The Righteous (5 page)

He was trembling as he sat up in bed. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill her. I did everything you asked.”

The angel floated several inches above the floor of Kimball’s room. His hair was white and he wore white robes. His face was too bright to look at.

“Thou slothful servant,” the angel said. “You may not have murdered your wife with your own hands, but your cowardice led to her death. Worse, you have broken the veil of silence and your enemies are looking for a way to destroy you.”

“You mean Jacob? He is a boy and will be easily intimidated.” Unfortunately, he know otherwise from the experience in Witch’s Warts. He, elder of Israel, had been the one intimidated.

“Do not be a fool, Taylor Kimball. He is protected by his father and by the prophet, who, sadly, are misguided in their devotion to the old ways. You must keep an eye on his sister, as well.”

“Eliza? What are you talking about? She’s just a girl. All she needs is a husband and she’ll fall into line.”

The angel drew his sword. The sword was the opposite of the angel itself, so black that it wrestled with the light of the angel and sent weird shadows crawling across the floor like snakes. And cold enough to chill the air. “Fool. Do you question me?”

“No, of course not.” Kimball cowered. “I see that you are right. Yes, of course. I had overlooked the girl.” If Jacob and Eliza were a danger, why didn’t the angel threaten
them
with a sword?

The angel said, “This is the most important moment for two thousand years. The Lord demands your obedience. You have been called to serve Him. But if you will not, he will strike you down and find someone worthy of His blessings.”

“I will serve Him. What should I do?”

“You will either drive Jacob from town or see him dead. I have other plans for the girl.”

“Yes, I understand.”

The angel flared brighter than the sun and Taylor Kimball fell back, stunned. When he opened his eyes again, it was black and his head was fuzzy. He had the impression of waking from a dream. Had he really just promised that he would kill Abraham Christianson’s son if necessary? Or had he just dreamt the whole thing?

There was no better way to fill a labor shortage than a truckload of Mexican illegals. They did not agitate for health insurance. They would not complain to the police if shorted on their pay. As they generally spoke little English, they were unlikely to meddle in church business. They would do their work and then disappear.

Blister Creek was a town in perpetual need of muscle power. Out of eight hundred people, fewer than sixty were adult males. When Blister Creek needed lifting, pulling, chopping, carrying, or digging, it turned to strong Mexican backs and shoulders to bear its burdens. And yet, as outsiders, it was natural that the Mexicans should also bear the brunt of suspicion for any crime.

“Spiritual guidance,” Jacob said to Eliza as they walked down the sidewalk after sacrament meeting, heading toward the Mexicans’ trailer on the north end of town. “It’d be useful if it helped with more than finding lost car keys.”

She shrugged. “You were expecting something new?” It was hot, and she was frustrated that they’d spent practically their whole Sunday in church meetings when they had so much to do.

The day had begun with Amanda’s funeral. Her cousin had been dressed in her temple robes, and her face veiled, but Eliza knew what to look for and could see the stitches under the chin even through the veil. After the funeral, a procession of meetings: morning devotional, relief society, Sunday school, and finally sacrament meeting.

Jacob said, “No, not really. More of the so-called milk of the gospel and none of the meat, but when isn’t it? So Brother Roberts claimed that God told him to check his oil before he was about to drive to Phoenix. Lucky for him. He might have destroyed his engine, otherwise. A true tragedy.”

“Well, why not?” she asked. “He prayed, and the Lord gave him an answer. Isn’t that the essence of spiritual guidance?”

Jacob persisted. “It’s a smallish God that worries about lost car keys. Either He’s oblivious or He’s more concerned with minutiae than the big picture. Let’s see, help Brother Roberts find his car keys or prevent the Indonesian tsunami. Tsunami, car keys. Hmm. What will it be?”

“God doesn’t tamper with free agency. He can’t stop every bad thing from happening.”

She knew it was a weak answer even before Jacob slapped it down. He asked, “How does it tamper with free agency to whisper in a quarter of a million people’s ears that now might be a good time to walk away from the beach?”

“Maybe he did whisper and people didn’t listen. It’s called the still, small voice for a reason.”

“Okay, then. How about, ‘Run like Hell! NOW!’ People could still obey or not.”

“What are you saying, Jacob? That God doesn’t exist?”

“Hardly. I’m saying that maybe God is more inscrutable than we imagine. Maybe He does help people find their car keys while letting hundreds of thousands of people drown from a tsunami, but we’re fools to think we know why.”

“So it’s all random,” she said. “Is that what you’re saying? No, I can’t buy that.”

“You’re missing my point, Liz. I’m not talking about the tsunami or car keys. I’m talking about us. About Amanda. There won’t be any divine aide in finding Amanda’s murderer. I could see you thinking that during Brother Roberts’ talk. You were thinking, ‘Maybe we could pray to find out who did it. Maybe Jacob could use his priesthood.’”

That was, in fact, exactly what she had been thinking. “So we can’t pray for an answer? Okay, then maybe God can help in some other way.”

“How do you mean?”

“Maybe that’s why God sent you to medical school,” Eliza said after thinking about it for a minute. “You told me you were drawn to pathology. Maybe that’s why. To teach you how to look at bodies. To think about what goes wrong with things.”

Eliza enjoyed his hesitation. She’d given him something that he hadn’t yet considered.

At last, he laughed. “Excellent, Eliza. Okay, first things first. Let’s rule out the Mexicans. Should be easy enough.”

It wasn’t as hot as it had been yesterday, but it was warm enough. By the time they reached the Mexicans’ trailer, sweat trickled down her back and dribbled along the edge of her bra. She let Jacob walk ahead so she could fiddle with the darn thing. Once she went through the temple, she would add an extra layer of clothing in the temple garments. She didn’t know how the women of Blister Creek could stand it.

The Mexicans had returned with Elder Kimball’s flagstone that afternoon, and lounged in the shade of a cottonwood tree where they’d parked the trailer. It was a fifth wheel, raised on cinderblock. They had a panel truck, in which they’d hauled their supplies of carpet, linoleum, and bathroom fixtures. A beat-up Ford F-150 parked next to the panel truck.

The four men played a card game. One man hastily shoved a beer into a cooler. Elder Kimball was a fanatic about that sort of thing, but Jacob wouldn’t care if they drank or smoked. Why should a gentile obey the Word of Wisdom?

Jacob addressed the men in Spanish
. “Buenas tardes. Hay alguien acá que hable inglés?”

“I speak English,” one of the men said. He raised his eyebrows. “You speak very good Spanish.” He glanced at Eliza, then dismissed her with his eyes and turned back to Jacob. “Where did you learn?”

“Spent a few years in Mexico when I was a teenager. But my Spanish is rusty.”

The Mormon Colonies in Mexico had been established with the same thinking as the settlements in Alberta, to hide polygamists from the federal government. The colonies had mostly gone mainstream, but they still had a few unaffiliated polygamists. Jacob had spent several years in the colonies as a child during a series of raids similar to those that had once sent Eliza to Blister Creek.

“But what about you?” Jacob asked. “You barely have an accent.”

“I’ve been in the U.S. off and on since ‘89. Worked in Atlanta for a few years, then Phoenix.” He smiled. “Thought a few months in a polygamous cult would make a good change of pace.”

She didn’t know if he was trying to bait Jacob, but her brother just chuckled. “Just don’t cross the cult leader or they’ll burn down your trailer in the middle of the night.” He said it in the same joking tone of voice that the Mexican had used, except that Eliza knew that Elder Kimball had been planning just that.

“My name is Manuel. These other three don’t speak English.”

“I’m Jacob and this is my sister Eliza.” He turned to the others and introduced himself in Spanish. Eliza understood enough to hear their names as Jaime, Martín, and Eduardo.

Jacob turned back to Manuel and said in English, “I’m not from Blister Creek. Are these people easy to work for?”

Manuel shrugged. “Sure.” He said something to the other men and they continued their card game without him. “I mean, they’ve been paying us on time, which is the most important thing.” His tone was friendly enough, but reserved, just shy of suspicious.

Jacob continued with the small talk for a couple of minutes, then casually asked if they’d ever met any of the women in the town. Did they know a woman named Charity Kimball? How about her sister wives? What about Amanda Kimball?

“Is that what this is about?” Manuel’s tone had grown defensive. “You think one of my men has been messing around with your women?” He shook his head. “We’re so busy most days we barely have time to sleep, and these guys are never out of my sight, except when a couple of them drive to St. George for supplies or to hit the bar.”

Jacob said, “Nah, I don’t think that. I’m looking for a man. Someone said he was back in town.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s one of what we call the Lost Boys. They’re young men expelled for wrong-thinking or bad behavior.” He shrugged. “Or maybe they’re just dumb. Our standards are strict.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed. So who is he?”

“He’s my brother, actually. Name is Enoch. He’s been in some trouble and I thought he might have come around looking for me.”

“What’s he look like?”

“He’ll be easy enough to recognize. Red hair, and if you shook his hand, you’d notice a crooked thumb.”

As Jacob spoke, Eliza watched the other three men. They occasionally glanced her way or to the conversation between Jacob and Manuel, but mostly paid attention to their game.

Except for the one named Eduardo. He was a young man, maybe twenty, with dark hair and brown eyes. He wore a tank top and his arms and shoulders were bare and muscled and very tanned. He caught her eye and then looked back at her a moment later.

Go ahead and stare,
she thought, refusing to look away or feel embarrassed. Gentiles were all the same. They gawked at her conservative clothes and lack of make-up as if she had just stepped off a nineteenth century frontier homestead.

“Well, good,” Jacob said as Eliza tuned back into the conversation. She had missed something. “Thanks for the information.” He shook hands and gave his farewells to the others in Spanish.

“I missed that last part,” she said as they walked away. “He’s seen Enoch?”

“Yes, with two other young men. They were probably Lost Boys, too. Could have been Tuesday. Maybe Monday. He wasn’t sure. Saw them coming out of the temple.”

“What? The temple?”

“Yeah, I know. Enoch has been excommunicated. He can’t go into the temple.” They reached the sidewalk and Jacob said, “Apart from that, there was something odd about that exchange. Seemed like Manuel was pumping
me
for information.”

Eliza didn’t say anything, still off-balance from the news about Enoch. She was sweating again now that they’d left the shade of the cottonwood tree.

Jacob said, “Which begs the question, what? Has Manuel heard something? Is he just curious, or does he know more than he’s letting on? I was certain that the Mexicans weren’t involved. Maybe I was wrong. Did you see anything?”

“Just that the young one—Eduardo—kept staring at me. Reminds me of that place we stopped in Cedar City. You’d think we were a carnival exhibit or Amish or something.”

“Maybe he thought you were cute,” Jacob said. “He was just checking you out.”

“Oh, shut up. I can tell the difference between gawking and checking out.”

“If you say so. But it seems like he’s seen enough polygamists now that he’s past the gawking stage. If that’s all it was.”

“Anyway,” she said in an exaggerated tone. “What’s next?”

They passed the church building, together with a few women coming from a late meeting. There were a handful of elderly women, and two mothers pushing strollers. Eliza and Jacob exchanged friendly greetings with these women.

Jacob waited until they were alone again before answering. “What’s next? First, the minor leads. I’ve got a couple of phone calls, that stuff to send to the lab, and perhaps you could ask Amanda’s sister wives some questions.”

“Fernie might know something. I’m kind of afraid to talk to the others.”

“It won’t hurt to ask Fernie, although I thought I’d give her a call myself,” he said. Eliza remembered that Jacob, while not related to Fernie by birth, had spent more time with Eliza’s half-sister than she had. He continued, “But don’t worry about the others. Be yourself and they’ll warm up. Start with Charity Kimball.”

Easy enough for him to say, but she knew she had to make herself useful. The other women knew about the murder by now. It was her job to talk to them. “Okay. I’ll see what I can find.”

He nodded. “Good. Maybe someone noticed Amanda acting strange, or saw her talking to someone. I’d also like a second look at Witch’s Warts. See if I can find the spot where they killed Amanda. Now,” he said in a change of tone. “What’s up with our brother?”

“Enoch?” She asked in surprise. “He’s not mixed up in this.”

Jacob’s expression grew pained. “Are you sure? I’m not saying he’s the murderer, but what’s he doing kicking around Blister Creek? He doesn’t belong here. And he wasn’t alone, either. Remember?”

She studied the expression on Jacob’s face. “Do you know something already?”

They were approaching the Kimball house and they slowed their pace. Jacob turned. “I don’t know everything that Enoch’s been up to. But this isn’t the first time he’s been seen running with other Lost Boys. Gideon Kimball, for one. And now he shows up in Blister Creek. It’s the last place he belongs. And the timing. According to Charity Kimball, one day before Amanda’s murder.”

“That could be coincidence.”

“Sure. But it’s the best lead we’ve got at the moment.”

“So how do we find Enoch?” she asked.

“Manuel saw him drive off in some piece of junk with Nevada plates. We’ll look around town, but I think we’ll have more luck if we track him down where he lives. Don’t have his address, but I know where he works.”

They had reached the Kimball house. Children played in the front yard, in spite of the heat, and women set up tables on the veranda for Sunday dinner.

“So where are we going?” Eliza asked, before they came within earshot of the others.

“Babylon. The Great Whore of the Desert. Legs spread wide, she gives teat to drunks and pornographers. Gambling, drugs, and all other manner of vice call it home.”

Eliza was shocked, both by his crudity and by what he was implying. “You don’t mean…”

He nodded. “Las Vegas.”

#

It cooled quickly as they gathered with the Kimballs for their Sunday evening meal. They ate watermelon and pork ribs, together with potatoes, corn on the cob, raspberry pie, and gallons of lemonade.

In spite of the week-ending feast, the mood was somber. Most of Elder Kimball’s wives had only learned of Amanda’s death that morning. The mood at the funeral had been grim. Someone planted the rumor that Amanda had died of exposure in the desert, but this didn’t take. Sharp eyes had spotted trauma on the body and services had turned into a gossip fest. Eliza had heard a dozen theories about the murder, all of which she took into account, but none offered new information.

And many of the women in Blister Creek did nothing to hide their anger. They were angry that the men had kept a stranglehold on information. Women and girls had walked around for three full days without knowing there was a murderer in town.

Eliza was eating watermelon and thinking about Las Vegas when one of Elder Kimball’s weaselly sons, Taylor Junior, slid in next to her. She looked for her brother. Jacob was talking with Fernie Kimball, Eliza’s half-sister. The woman laughed at something that he said. Neither looked Eliza’s way.