat!” Michael exclaimed, closing his Haggadah until later.

His kids fidgeted and giggled next to Arnie’s children. Marla glanced around the table at her family and friends, a glow of warmth lighting her from the inside out and penetrating the drug haze that held her upright. Her spine hurt something terrible. The doctor in the emergency room had said the hairline fracture would heal on its own. There wasn’t much else she could do about it except rest.

Everyone had pitched in to help prepare dinner. Thank goodness she’d done all the food shopping and had set the table ahead of time. She just wanted to enjoy everyone’s company. Her only regret was missing Luis’s going-away party. Dalton had driven her to the salon earlier that day so she could say goodbye.

Seated next to her, he shot her a concerned glance. She took his hand and squeezed, sorry for the anxiety she’d caused him. He’d nearly gone ballistic when he received a call from her in the E.R.

Roger got up and waddled into the kitchen to help Anita serve the first course. While Marla could barely tolerate the heavy-set man and didn’t care for the way he treated her mother, she was grateful for his assistance. Maybe he was just eager to eat.

Dalton’s mom regarded her from across the table with a frown of puzzlement. “So Marla, this woman who wanted to shoot you was posing as a religious minister?”

She nodded, her shoulders stiffening at the pain that slight movement caused to her neck. Physical therapy would help down the road, but first she had to give her body time to heal.

“That’s right. The murders had nothing to do with the bones Alan found in his backyard. They had everything to do with the lucrative Rapture scam Alan ran along with Angela.” Marla took a gulp of water. She couldn’t fulfill the ritual of drinking four glasses of wine during the service and had taken tiny sips instead. Her pain medication already left her feeling woozy.

“You’ve heard of the Rapture, I presume?” Marla asked her Christian mother-in-law. At Kate’s nod, she continued. “Angela wrote all of their material and managed their finances. Alan handled their computer sites and retail sales. He also served as their voice, doing podcasts and radio talk shows as Alfred Godwin, the fictional minister.”

Dalton jabbed a finger at Kate, participating in her first Seder along with her husband, John. “My partner and I suspected Angela, but we were waiting for one final piece of information. Kat was tracing a source of income in Krabber’s account. We’d determined it came from StayTrue Ministries. Since that was a business account, we needed to know who’d signed the original documents.”

“I looked up their website on the Internet,” Marla said. “It gets thousands of hits.”

“The bank manager told us someone named Alfred Godwin had established the account. I remembered Marla mentioning his name, and things started to come together. Angela was a co-owner on the account. And she’d set up the post office box. She was supposed to stop by for questioning on Friday. We would have nailed her then.”

Brianna spoke from her place next to Dalton. “So this all started when Mr. Krabber found out that Angela played bingo? Why would he think she was cheating on his payments?”

“He didn’t trust women, not after his fiancée had betrayed him,” Dalton replied. “So he threatened to expose Angela as a fraud. I guess he didn’t care if he’d be implicated in the scam. He had enough money from all the donations people had sent in and from their sales of survival gear. But monetary gain hadn’t motivated him to get involved in the first place. Nor was he a believer like Angela.”

“I get it,” Marla said. “Being rejected by his fiancée turned him against her kind. He was motivated by bigotry.”

“Angela wanted the money though, didn’t she, Dad?”

Dalton smiled proudly at his daughter as Anita and Roger placed plates of gefilte fish at each person’s setting. “Yep, and they were making millions. Their income provided more money than they could possibly spend before the end of the world. StayTrue Ministries grossed over one point five million dollars last year.”

“Yet they both kept modest homes and didn’t appear to be high spenders,” John said, eyeing the gefilte fish as though it might jump off the plate.

“Don’t forget Angela’s bingo habit,” Marla remarked. “She had a pretty nice car before I totaled it, too. Apparently, Alan saved his money into a generous nest egg.”

Dalton lifted his fork. “Rapture profiteers are nothing new, but they’re using technology to their advantage now. Besides various apps, you can buy cloud storage for information you want to preserve for left-behind relatives. Books and movies on the subject are hugely popular. There’s even insurance for your pets, so they can be placed with atheists after you ascend.”

“That’s a bit extreme, wouldn’t you say?” Kate arched her eyebrows.

Marla was fortunate to have such tolerant in-laws. Thank goodness Roger had controlled his usually boisterous manner. His loud voice had led the singing during the service, though.

“Most Rapture schemes are run by folks who hope there is no ascension,” Dalton said with a thoughtful frown. “They’re making tons of money. The better ones don’t give any dates for this great event and purposefully remain vague. Believers can be very suggestible. Who else would buy this crap?”

“Exactly.” Marla scooped up a bit of beet horseradish on her fork with a piece of gefilte fish and put it in her mouth. Chewing and swallowing, she regarded him with a jaded eye. “How could devout followers be suckered into investing money for these items? Supposedly they’re going to Heaven. What good are survival kits and freeze-dried foods for them?”

“They’re buying these items for family members who won’t be so lucky. Or maybe they’re sinners, afraid they won’t be allowed into a celestial afterlife.” Dalton stuffed a forkful of fish into his mouth. He’d learned to appreciate the ritual food.

“At least we know why UPS stopped so often at Alan’s house,” Marla said, sniffing the mouth-watering aroma of chicken soup. “The deliveries were from his manufacturers and the pickups were the ministry’s logo gear going to buyers.”

“Would you believe there’s a genre of literature called Rapture erotica?” Arnie’s wife, Jill, said. At her husband’s surprised glance, she added, “No, I don’t read it, but I’ve seen it advertised. Those folks spend their time before disaster hits by having wild sex. I suppose you can justify any type of weirdness by saying the end of the world is near.”

“Don’t forget the apocalypse believers,” Roger called from the kitchen, where he assisted Anita in dishing out bowls of matzo ball soup. “Those freaks don’t care about religion. They just rant on about the end of days.”

Marla tilted her head. “You’re right, there’s a larger component to this than I’d first realized. I’ve been doing more reading on the topic. The Rapture prophecy may be a religious aspect of a greater movement. Have you heard of Preppers? They’re survivalists who believe in disaster preparedness to the extreme. Three to four million believers live in the U.S. alone. They’re afraid of everything from a natural disaster, to a worldwide flu pandemic, to economic collapse and war in the Middle East.”

“I’m not surprised after Katrina and the Asian tsunami and Superstorm Sandy,” Dalton said.

“Don’t forget the earthquake in Haiti,” Jill added. “But there will always be unpredictable events in the world.”

“True, so why not look on the bright side instead?” Dalton leaned forward. “I saw a TV show recently about genetic research regarding the flu virus. This virus needs two specific proteins to propagate. In order to produce the second one, messenger RNA goes through a process called splicing.”

“What does that mean?” Marla’s brow wrinkled. This was getting too technical for her. She supposed learning about science boosted Dalton’s crime-solving skills.

“During splicing, two ends of the long molecule join together, while the intervening segment is discarded. One of these splicing sites may offer an opportunity as a switch. If it can be turned off, the two sites won’t be able to come together. Thus, the virus can be stopped from spreading.”

“It sounds ingenious, but who knows how far away such a solution might be?” Marla spread her hands. “In the meantime, Preppers are training in self-defense and first aid; stockpiling survival gear, weapons, and food supplies; and are even building secret retreats and bunkers. Books, TV shows, podcasts, and blogs offer advice, same as for the Rapture movement. The bad thing is when it inspires fanaticism that hurts others.” She leaned back in her chair, having said her piece.

“In Alan Krabber’s case,” said Dalton, “his attitude was caused by a woman who jilted him. And learning he’d had a son who was raised by another man must have added fuel to the fire.”

“What’s happening with Ethan and the windows?” Marla asked.

“Based on the information I provided, Gene is threatening a class-action lawsuit unless Ethan works with Beamis to replace the faulty parts. I think Ethan will probably settle. It’ll cost him less for replacements than for attorney fees.”

“What’s going to happen to this community regarding the archaeological study, Dad?” Brianna broke off a piece of matzo and bit into it.

“Ron Cloakman offered to donate a tract of land in one corner for a museum to commemorate the site’s heritage. I hear that Herb is advising his tribe to accept the proposal.”

“It’s a reasonable offer, and one that respects each party.” Marla hoped both sides accepted this solution so building could resume. She bent her head, ignoring the pang in her neck. “It’s terrible that Cherry had to die because Angela was afraid she might give away her role in the ministry.”

“At least Cherry’s kids won’t find out how their mother fictionalized her research sources at the university. That’ll be kept under wraps.” Dalton leaned back as Charlene, who’d risen to help, started serving the soup course.

Marla gave a nod of gratitude to her sister-in-law. Used to being on the move, this lack of mobility frustrated her.

“Who threw Spooks down the pit, Marla?” Arnie asked, stroking his dark moustache. He and Jill had contributed the desserts, as promised. “Did that Indian guy do it to find more evidence of an ancestral burial ground?”

“Herb said it wasn’t him. We’re assuming Cherry dug the holes in Alan’s yard, looking for more bones to submit to her lab. She must have panicked when Spooks ran back there.”

A pause in conversation ensued while everyone enjoyed Anita’s soup contribution. Marla loved her mother’s soft matzo balls.

“Your kids are growing up so fast,” she told Arnie with an affectionate smile. “Speaking of children, did I tell you guys that Tally wants me to hold a baby shower for her?” She groaned in mock distress. “I don’t have the slightest idea of what to do.”

“I’ll be glad to help,” Kate said with a broad grin as tiny crinkles appeared beside her hazel eyes. She exchanged a bemused glance with Marla’s mother.

“Count me in,” Anita said. “Maybe this will inspire you to think about babies, bubula.” She gave a conspiratorial wink at her
mechutonesteh—
relative through marriage—across the table.

“All right, you two.” Marla waved her spoon. “Don’t get any ideas. I like things just the way they are.”

“Hey, Dad,” Brianna said, dipping her hard-boiled egg in salt water before eating it like Marla had done. “I noticed the fence and stone pathway are gone next door.”

Dalton cast Marla a triumphant smile. “That’s right. Byrd took care of it this morning. He’s having that hole in the yard filled in as well. I believe he’s keeping the old guy’s boat, though.”

“By the way,” Marla said, “did Dalton tell you he’s been offered a new position as vice president of security at Royal Oaks?” She beamed at him with pride.

Dalton squared his shoulders. “It’s a responsibility I won’t take lightly. Never mind the security guard issue and community watch. I’m going to call for other changes as well.”

“Like what?” Marla said. Was the political animal in him surfacing again?

“For one thing, we should obtain sealed bids for all major projects, and these bids should be opened in front of the entire Board. That way, one individual can’t have the chance to make a deal on the side.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“We should periodically check the pricing on goods and services to make sure no one is taking advantage of us. And we can require two signatures on expenses over a certain limit.”

“Hopefully, the rest of the Board members will agree with you.”

“More importantly, this neighborhood can go back to being a peaceful community.”

“Amen to that.” Marla paused, approaching a sensitive topic. “How did Detective Minnetti react to your solving the case?”

“You mean, to
your
solving the case? Kat and I are still adjusting to our partnership, but the road will get smoother. She isn’t quite accepting of your role yet, though.” Dalton smiled at her in the special way he had just for her.

A coil of warmth permeated her body, making her wish she was whole again. But she’d have plenty of time to show him her love and to enjoy her extended family.