Part 19 (1/2)

She knew her father sensed the rebellion when it began. He'd always been careful not to throw gasoline on the fire he'd never confronted Deem directly about her growing disinterest in the normal religious routines of the community. He'd always seemed supportive, regardless of how active Deem had been in the church. But Deem knew her father had played a role in excommunicating the Halworths. He was part of an organization that was the reason they were being treated like trash. She resented it. She thought it was cruel.

Then again, what she learned about the fundamentalists bothered her too, especially the forced underage marriages. She didn't have a problem with adults practicing their religion the way they wanted, and she didn't have a problem with people having more than one wife, if that's what they wanted. Live and let live. But she abhorred the idea of a fourteen year old girl being forced to marry a sixty year old man, just because some self-proclaimed ”prophet” somewhere decreed it.

Which was worse? she wondered. My father's church, which would cruelly ostracize and shun an entire family, making their life h.e.l.l? Or a prophet who would marry off underage kids?

The latter, she thought. Definitely the latter. But it didn't make what her father had done any more palatable to her. She knew that if her father hadn't excommunicated the Halworths, higher-ups in Salt Lake would have forced the issue, so he had no choice.

That just means he was willing to do awful things in the name of religion, Deem thought. Am I sure I want these journals? I may not like what I find.

She suddenly felt incredibly sad as she watched the blue dot moving further into Nevada and turning south toward Caliente. Part of her wanted to give up and just abandon the whole attempt.

Then another part of her emerged, the part she knew well the rebellious part. No, she thought. No burying heads in the sand. No caving in to these religious nuts. I want the truth, whatever it is. My father's journals are mine, not theirs.

She focused down on the blue dot, pus.h.i.+ng out all feeling of doubt and sadness. The dot was the goal, it was going to be dealt with. She was not one to start something and not finish it.

”You may be right,” she said to Winn. ”A secret council might be capable of anything.”

Winn knew something was going on with Deem. He decided to let her comment sit, and they rode on in silence.

”How long has it been?” Winn asked.

Deem checked her watch. ”Just over an hour and a half.”

Winn adjusted himself and tried to stretch out in the driver's seat of his Jeep. They were parked half a block from an old, abandoned church in Caliente.

Earlier, they had followed Dayton to a side street where he'd parked his car and walked two blocks to the church. The others who had met him there had followed the same procedure there were no cars parked in front of or around the building. It still looked as silent and vacant as it had before Winn and Deem had seen half a dozen men enter the back of the church.

”Why way the f.u.c.k out here?” Winn asked, looking around.

”Based on what Claude indicated,” Deem said, ”I'm guessing the group is spread out. Caliente might be central for all of them.”

Earlier, after they'd watched the men entering the building, Deem had asked Winn to drive around the streets surrounding the old church, two blocks in each direction. She'd taken pictures of every parked car, and noted license plate numbers. She had about twenty cars on her list. She knew some of them probably didn't belong to council members, but she figured a good number of them did.

”They're coming out,” Winn said. ”Well, at least one guy.”

Deem raised her camera as discreetly as she could and began taking pictures. She was using the zoom, and because it was dark, she wasn't sure the pictures would turn out to be useful, but she took them anyway. The first man left the back exit of the church and walked away into the night. It was a couple of minutes before the next man emerged.

”They don't want to draw attention by leaving all at once,” Winn said. ”They've got this down.”

After twenty minutes it appeared they'd all left; no more men came out of the building.

”Come on,” Deem said, grabbing a small duffel bag. ”We're going in.”

Deem jumped out of the car and Winn followed her. They walked the half a block to the old church along a tree-lined street. There were no streetlights, and only the light coming from the moon made them able to see their way.

The old church was small and well over a hundred years old, built by Mormons in the early 20th century. Needs of the local congregations had long ago exceeded the capabilities of the tiny building, and it was replaced by modern brick structures in other parts of town. Deem was surprised this old church hadn't been torn down. Then it occurred to her that the church might have been serving the needs of the Mormon gifted for many generations. Although it appeared abandoned, it was still in use.

As they approached the back door, the security system sticker reflected the moonlight.

”That looks relatively new,” Winn said, observing the warning not to enter.

”Hold on,” Deem said, leaving Winn and circling around the side of the building. She searched the sky for wires, and soon found the box where the phone lines entered the building. She pulled wire snips from her bag and cut every wire that emerged from the junction box, then she returned to Winn.

”That's done,” Deem said. She retrieved Winn's lock picking tools from the duffel and handed them to him. ”You can pick it?”

Winn studied the lock. There were two, a deadbolt and a separate lock on the handle.

”No problem,” he said, pulling the thin tools out of a sheath and inserting them into the keyholes. ”Give me a minute.”

Deem waited patiently while Winn worked. She looked around, hoping they'd avoid any cars or pa.s.sersby. The back of the church faced a row of short trees and shrubs that separated the property from the next street, which contained a couple of industrial structures. She could see why the council members used this entrance it was quiet and private.

”Yes!” Winn said as the door opened, and he let Deem take the lead. She pulled a flashlight from her duffel and entered the building. Winn followed and pulled the door closed behind him.

They were in a short hallway, with small rooms branching from each side. ”Cla.s.srooms,” Deem said, s.h.i.+ning her light in each and quickly moving on. ”For Sunday School.”

After a bend in the hallway she came upon a locked door. ”We'll come back to this,” she said, continuing on.

After another turn, they emerged into the chapel. The pews were still in place, and a raised podium made of wood was still at the end of the room. Deem walked down the aisle, amazed that the elements of the chapel were still intact. She had expected that something this old might have been vandalized. When she reached the podium she walked up the dais and looked out over the small room. There were fifteen rows of pews, divided into a left and right side. There was nothing on the walls, but she didn't expect there to be Mormon churches were strictly utilitarian with no ornamentation.

”Do you think they met in here?” Winn asked.

”Probably,” Deem said, searching around the podium for any signs of use. There were none.

”There's nothing here,” Winn said. ”Or back in those rooms.”

”Except for that locked door,” Deem said. She walked down from the dais and back through the pews. ”Let's get it open.”

Winn followed her back to the locked door and he knelt, examining the lock. ”Alright,” he said. ”This should only take a second.”

Winn had the door open quickly, and Deem stepped inside. It was a sizeable room. The walls were lined with open, free-standing metal shelves that contained cardboard boxes.

”Hmm,” Deem said. ”Remind you of anything?”

”Yeah,” Winn said. ”The skinrunner's room.”

Deem pulled one of the boxes off the shelf. It was heavy. She opened the lid and looked inside. It was filled with green hanging file folders, each stuffed with multiple manila folders. She pulled one out and looked at it she recognized the church logo in the upper right corner. It was filled with handwriting. As she read it, she realized it was the notes from a church service long ago. She looked at the top right and saw a date: September 17, 1972.

”These are just old church records,” Deem said. ”Nothing as interesting as the skinrunner's.”

She replaced the folders and put the box back on the shelf. They scanned the room. There didn't appear to be anything unusual or out of place, just a room full of boxes.

She examined the writings on the face of each box. They all seemed to be minutes from various church meetings.

”Do you think they kept minutes of their secret council?” Winn asked, joining Deem as she searched.

”Maybe,” Deem said. ”Mormons love to take notes. But these all appear to be minutes from old sacrament and priesthood meetings.”

Winn could tell from Deem's tone that she was beginning to feel disappointed.