The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (27 page)

Having seen the incredibly elaborate
spires of the imposing
Mormon Temple
near
the
beltway, he assumed the local ward would congregate in a smaller version of the temple. Instead, he found himself walking up a few steps to a one-story building that could have passed for a modest office or a warehouse.
There was no cross outside, only
a sign
that
said:

The Church of
JESUS CHRIST
of Latter-day Saints

Silver Spring
Ward

The letter
s
for
JESUS CHRIST
were much bigger and bolder, standing out from the rest of the sign. It reminded Ben of Zachariah’s description of the techniques taught at the Mormon missionary training camp
about how to
approach Christian prospects
with a mild pitch
that the
Book of Mormon
was merely another testimony of Christ.

He pushed the door and entered.
The foyer was empty, and he went through another set of doors into a
meeting room
. It
was full despite the midday hour. The men all wore short hair and formal suits, probably on lunch break from their
government or
business
jobs
. The women, however, wore colorful dresses with longish sleeves. They were mostly blond or redheaded, their hair long and pulled back in a wholesome style.

Ben walked to the back of the room, taking a seat next to an elderly couple. The man reached over and offered his hand, which Ben shook. The wife smiled and nodded in approval when Ben slipped off his
yellow
riding jacket and tried to tidy his ha
ir, which was long and unruly
, unlike every other ma
n in the room.
And h
e could do nothing about his few
days of not shaving.

Up front, a teenage boy stood at a lectern and, regaining his focus,
returned to reading loudly from a book
. He was speaking English, but the syntax was biblical
.

At two p.m. sharp, a bespectacled man stood and went to the podium. The boy
stopped reading, glanced at the man, who
pointed at his wristwatch,
and
leaned closer to the microphone
to give his testimony of faith, as Ben remembered reading in Zachariah’s journal: “I know that Joseph Smith is a true prophet, that the
Book of Mormon
is true, that the Church is true, and that the Gospel is true.”

The men departed quickly
, and t
he
ladies
lin
ed
up to hug and kiss a woman and her children, including the bo
y who had read from the podium.

When the room finally emptied, Ben approached.
“My condolences,” he said.

As upse
t as she was, her eyes red and puffy
, Palmyra was still an attractive woman. She looked her age, and the wide hips told of having delivered the eight children who now circled her protectively. They were between six and nineteen years old, boys and girls who resembled
their parents’
light
coloring and long limbs.

“My name is Ben
Teller
. I
was riding with your husband yesterday
.”

Palmyra glanced at
the
yellow riding jacket
he was holding
. “
Satan
made him buy
that
bike
.
I knew
it would ruin him
.”

One of the girl
s
, twelve or so, began crying. An older sister hugged her.

“The bike didn’t kill him,”
Ben said.

Palmyra looked at him, waiting.

“Do you know why he went riding yesterday?”

“What
do you mean?”

“He never rode on Sundays. Why did he go yesterday?”

She looked at her kids. “My husband
was
…
a good father…but he
had problems.”

“With Joe Morgan?”

She inhaled sharply. “Who are you?

“I’m a friend of Zachariah. Maybe his only friend.”

“I’ve never heard of you.”

“I have!” It was the oldest son, by his looks. “You’re the guy who reported from the accident. I saw it on the Internet!”

“Excuse me!” The bespectacled man
returned to the meeting room and approached with a raised finger pointing up
,
either
as
a warning or an indication toward the heavens
.
“What is going on here?”

“This man is bothering Mom,”
the older boy
said.

“
Sir!” The man inserted himself between Ben and Palmyra. “
I am Bishop
Canaan Linder
!”

“It’s an honor, Bishop.” Ben bowed. “I was
offering my condolences
to Zachariah’s family. Is that forbidden?
”

“This is a sacred place
of prayer and love!”

“Tough love?”

“Come, dear.
”
The bishop
held
Palmyra
’s
arm
. “Nora brought the car around.”

Ben dropped a business card into her purse. “Your husband was a brave man. He deserves the truth
to come out
. Call me.”

The bishop led Palmyra
and her
children outside, where a blue Suburban was waiting by the steps
, a woman at the wheel
. The
Hinckley clan
piled in, and
they
were gone.

“Bishop
Linder,
” Ben said, “can I ask you a couple of questions?”

“I’m sorry.”
He
locked the front doors of the
ward
house. “I have to get back to my office.”

“You’re a CPA, correct?”

He
hurried
to his car—a white Honda Accord
that was parked in a tight spot between the wall of the meeting house and the next building
.

“It must be very hard,” Ben said.
“Tax advice and spiritual advice
require very different skills.”

The bishop
fumbled with his keys.
“
Who told you about me
?”

“Zachariah
said you were a good friend. How did you feel about his
trial?
”

“
Dear Lord!
”

“Losing temple privileges is very painful, isn’t it?
”

“I must go!” He found
the
key
fob
and
unlock
ed
the car
. “I have a client waiting!”

“It’s a heavy punishment for a father
,” Ben said. “
Humiliating, don’t you think?”

Bishop
Linder
got in,
slammed the door, and locked it. But rather than drive off, he took out a phone and
made a call
.

Ben waved at him through the front windsh
ield and went to his motorcycle
.
He pulled out his iPhone and texted
Ray
:

Accident yesterday developing; potential big story.

Need
2
talk
2 U
.
In person.
ASAP.

Ray
’s
instant
reply:
Meet f
ace-2
-face? R U going low tech on me?

Ben typed a reply:
Cut the bull.
C
an U meet?
Or I go elsewhere.

That got
her
attention:
9 a.m.
2
moro
@ our global HQ

Ben laughed.
The global headquarters of
NewZon
Line
.com
was
Ray
’s basement
in
the
rural part of Montgomery County
, and she was the only employee. Not bad for a news site that attracted several million visitors every day
.

A new
e
-
mail
popped on his iPhone
. H
is mother
was
replying
to
his message from last night. She didn’t write anything, only put in
a smiley face. It made him laugh
.

Next he called Keera. She was probably
busy with a patient as
his call imm
ediately went to her voice
mail.

He left a message.
“It’s me. I’m running around, getting somewhere, I think. I’ll tell you later.
My mom’s expecting us at six. Can you make it home by five
thirty? I’d rather drive together. Love you.”

The rain
stopped and the sun appeared between the clouds. Ben
took
his time getting
into
his jacket, helmet
,
and gloves.
The GS
was parked perpendicular to the sidewalk, which required backing up into the street
, always a strain on his legs with such a tall bike.
As he was about to ride off, a car
appeared and
blocked his way.
It had an oversized
We Believe!
bumper sticker in the GOP colors and a smaller one that said
:
Joe Morgan 4 America’s Soul!

The four young men were clean cut and neatly dressed.
They looked like high
school kids, maybe early college
.
He recognized at least
two of them from the
ward.

Ben switched o
f
f the engine,
lifted the helmet’s face shield
,
but stayed on the bike
.

One of them stepped forward. “
We’re here to
ask
you to
leave
Sister Hinckley
alone.
”

“
Did she send you
?”

He pointed at the ward house. “Sir! This is a sacred place of—”

“Of prayer and love. Yes, I know. Your CPA
b
ishop has already advised me.”

They
looked
at each other.

“
Can you tell me
about Joseph Smith?”

“
He was a true prophet of God
,” one of them said.

The leader hushed him with a hand
and
addressed
Ben
.
“
Sir
, w
e’re asking you
politely
. Please leave the Hinckley
family alone. They are grieving!
”

“Are you a missionary?”

He nodded.

“Doing your
m
ission in Rockville, Maryland
,
must be a real treat, compared to
Iraq
or
Afghanistan
, right
?”

“Sir
, w
e’re not looking for trouble. Please stop disturbing—”

“
I heard you.
Anything else?”

He shook his head.

“Then move out of my way.”
Ben turned on the engine.

“Sir
!” He held up his finger,
resembling Bishop Linder. “
I’d like an answer.
Are you going to leave them
alone?”